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"Argh, Shaman old man, Blacksmith uncle, the debt collector's here! Don't try to shortchange me on what you promised."

Don't mistake me for someone who doesn't respect the elderly or honor the wise. In my previous life, I had an arrogant and overbearing master, the Eastern Evil, and in this life, I became a werewolf with no regard for manners. Naturally, I rely on strength and fists to speak my mind. Now, with the father and son before me being my business partners, aside from research and production, I handle matters such as procurement, tools, and sales. Hence, my words carry weight. However, our friendship runs deep, making us old friends despite the age gap, so any bravado I display wouldn't be taken seriously.

"Haha, isn't this Xuanfeng? You've finally awoken from your hibernation? Come, come, test out the effects of my newly developed equipment."

"Shaman old man, I'm here to claim..."

"This is a masterpiece crafted with my elderly efforts. You're fortunate to be the first to experience its wonders."

"Hey, hey, hold on. The new equipment isn't important. I meant..."

"And this Ogreskin armor, lightweight and supple, with exceptional protection. Most importantly, it possesses incredible resistance to magic. Once worn, whether it's a magical beast or a mage, they'll all be at your mercy..."

"Enough, old man. Don't try to fool me with your usual sales tactics. Your expression gives it away - you're planning to renege again, aren't you?"

".................."

".................."

"Ahahaha, well... ahahaha."

"..............."

After an awkward silence, I finally gave up on pursuing the topic further.

"Never mind. I didn't really expect you to finish on time anyway. Give me the original set and whatever new equipment you mentioned, like that Ogre Hide Armor."

"Haha, don't worry, it'll definitely meet your expectations."

Grumbling, I accepted the box from the old Shaman, only to find a pair of peculiar gear inside - five black iron rings adorned with magical engravings, connected by a thin chain to a matching black iron bracer, forming a glove or gauntlet-like accessory. I lifted the clinking items and asked,

"Old man, what is this thing?"

"This is a piece from the Dark II series, the Ninth Edition - the Dark God's Fang Gauntlets. It's specifically designed for those who prefer using claws. The five Dark Festival Rings bear runes of Sharpness, Fortitude, Rending, Anti-Magic, and Paralysis. When worn, they can double your destructive power and mainly prevent the wearer from being disadvantaged against certain claw techniques.

"The magic bracer on the wrist not only absorbs free elements but also supplies magic power to the rings through five chains of Nether Iron. It can also summon a Dark Magic Shield Field to effectively block intermediate-level magic attacks. The entire gauntlet is ingeniously designed, its layout rational, simple yet sophisticated, practical and..."

Disregarding the old Shaman's incessant babbling, I slipped one fang gauntlet onto my left hand and focused my strength. In a moment, a cold sensation seemed to flow through my fingertips. With a "puff," my fingers sank into an iron ingot until they were buried to the knuckles, leaving five deep punctures behind.

Contemplating this, I raised my right hand, ungloved, and thrust once more. This time, sparks flew as the mark left by the Nine Yin White Bone Claw was only about one-third the size of the previous one on my left.

Deciding not to waste time with the old Shaman, I donned my gauntlets and slipped on the Ogreskin armor. Lifting the two large wooden chests that Blacksmith Uncle had brought out, I turned away from the seemingly dilapidated Blizzard Cottage and let the Snow Wolf carry the boxes as we galloped out of the village. I couldn't wait to test the newfound power of the revised Nine Yin Manual.

East of Snow Wolf Lake lay the towering peaks of the Eternal Sun Mountains. Following a narrow path into the mountains, I crossed several summits before arriving at a tunnel that pierced through the mountain. Descending from the opposite entrance led to a small valley – one of my favorite hunting grounds.

In the legendary tales sung by bards, young heroes often began their journeys by encountering hordes of magical beasts in enchanted forests or labyrinthine valleys. They would then proceed to slaughter them all, gaining immense strength and piles of magic cores, paving their way to conquer the world.

However, based on my personal experiences, I must say those stories are utter nonsense.

Firstly, magical beasts need to eat too, which means powerful ones typically have their own territories. One might find a single beast in a mountain or a few, but dreaming of an endless sea of beasts presenting you with their cores is pure fantasy.

Secondly, magical beasts need time to grow. Some originate from mutated ordinary creatures, while others inherit their traits through bloodlines. Regardless, it takes decades or even centuries for them to form a core. That's why magic cores fetch such high prices in the market. Although hunting magical beasts is challenging, there are still skilled hunters across the continent. The real reason for the scarcity of magic cores lies in the small number of beasts possessing them, making them difficult to find.

Thirdly, magical beasts are intelligent. As the saying goes, "the old who do not die are called thieves." Beasts that survive for over a century have grown strong through countless battles and killings. Their accumulated combat experience and survival skills can be more terrifying than their physical prowess and magic. In the Eternal Sun Mountains, where magical beasts congregate, none could have had an easy childhood. Concepts like "if you can't beat them, outsmart them" and "run when you can't win" are deeply ingrained in their instincts. They often use their familiarity with the terrain to lure hunters into traps, turning the tables on them. Skilled in reading situations and escaping, every magical beast is an excellent hunter and a master of evasion.

When I first started hunting magical beasts, I often went months without success. I frequently found myself outwitted by weaker beasts, barely escaping with my life. Encountering stronger opponents, I'd flee in disgrace (as a Werewolf, running away was somewhat fitting). And when I finally stumbled upon suitable prey after a hard-fought battle, I could only watch helplessly as they escaped most of the time.