The Magic Guided Conductor and materials that were delivered weren't cheap, so it was expected that the other side would be apprehensive. Fang Hong didn't mind much about this. However, the little French girl couldn't tolerate any mischief in her eyes. She was quite unhappy with the lack of trust from the other side towards their group and decided to send the two boys to do the heavy lifting, helping Fang Hong move the Magic Guided Conductor and parts.

Right then, a boy had just moved a box of parts from the platform to the outside of the door and hadn't even had time to wipe his sweat when he saw Fang Hong hurriedly dismantle a strength burst plugin. He flipped it like a Rubik's cube and then snapped it right back in.

He hardly had time to clearly see Fang Hong's actions before the latter started testing the operation of the plugin.

Was this really a way to repair a Magic Guided Conductor?

The boy was full of doubts, yet he saw Fang Hong nod slightly. Lifting his Chainsword, the crimson spodumene of the strength burst plugin shone brightly, proving that the skill had been activated.

"Damn!"

The other's eyes nearly popped out of their sockets.

Was it really fixed? The boy figured it would take him at least a quarter of an hour to repair the plugin, and just removing and reinserting it would probably take five minutes. Repairing structural points, for a rookie, was a massive undertaking—wasn't everyone cautious, fearing they might ruin the plugin?

Little did he know that since the Continental League, Fang Hong had already mastered the skill of multiple parallel actions to perfection.

While others cautiously connected over a dozen structural points one by one, Fang Hong progressed on four fronts simultaneously, needing only seventy percent of his speed during training to complete the task in about ten seconds from start to finish.

And Fang Hong was already used to this speed of repair. During the Battle of the Long Summer, who had time for him to dilly-dally? Surely Miss Sicape's swift blade wasn't sharp enough?

He then set down his Chainsword.

The boy looked at him with a reverence that was hard to describe. The Rain Listener's Guild was a second or third-tier guild in the Cloud Sea Region, not as potent as the Rainbow Alliance or the Descendants of Flor, but though small, the guild was well-equipped.

He had seen those so-called professional alchemists in the guild, obviously far more skilled than an apprentice like him, but compared to Fang Hong, they were worlds apart.

The other was about his age, almost the same generation, but where else would one find such a genius among ordinary people? The boy instinctively felt that his guild had struck it lucky—they might have encountered a top-tier genius who was on a training journey from the Super First-Line Guilds of the Second World in Eteliria.

Silver Weslan?

Or Elite?

Or the Rose Cross Army?

The boy's mind spun with those glittering names, and for a moment he let his thoughts wander. Top alchemists were different from War Profession Professionals; some of Eteliria's first-tier guilds—like the Silver Forest Spear and the Jiefulite Red Cloak Team—could also nurture rare talents.

But the top Chosen of Life Professions were mainly from the top ten domestic clubs within the Super Competitive League.

"Mr. Ade, who are you?" The boy inadvertently used a respectful tone. What was the status of the top ten guilds in the domestic Super Competitive League? Even in the Second World, those guilds were beyond the reach of ordinary Chosen.

Those often 'on television' Chosen were just the star Chosen of those top ten guilds. While they served, each was a living legend, and even after retirement, they were at least former legends.

Just like Fang Hong, though this boy was neither a member of the top ten guilds in the First World nor a reserve member of the fan clubs, didn't his generation aspire to those dazzling names when they entered this world?

Thinking that he might be facing one of those Chosen, the boy felt his legs go weak.

But Fang Hong naturally was unaware that his casual action had led the other to such wild flights of fancy. Of course, if he had known, he would have just been relieved that he had developed a good habit of wearing a mask in front of strangers.

Otherwise, letting the other recognize him as the troublemaker from the Continental League could have been endless trouble, possibly even drawing military attention.

Of course, he also felt a secret joy. No matter what, he was still just a teenager of sixteen or seventeen, inevitably a bit vain.

But now he just shook his head and said, "Don't get too excited, this thing isn't so easy to fix. I'm curious who's using this Chainsword? Are they afraid their weapon is in too good condition?"

"It's mine."

A somewhat cold voice came from outside the house.

Fang Hong looked up in surprise and almost jumped from his position. "Shit, it's you!"

He pointed at the figure outside the door—a boy with silver hair and a pair of sharp, long wolf ears on his head, his narrow silver eyes as gentle as a girl, and exclaimed aloud.

It looked as if he had seen a ghost.

The boy was none other than the number six player he had once met at Traveler's Rest.

As it turned out, this was the first time he had heard the other's voice. It was cold and distant as he had imagined, but not unpleasant.

He looked incredulously at the weapon in his hand. "This is your Chainsword?"

The boy nodded.

"But aren't you a Combat Artisan?"

The boy looked at him noncommittally, his silver gaze cold, yet surprisingly not aggressive. "So what if I am?"

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