Legendary

The world of Transcendents had clearly defined ranks.

For an ordinary person to become a Transcendent, they had to undergo a Soul Transformation Ritual, experience their first Soul Metamorphosis, and fully awaken their soul's fusion ability.

After successfully completing Soul Transformation, they could choose to fuse with different Demon Souls and become the corresponding Transcendent profession.

Demon Soul was a collective term for the souls of magical beasts, Aberrant Monsters, insects, magical creatures, and demons. It did not include the souls of intelligent races, distinguishing the two.

The first Demon Soul fused was called the Primary Soul.

The Primary Soul could exert the greatest effect and provided the largest boost to a Transcendent's strength. It also determined the direction of their profession. As their strength increased, the soul would grow ever stronger until it underwent a Soul Ascension, allowing them to fuse with another new Demon Soul, generally called a Secondary Soul.

Each time a Demon Soul was fused, the Transcendent's professional level rose by one.

Levels one through three belonged to Beginner Transcendents, who possessed one Primary Soul and two Secondary Souls. Level 3 was a rank bottleneck. To break through to the Intermediate Tier, levels four through six, they had to undergo another Soul Transformation and then fuse with a new Primary Soul.

As one's rank rose, Soul Transformation became increasingly difficult.

For a Transcendent to rise from low tier Level 1 to Advanced Tier Level 9, they needed to undergo three Soul Transformations and six Soul Ascensions, fusing a total of nine Demon Souls.

Above the Advanced Tier, undergoing the Fourth Soul Transformation Ritual meant entering the realm of Legend!

All Transcendents above level 10 were Legendary Transcendents. They broke through the limits of human lifespan and possessed power beyond ordinary imagination.

Many people spent their entire lives hearing only tales of Legends, never encountering one in person.

But now, Rayne had seen a Demon Hunter who was possibly a Legend!

Yet aside from the possible exception of the Dwarf Zoltan, no one else in the inn realized that a Legend was beside them. They merely regarded Roger as a relatively powerful Demon Hunter.

"Sometimes, not knowing the truth is a kind of blessing."

Rayne muttered to himself.

He had a very direct sense of this Demon Hunter's power. Compared with an ordinary person's soul, Roger's soul shone like the sun, almost impossible to look at directly.

Just one glance had even caused a backlash. He could not imagine how terrifying Roger would be when he made a move!

Rayne did not dare look around any further, afraid of provoking this Legend, whose personality seemed rather cold.

He hurriedly finished the rest of his potato stew and quickly went upstairs to his room.

However, Rayne did not know that after he went upstairs, Roger glanced at his retreating back and asked Zoltan, "What is that young man's background? Are you familiar with him?"

"Not very. He's a young fellow who just arrived in Lien District. Either he was just expelled from an academy, or he fell out with his family. He's only been staying here for a day, but he's a very skilled Mechanical Craftsman." Zoltan stroked his beard, recalling the pipe he had seen earlier, and could not help asking, "How did you know?"

"He carries the smell of a workshop. It drifted all the way from your courtyard. I could smell it from three streets away."

Zoltan exclaimed, "Your nose is sharper than a dog's."

"An interesting young man." Roger withdrew his gaze, a thoughtful look flashing through his catlike eyes.

"Enough about Rayne." Zoltan set down his wineglass, pulled out a deck of cards from his pocket, and called out, "Come on, let's play a few rounds first. We haven't met in ten years. Let me see whether your card skills have declined. Heh heh, I've collected quite a few rare cards over the years. If you're still at the level you were ten years ago, then prepare to die!"

Roger's expression changed slightly. He sat up straight and said solemnly, "Even if I had spent the past few years sleeping, you still wouldn't beat me."

As he spoke, he took out a thick stack of cards from the leather pouch at his waist.

The next morning, a refreshed Rayne came downstairs to the inn lobby, only to see Zoltan and Roger still sitting at the counter playing cards.

Neither had even changed seats. They had clearly been playing from last night until now.

Rayne did not disturb them. He passed by, ate the free breakfast, then entered the workshop in the back and continued machining the shotgun parts.

For several days in a row, Rayne stayed in the workshop from morning until night, successfully making one part after another.

Twice a day, once in the morning and once in the evening, he went to the inn lobby to eat. Every time, he saw Zoltan and Roger playing cards.

Zoltan had handed the inn over to his assistants and ignored everything else.

Roger was the same. A dignified Legendary Transcendent sat there playing cards day and night, like some gaming addict who had lived in an internet café for months.

The image of a master that Rayne had held in his mind immediately crumbled.

Five days later, Rayne held the freshly polished black wooden stock in his hand and let out a long breath.

This was the final component of the shotgun!

The other seventy parts had already been made. With this stock, he could assemble a complete Remington M870 shotgun.

He carried the stock to the Crafting Table. All the parts were laid out neatly on a piece of coarse cloth.

Without pausing, Rayne began assembling it.

Although this was his first time assembling the physical object, he had put it together hundreds of times in games and on his phone. He knew the sequence by heart; he could have done every step with his eyes closed.

His hands moved without stopping, smooth and fluid like drifting clouds and flowing water. Before long, a pitch-black shotgun appeared in his hands, displaying the beauty of Craft.

Rayne tested the weight and dimensions of the gun. They were very close to the parameters in the 3D blueprint. It felt satisfyingly heavy in his hands, and it would have been no problem using it to smash someone.

He braced the stock against his right shoulder, supported the fore-end with his left hand, and took an aiming stance.

He pulled the trigger, producing a sharp click.

His left hand worked the fore-end. With a crisp clack, it chambered again cleanly. He squeezed the trigger again, producing another sharp click. After several rapid dry cycles in succession, no problems appeared. The internal mechanism operated with remarkable stability.

Now all it needed was ammunition.

Rayne looked at a cardboard box on the table. He had finished making the shells yesterday.

Zoltan had a Single-Step Turret Press specifically for making ammunition. By changing the molds to the appropriate size, it could manually press shells.

The M870 used 12-Gauge Shells. Rayne had handmade a batch of brass casings, fitted them with primers and steel pellets, used up all the Black Powder, and made a total of thirty shotgun shells.

There was a target wall in the workshop that Zoltan normally used for test-firing. It was pitted with holes, and an entire layer of the stone wall had been blasted away.

Rayne loaded a shell, stood five meters away, and fired at the wall.

Bang!

A muffled blast rang out. White smoke poured from the barrel, and a strong smell of gunpowder filled his nostrils.

Rayne raised a hand and swept away the smoke before him, unable to suppress the joy on his face.

The recoil from the gun was considerable, but still within tolerable limits. He walked up to the target wall and carefully examined it, finding dozens of dense little holes scattered at random. The killing zone covered roughly half a square meter, and the power was astonishing.

If this shot hit a person, it would definitely turn them into a sieve!

Next, Rayne loaded three shells at once and fired rapidly in succession. Bang! Bang! Bang! More small holes appeared in the target wall. However, the wall was already covered in countless pits and craters, a complete mess. Unless someone specifically looked for them, it would be difficult to notice these inconspicuous holes.

"That'll do. This gun works fine. The smoke is too choking, though. I'll improve it if I get the chance later."

Rayne did not continue testing. He only had thirty shells in total, and he could not waste the rest.

"Now, it's time for revenge."

He silently disassembled the gun into parts, packed them together with the shells in a black cloth bag, and left the workshop. As he passed through the inn lobby, Zoltan and Roger were still playing cards. He went upstairs, placed the bag beneath his bed, then went back down to the counter.

"Zoltan, I won't be borrowing your workshop tomorrow."

Zoltan looked up at Rayne in surprise. "You're finished already?"

But his mind was on the card game. Before Rayne could answer, Zoltan waved a hand. "You used the workshop for five days. I won't calculate the materials too closely. Just give me 300 Copper Liso in total."

Rayne readily paid and said sincerely, "Thank you."

He had actually gotten the better end of this arrangement. The coal and metal materials he had used over five days were definitely worth more than fifty Copper Liso. Without Zoltan's generous help, he did not know when he would have been able to take revenge.

Zoltan nodded indifferently and said nothing more.

Roger, seated across from him, was even more focused on his cards and did not so much as glance at Rayne.

Rayne did not disturb them. He turned and left the inn.

He followed the road he had taken several days earlier. When he passed the Justice Church, he gave it an extra look. Unfortunately, no Fallen Ones had been put on Judgment these past few days, so he had no chance to absorb souls for Soul Charging.

At the station, he boarded a public bus. After changing buses once, Rayne arrived at Wood Street in Honeydew District.

The residents of Honeydew District were mainly merchants, white-collar workers, and employees of trade associations. Most had respectable jobs and were far better off than those in the slums, and the streets were less crowded as well.

Rayne was familiar with Wood Street and quickly arrived at the place he was looking for.

Maloney's Sword, the Swordsmanship Hall where he had worked not long ago.

Rayne did not approach the Swordsmanship Hall, lest someone who knew him see and recognize him. Instead, he sat down at an open-air café several hundred meters away, ordered an iced tea, and chose a secluded corner. He casually picked up a newspaper to read, occasionally activating Soul Eye to observe the activity at the Swordsmanship Hall entrance from afar.

He was waiting for Esberg and Ramsey to come out so he could track their movements.

The first step of revenge was finding where the two lived, but Rayne had no intention of making a move in the city. The shotgun was too loud. Even if he killed them, he would likely be arrested.

Longsand City was Duke Silverstar's territory. The duke had two powerful private armed forces, one of which was the Silver Armor Knights, responsible for maintaining order in the city. Those guards were all members of the Silver Armor Knights.

There were also the Transcendent forces of the three major Churches. For an ordinary person to fire a gun in the city was no different from courting death.

But there was not no opportunity at all.

Based on clues from his memories, Rayne had been knocked unconscious in the city, yet after crossing over and awakening, he had found himself in a river outside the city.

The Feregron River's current was not swift. It could not have carried a body so far in such a short time. There was only one explanation: Ramsey had dumped the body outside the city.

In other words, Esberg and Ramsey definitely had a secret hideout outside the city—the place where he had been beaten for several hours that night.

Moreover, this secret hideout should not have been far from the riverbank where he had crossed over.

If he could find that place, the opportunity to strike would come.