Qian Jin flopped back, and the hat of the Endless World immediately settled over his face, just like last time, plunging him into darkness.

When he opened his eyes again, Qian Jin found himself standing on a deserted street, surrounded by houses that weren't particularly tall.

The scene was familiar, echoing the last time he was in the Endless World. At the end of the street, there was a blacksmith shop—the very place where he had learned to forge Level Two refined iron.

"Last time I was so focused on learning to smith that I never took a proper look at what the other buildings were for, even though I wanted to leave this Endless World."

Qian Jin murmured to himself, hands tucked into his pockets, strolling leisurely down the empty street, observing the signs above the buildings.

[Olala’s Apothecary] A black sign hung high above the main entrance. Qian Jin peered inside with curiosity, spotting a middle-aged woman wearing a red apron, busy amidst a collection of glass test tubes. These tubes were bubbling vigorously, releasing acrid fumes in colors of pungent green, or blue, or yellow, and others besides.

"Mystic Potions?" Qian Jin instinctively flinched. In his own world, there were two kinds of apothecaries. One group comprised highly esteemed pharmacists who could concoct potions to restore stamina, recover Battle Qi, or even replenish magic power, and rumor had it they could brew things he couldn't even fathom.

The other kind was the Mystic Potion masters! They were called Mystic Alchemists, a group so secretive that almost no one knew what they were mixing. People only knew that these Mystic Alchemists were rarer than dragons.

Qian Jin recalled reading a passage about Mystic Alchemists back home. It contained this quote: "If gods truly exist in this world! Then I shall brew a draught that can make even a toad become a god upon drinking it!"

Qian Jin remembered the marginalia beneath the text—evaluations from many historically famous powerhouses: Madman! Madman! Madman! Madman!

The consensus was unanimous. From that moment, Qian Jin had developed a subconscious aversion to the profession of Mystic Alchemist. Someone capable of uttering such words could hardly be considered normal.

[Aknash’s Rune Workshop]

Qian Jin stealthily peered through the crack in the door again. A little girl, looking no older than seven or eight, was carving something onto a strange piece of metal. Her speed was astonishing; in the blink of an eye, she had etched several bizarre patterns, then sprinkled strange stone powder onto various spots. The patterns immediately glowed with different, multicolored lights.

"That actually works?" Qian Jin instinctively retracted his neck. Texts described the carving speed of Rune Masters as a hundred times more demanding than any artistic master’s sculpture. It seemed only a true Rune Grandmaster could achieve the speed that little girl possessed.

Bang!

An explosion erupted inside the room. The little girl landed flat on her backside, facing the ceiling. The rune metal she had nearly finished carving was now a wreck. Looking at the girl scrambling up from the floor, her rosy cheeks smeared black with soot, she thoughtfully rubbed her darkened cheek and pondered seriously, "Oh! I think I used too much Earth-Burst Bear core powder."

Qian Jin was speechless, fighting the urge to push the door open and step inside.

Rune Masters! If one could learn this craft, even with only a superficial understanding, they would command immense respect everywhere, even from powerful Warriors.

Learning smithing could be put to practical use outside, but runes—they might be too. Qian Jin diligently suppressed his impulse. Everything required sufficient expertise. For instance, rune crafting demanded some understanding of magic arrays, as well as metallurgy. It was probably best not to enter for now.

Qian Jin continued along the quiet street. This tranquil village lane was filled with astonishing phenomena—not just runes, but also Inlayers, Tailors, and so on.

"What is this…"

Qian Jin stopped, looking at the room beside him, taking a deep breath into his lungs.

[Enlak Battle Qi Hall]

"A place to study Battle Qi?" Qian Jin blinked. Hadn't he come to Oakland precisely for the Wind and Cloud Battle Qi? If just a couple of hits at smithing in this Endless World could elevate him to a Level Two Blacksmith, what level of Battle Qi would be taught here?

Qian Jin could hold back no longer. He raised both hands and pushed the door.

"Hmm?"

The door panel looked remarkably slender. Qian Jin shoved with all his might, only to find the door wouldn't budge an inch.

"What’s going on?" Qian Jin regulated his breathing and applied all his strength, but the door remained immovable.

"I refuse to believe it!" Qian Jin poured his Level Four Warrior's Battle Qi into both arms and pushed again…

The dark wooden door flickered with a faint light. This wasn't light shining through an opening; it was several glaring characters illuminating the door panel itself.

[Battle Qi Level Four attained. Insufficient strength to open door. Initial entry requirement: Battle Qi Level Eight.]

"Battle Qi Level Eight?" Qian Jin grimaced. "So, only an Eighth Level Warrior can push this door open? Looks like even Teacher Rodriguez would have to stand outside and weep."

Staring at the unyielding door, Qian Jin’s curiosity and perplexity only deepened. If opening the door required Level Eight Battle Qi, what level of Battle Qi was contained inside? This was truly a room that invited infinite speculation.

Walking further, Qian Jin eventually found himself back in front of the blacksmith shop where he had learned his trade.

Pushing open the rickety door, he stepped into a shop a million times quieter than the sparking, fire-splashing forge of Franlin Smithy. It was just as silent as yesterday; the sight of sparks flying and the furnace roaring was nowhere to be seen. The old blacksmith, Black, leaned against the anvil, puffing on his pipe, occasionally letting out a cough that sounded like he was trying to expel his very lungs.

Seeing Qian Jin appear, the turbidity in Black’s eyes gained a spark of life again. He slowly stood up, patted the dust off his backside, walked to the anvil, picked up two pieces of raw iron, tossed them into the furnace, and commanded, "Light the fire."

Qian Jin was accustomed to the old smith's temperament. He grabbed the bellows with both hands and pumped them vigorously. Black used tongs to retrieve the glowing-hot billet and placed it on the anvil. He casually picked up a hammer, raised it high above his head, but didn't strike immediately. Instead, he swung the hammer in a full circle, accumulating momentum before bringing it down with crushing force. The heavy hammer whistled, seeming to tear the very air, and slammed onto the red-hot billet, instantly kicking up a cascade of scorching, brilliant sparks. The sound of colliding metal scattered along with the dancing sparks.