Who Says I’m Not a Legitimate Adventurer?

Lance carefully pondered the descriptions of those two entries.

The practical combat effects brought by these two traits were simply too powerful.

Especially the second one.

This ability to ignore magical shields was absolutely the nightmare of every fragile mage.

And the Armor Melting effect that permanently weakened defenses was enough to strike fear into any enemy.

Every enchanted suit of armor in this world was worth a fortune.

With this Armor Melting attribute, he would become a walking weapon-destruction specialist on future battlefields.

As long as a prolonged battle dragged on long enough, even an opponent clad in the highest-grade heavy plate armor would eventually be smashed into a pile of scrap metal by him.

No matter how many layers of armor they wore, he could practically beat them right out of their clothes.

Lance calmed the excitement surging within him.Every person’s Source Essence, condensed after igniting their Source Furnace, was unique.

All kinds of bizarre and extraordinary effects emerged endlessly.

He recalled the details of his previous battle with Buck, the Ghoulhound leader.

Even back then, he had noticed that when Buck activated his Source Essence, he not only gained a forced escape opportunity that allowed him to break free from being locked onto, but could also strengthen himself in reverse based on the severity of his enemy’s injuries.

After reviewing everything following his class advancement, Lance felt that he might have somewhat underestimated the true combat power of veteran professionals.

Back then, when he killed Buck as an unadvanced mortal—

Part of it was due to the two rare skills he possessed, combined with the overwhelming attribute suppression of Red Dragon Transmutation.

But looking back now, luck had also played a major role.

Before Buck came seeking revenge, he had already suffered extremely serious injuries.

In truth, Lance had taken advantage of an opportunity.

As for the two so-called Professional-Rank monsters he encountered afterward—

That Hobgoblin was practically a disgrace among Professional-Rank monsters, lacking any real skill whatsoever.

And that troll was essentially just a mutated juvenile. It might not even have qualified as a genuine Professional-Rank magical beast.

But from this point onward—

Now that he had officially stepped through the gate into the world of professionals, the stage before him would become far broader.

The opponents he would face would all be experienced professional Adventurers who had spent years dancing on the edge of life and death.

They would each possess different Source Essences, talents, classes, skills, and specialties.

That meant every future battle against another person would place even greater demands on his adaptability in combat.

Even though he had successfully advanced into a Legacy Class today—

There was no way he could immediately begin mindlessly crushing rare classes or even ordinary classes whose levels were higher than his.

Because the fundamental rules of this world were right there.

The true differences between classes were more reflected in their long-term growth curves.

Take class specialties, for example. The higher their levels became, the more powerful their derived effects grew.

The dominance of a Legacy Class would only truly display its overwhelming advantage during the middle and later stages.

During the early Professional-Rank stages, everyone’s attributes had not yet reached an insurmountable gap.

But that only made things more interesting, didn’t it?

As a hardcore gamer in his previous life, Lance loved this kind of challenging experience deep down.

And Lance also realized that this world seemed to be constantly guiding everyone toward becoming more unique.

It was as though even if two people walked the same class path, as long as they persisted and advanced, each would eventually develop their own distinct style because of their individual peculiarities.

The world itself seemed to be telling everyone:

You are unique.

You possess limitless possibilities.

If this real alternate world were viewed as an immersive game, it might very well be the kind of game he had always hoped would exist in his previous life—a game with infinite possibilities.

Lance looked forward to it deeply.

At this point, the framework of Lance’s first class system had taken shape.

A hexagonal powerhouse with outstanding offense and defense.

On the offensive side, he possessed healing suppression, Armor Melting, and Spellbreaking.

On the defensive side, he could reduce damage and resist sneak attacks.

His trump cards were resurrection, continued combat after death, and turning hopeless situations around.

After reviewing all of these hard strengths, a small question suddenly arose in Lance’s mind.

The Dragon Form trait mentioned a Charisma bonus.

But how exactly was that reflected in reality?

Had it subtly adjusted his facial features?

Or altered the texture of his skin?

To answer that question, he felt he needed to look into a clear mirror and verify it personally.

There had originally been a brass mirror in the attic.

However, when he returned to his physical body from the Astral Realm earlier, the mirror had been damaged by the impact and its surface had become too blurred to function as a proper dressing mirror.

At present, the only intact mirror in the old house was located in Ayla’s room.

Lance decided to knock on her door right away.

That wolf girl had been sulking in her room for several days because of her earlier setback. Using the perfectly reasonable excuse of borrowing a mirror, he could also take the opportunity to drag her outside for some fresh air.

……

Inside the guest room at the end of the second-floor hallway.

The room was currently filled with an atmosphere of extreme relaxation and laziness.

If Ryan were to push open the door right now, he would probably be so angry that his heart condition would relapse on the spot.

Because the werewolf girl he believed was suffering from severe psychological trauma and spending every day crying alone in isolation—

Was actually living a heavenly life.

In truth, by the first night after receiving that forehead flick, all the frustration in Ayla’s heart had already completely disappeared.

As a werewolf, her nerves were far thicker than humans imagined.

If she could not win, she would submit.

That survival instinct was engraved into canine genes.

She herself had grown up being thoroughly disciplined by her aunt.

However, she quickly discovered that as long as she pretended to look depressed and absent-minded, that lame veteran would not force her to study those tadpole-like Common Language letters.

In fact, because her acting was so convincing, Ryan had not restricted her movements at all these past few days.

Instead, he prepared hearty meals and rich soups for her every day.

It was practically turning misfortune into a blessing.

At this moment, Ayla was lying on a soft bed.

She wore only a thin white camisole.

Her two long, toned legs boldly clamped around her large tail.

Because her sleeping posture was far too uninhibited, the edge of her camisole had rolled upward, exposing a section of her healthy, flat stomach.

She tightly hugged her fluffy gray tail with both arms, treating it like a giant body pillow, while burying her entire face in the soft fur.

A glistening strand of drool slowly flowed from the corner of her slightly open mouth, nearly dripping onto the bedsheet.

The scene carried a youthful charm that was naturally enticing.

Yet because of her completely defenseless and somewhat silly sleeping posture, it also appeared adorably innocent.

Just as she was dreaming of devouring an entire roasted sheep—