Qian Renxue’s aura transformed dramatically after absorbing the soul ring. The sacred flames of judgment bestowed a solemn dignity, sharpening her already striking features with regal authority. Her golden-white robes shimmered as she extended a hand, summoning a blazing sword of condensed holy fire.
The searing energy radiating from her palm resembled solar flames purging all impurity. With a graceful slash, she released a crescent of energy that shattered distant boulders into dust, while her hand continued glowing with residual soul power.
"This skill has incredible versatility!" Qian Renxue’s eyes sparkled as she dismissed the flames. "Xiaofeng, how soon can we establish my fifth soul vein?"
Lin Feng spread his hands helplessly. "I’m only level 43. Shouldn’t I reach Soul King first? Can’t build your bridge before laying my foundation."
Qian Renxue circled behind him, draping her arms over his shoulders with lips brushing his ear. "You said whale glue still offers minor soul power gains, right? Every bit helps..." Her whisper carried unmistakable implications.
Lin Feng’s cheek twitched. We’ve literally overdosed on that stuff. Finding sufficient quantities of ten-thousand-year whale glue was challenging enough without their... creative consumption methods.
Ling Yuan covered a laugh, though her eyes mirrored Qian Renxue’s anticipation—what the princess could request, she could too.
Clearing his throat, Lin Feng patted Qian Renxue’s hand. "Have you checked your reserves lately?"
A quick inventory scan made her frown. "How did we burn through it so fast?"
"Liquid volumes deceive," Lin Feng explained. "What looks substantial solid melts to mere droplets. You can’t expect endless supplies of ten-thousand-year—"
"Then we’ll use thousand-year grade!" Qian Renxue declared before gagging at the memory of its fishy aftertaste. "On second thought... we’ll manage without."
Her finger tapped Lin Feng’s chin playfully. "Only eight levels between us now. Don’t slack off—I expect you at level fifty soon." ᴛʜɪs ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ɪs ᴜᴘᴅᴀᴛᴇ ʙʏ novel★fire.net
Lin Feng caught her wandering hand. "With my unique soul veins? That gap will vanish faster than your whale glue stash."
Qian Renxue huffed. "Why don’t our second-ring fire attributes get similar boosts to your heart flame enhancements?"
Lin Feng simply raised his Innate Treasure Pearl in response.
Ling Yuan studied the glowing orb curiously. "What martial soul could have mutated into this? Its chromatic shifts with each soul vein are extraordinary."
Lin Feng shrugged—he only knew its previous incarnation had killed him. "Stronger is better. Now, shall we cross these mountains? And no, we’re not hauling unicorn carcasses."
Gengxin City stood in the Star Luo Empire’s southwestern heartland, a stark contrast to Dragonrise City’s southeastern locale. Dubbed the "Steel Capital," its very bones exuded industrial might—from iron-reinforced bridges to metallically veined streets.
As the continent’s premier hub for smithing certification, it attracted master craftsmen like moths to forge-fire. The rigid hierarchy—Apprentice, Journeyman, Artisan, Master, Grandmaster, Paramount, and finally Divine Smith—currently crowned only three with its highest honor: Tang Hao of the Clear Sky Clan, Titan of the Strength Clan, and Association Chief Lou Gao.
Though "Divine" might be overstating their skills, Lin Feng mused, recalling Tang Hao’s rather... basic hammer work.
Clouds of steam billowed from towering chimneys, painting the sky in industrial hues. The streets thrummed with rhythmic hammering—a symphony of creation where every shopfront boasted blazing furnaces. Even the city gates displayed raw ore samples like welcome banners.
At the Steel Association’s heart, debates raged as fiercely as the forges:
"Shell fossils increase destructive potential!"
"Fool! They sacrifice durability! Slander crystals maintain edge integrity while lightening—"
"Both wrong! Skill matters more than materials! Out of my smithy!"
The passionate arguments reminded Lin Feng of an old blacksmithing game from his past life. Here, craftsmanship was religion, and respect required either masterful technique or ingenious designs.