When Aldric and Vittoria returned to the dwarven blacksmith Gloin's workshop, they found it eerily silent. Not a soul was in sight.
The weapons and armor that had once hung proudly on the walls for display were gone—taken down, boxed up, and stacked neatly in the corner. The anvils used for forging were tightly wrapped under layers of oiled cloth, as though the entire place was preparing for a long absence.
"What's going on here?" Aldric asked, glancing around. Judging by the scene, it looked as if the dwarf had already planned to pack up and flee.
"If I hadn't come by to check on him," Vittoria said with a smirk, slapping the dwarf's shoulder teasingly, "this old guy would've already boarded the fastest merchant ship out of here with all his belongings by now." Because of their height difference, the tall warrior woman didn't even need to raise her arm to reach his shoulder—it was a motion that came naturally.
"Hmph! You so-called transcendents don't understand anything!" Gloin grumbled, brushing her hand away in irritation. "I might be a bit cautious, sure, but with my years of experience—and my father's experience, and my father's father's experience!"
He jabbed a stubby finger toward Aldric. "Whenever you notice a witcher operating nearby, no matter how safe the area looks, you leave immediately. Either something terrible has already happened, or something terrible is about to happen!"
He folded his arms with the air of a wise elder imparting hard-earned life lessons.
"And with all those disappearances in the slums recently, even your master came to investigate! If I hadn't made preparations early, what would've been the point of living for over a hundred years? If I hadn't promised to finish your shield, I'd have been long gone the moment I heard the news. Honestly, if you didn't seem like such a decent kid, I'd have ditched you without a second thought."
Gloin couldn't help but think that these two transcendents were quite different from the ones he had met in the past. They didn't carry the arrogance of those born into the old transcendental families, nor the sharp-edged aggressiveness of new transcendents who clawed their way up from the lower classes. And they certainly weren't like those mages—always looking at others with the same pitying gaze they reserved for fools.
Especially that towering female warrior—sharp-tongued but soft-hearted. A pity, Gloin thought. Such a fine girl, if only she weren't so damn tall. That was his final, heartfelt judgment of Vittoria.
In the dwarf's words, "transcendents" referred to professionals—people who had successfully undergone class specialization.
Among ordinary folk, they were called transcendents because their power far exceeded that of normal humans.
At first, the term referred only to high-tier classes.
But as these individuals formed powerful bloodline families and began marrying exclusively within their circles to preserve their inherited talent, they grew increasingly distant from the common people. Over time, "transcendent" simply became a blanket term to all who have classes.
Among the native population, most transcendents were warriors—few had the talent or background to access the mysterious paths of magic. Only those of extraordinary aptitude, or those born into families of mages, could touch the higher mysteries.
These individuals became the elite among transcendents.
The practice of intermarriage began with the dragonblood sorcerers. They sought to refine the purity of their dragon heritage by marrying those of similar lineage, hoping to reach the source of their power.
This indeed produced many gifted offspring—though, of course, no one really knew how many "failures" such experiments had produced. Still, the extinction of several dragonblood families was undeniable proof of the risks.
Eventually, this habit of bloodline refinement spread among other high-ranking professionals. While most weren't as deranged as the dragonblood sorcerers, the reasoning was similar. After all, advanced transcendents lived far longer than ordinary people—though not to the same degree as witchers, whose very life essence was transformed. Still, children born between two high-tier transcendents were almost always far superior to those born of a transcendent and a normal human.
Such offspring often inherited one or more natural talents from their parents—sometimes even awakening new ones unique to their generation. Their physical and mental attributes far surpassed those of ordinary people. Many second-generation transcendents were so exceptional that, even before advancing, their stats already exceeded those of their own parents.
This often heralded the rise of powerful transcendent families. Though, more often than not, it was the old noble families who—through centuries of steady accumulation—cemented their dominance.
From this, one could easily understand the advantage that players possessed upon entering the game world. Their innate talents and above-average starting attributes already placed them on par with low-tier transcendents. What they lacked compared to the natives wasn't power—it was experience and mastery of skills.
Though many class users liked to call themselves transcendent, in truth, one only became a true transcendent when one of their attributes reached or exceeded 20 points.
When that happened, the system would automatically assign the player a special quest related to that attribute. Upon completion, the player would gain a permanent enhancement—an extraordinary trait. (For natives, this came not as a quest, but as a trial, an enlightenment, or some other test of will.)
For example, two warriors with 20 points in Constitution might each gain different traits: one could receive Diamond Skin, granting immense damage resistance; the other might unlock Rapid Regeneration, healing from wounds at superhuman speed. The specific reward depended on how each person fought and how well they completed the related quest.
Beyond that lay the next great threshold—25 points. When a transcendent pushed an attribute past 25, they would trigger a Legendary Difficulty quest. At that stage, the system would also evaluate whether the person's related attributes were sufficient.
This prevented absurd situations, like a player with 25 Strength and only 12 Constitution punching so hard that their arm shattered mid-swing, or a rogue with 25 Dexterity but only 14 Perception trying to slice a bullet in midair without even being able to see it.
As for why Charisma was excluded—well, that was obvious. It wouldn't be fair if the system prevented ugly people from becoming stronger, right?
In fact, many of the most powerful legendary transcendent among the natives had rather low Charisma stats. In a way, their plain looks spared them from many worldly temptations, allowing them to walk their difficult paths with fewer distractions.
The rumored 30-point attribute trials remained nothing more than legend. To date, there had been no known transcendent who had reached that level.
Among players, however, there was a persistent rumor: if one managed to push all six core attributes—Strength, Dexterity, Constitution, Perception, Intelligence, and Charisma—to 20 points each, they could… summon the Eternal Dragon by collecting seven Dragon Balls. No, wait—wrong legend.
The real claim was that one could unlock the mythical talent: [Perfect Body]. Naturally, this was treated as a running joke among players, much like the 30-point legend itself.
(End of Chapter)