Elven cultivators

Four years have passed in the blink of an eye.

In the year 9243 of the Dawn Calendar, Anton celebrated his 22nd birthday.

In the previous life, this would have been the legal age for marriage.

But among the elves, he was still just a child.

And this 'child' is now sitting at the table counting the talismans.

「10张匿息符、10张遁形符、10张轻身符、20张纳物符......还有一些杂七杂八的符箓，加起来总共72张。」

Anton looked emotional.

This is all the wealth he has accumulated little by little over the past four years.

There was no other way; the effect of a single Spirit Gathering Talisman only lasted three or four days. On average, he would use up about a hundred talismans a year. Most of the materials he acquired were poured into this bottomless pit, leaving him with fewer other talismans.

This was because Darian, upon hearing that he was short of money, specially arranged a job for him at the Roots Library (library) to organize ancient books. He only needed to work for one hour a day to earn a considerable amount of money, which greatly relieved his financial pressure.

In addition, after obtaining permission from Darian to draw scrolls two years ago, he used this as an excuse to steal a lot of materials originally intended for magic scrolls to draw talismans.

Otherwise, we wouldn't have accumulated so much wealth.

Just as Anton was sighing, a familiar voice called out from outside.

"Anton, come out quickly."

Anton immediately put away the talisman, got up, opened the door, and went out.

Roman was waiting outside. When he saw him come out, he immediately handed him what he was holding.

"Here, this is the longsword you wanted. I begged my mentor for days before she finally gave it to me. She thought I was planning to give up the battle axe and switch to swordsmanship. How could that be? The battle axe is way cooler than a longsword..."

Ignoring Roman's rambling, Anton took the longsword and examined it closely.

This is a fine steel longsword, about 110 centimeters in length, with a sharp edge and a gleaming cold light. The blade has a dark, cold luster, as if it can devour light. Even a layman who knows nothing about swords can tell that the craftsmanship is extremely exquisite.

"A black steel longsword made by the dwarves," Anton murmured.

Roman exclaimed in surprise, "How did you figure that out? Our mentor said that we elves prefer to use leaf blade swords or moon blade swords, and very few people use this kind of longsword. This black steel sword has been gathering dust in the storeroom for many years, and no one wanted it, so she was willing to give it to me."

Anton smiled but offered no explanation.

This was an essential beginner weapon that every new human player had back in the day in "Dawn Chronicles".

Although he started playing when the game was already at version 3.0, and the Black Steel Sword had long been replaced by better weapons, he still saw many veteran players reminiscing about this "first love sword" on the game forums.

Seeing that Anton didn't answer, Roman didn't mind and asked another question: "What do you need a melee weapon for? Don't spellcasters use staves?"

Anton flicked his wrist, flashing a few sword strokes, and casually replied, "Who says spellcasters can't use melee weapons? Haven't you heard of dual cultivation of magic and martial arts?"

"You?" Roman looked him up and down with disbelief. "I've never seen you practice combat techniques."

That's because I deliberately cultivated in a place where you couldn't see me.

Anton said with a smile, "How about we make a bet?"

"...What kind of bet?"

Roman's mind immediately went into overdrive. Whenever Anton showed that expression, she would almost always suffer the consequences, without exception.

"Let's have a spar. I won't use magic. If I win, you'll have to do me a favor."

"...Did you hit your head?" Roman stared in astonishment. "My mentor recently said that I already have the strength of a mid-level white-rank character. How could you possibly be my match without magic?"

In the game, players can distinguish their strength by level, but in the real world of Dawn Continent, there is no such detailed division. Instead, a person's strength is judged by their rank.

The lowest rank is "no rank," which basically includes everyone from village militiamen and guards to ordinary soldiers in the army.

The area above is the white space, which includes battle-hardened veterans, elite mercenaries, and spellcasters who are just beginning to learn the ropes.

Above that is the Iron rank.

Reaching this level means stepping into the extraordinary realm, possessing power that is difficult for ordinary people to attain.

For example, a spellcaster who has accumulated considerable magical power, mastered more than 100 first-level spells, and formed a complete combat system belongs to the Iron rank.

As for the higher ranks of Silver and Gold, those are the truly powerful ones.

The Great Elder of the Silvermoon Clan is a Gold-rank spellcaster.

For Roman to possess the strength of a mid-level white-ranked player at this age is already quite outstanding among the younger generation of the Silvermoon Clan.

Anton was not surprised by this; he had always seen Roman as a natural-born warrior.

It's just that the Dawn Continent doesn't have a rich class system, otherwise she would definitely be a berserker template.

"Never mind that, just tell me if you want to gamble or not," Anton said.

Roman hesitated for a moment, but finally agreed.

She refused to believe that Anton, a spellcaster, could possibly defeat her in close combat.

Even those seniors in the training ground who had trained for four or five years longer than her were no match for her!

Seeing that Roman agreed, Anton smiled meaningfully and led her to the yard behind the treehouse.

The courtyard is surrounded by tall oak trees, forming a natural barrier and offering excellent privacy, making it perfect for private matches.

The two stood about ten meters apart, each holding their weapons and assuming a fighting stance.

Roman gripped the axe with both hands, the blades pointing diagonally to the ground. His center of gravity was lowered, and he resembled a fully drawn bow, poised to strike.

Four years of combat skills training have given her an almost instinctive fighting posture.

Anton held his sword in one hand, the tip of which was slightly lowered, while his other hand was behind his back, his posture as relaxed as if he were strolling in the forest.

Be careful.

Roman gave a warning, then suddenly rushed forward. The nearly ten-pound battle axe felt as light as a feather in her hands. She brought it down with a violent force, the blade cutting through the air with a low groan.

However, the next second, Anton disappeared from her sight.

"Where did you go?"

Roman's eyes widened in surprise. His axe blade cleaved through the air, the force of which sent the fallen leaves swirling in a flurry.

Immediately afterwards, she heard a faint gust of wind behind her ear.

Behind them!

The girl suddenly turned around and swung her axe behind her with a backhand motion, her reaction as fast as instinct.

But then a clear clang rang out, like metal clashing, and the axe blade that had been cleaved out was caught by Anton with one hand, its momentum abruptly halted.

This scene left Roman wide-eyed and stunned.

Before she could react, Anton's other hand slapped down with a horizontal palm strike.

In an instant, Roman felt a scorching wind rush towards him, as if lava were erupting and subterranean fire was surging, giving him the illusion that he was about to be burned and annihilated.

She could even faintly smell the burnt smell of her own hair, and her cheeks were burning from the heat.

Swish!

His hand suddenly stopped about ten centimeters away from Roman's delicate face.

The lingering heat still blew her long, silvery-white hair back in the wind.

Roman stood frozen in place, his pupils slightly contracting in shock.

Up close, she could see that Anton's entire palm was as red as a branding iron, as if it had just been taken out of a furnace, with faint golden light flowing under his skin, like magma surging in his veins.

She subconsciously took two steps back, only then noticing that the spot where Anton had gripped her battle axe was now a deep, scorching red, with several clear finger marks on it, as if it had been branded with a hot iron.

Forgetting about the loss of his weapon, Roman stared dumbfounded at Anton, stammering, "What... what kind of combat technique is this?"

Anton withdrew his hand, and the crimson color faded like the tide, returning to normal in an instant.

He smiled slightly and spoke casually:

"Melting Hand"