Translator: CinderTL
In the Golden Valley Kingdom, literacy rates among commoners were low. Most people considered it a success if they could write their own names.
Roland and Sean, who had received free education at Parish Schools funded by the Church in their youth, were considered rare "cultured individuals."
Yet even after poring over the parchment for hours, they couldn't decipher its contents.
Roland's fingertips traced the faded ink repeatedly, beads of sweat forming on his forehead.
After a long struggle, he could only barely make out the words "Silverleaf Grass" and "Nightshade Vine."
The rest of the text remained completely incomprehensible.
This was the first time since his transmigration that Roland truly understood the importance of literacy.
After all, the parchment looked ancient and had been deliberately sewn into the lining of the leather armor—it clearly held significant value.
"Forget it, buddy. These damn words are giving me a headache."
Sean collapsed onto the ground like a rain-soaked loaf of bread, waving his hand weakly.
"You keep it for now. If it were mine, I'd probably never figure out what it says in my entire life."
Roland didn't refuse.
The two of them thoroughly checked their surroundings again, ensuring nothing had been overlooked, before turning to leave the forest.
The journey back was uneventful, and they arrived at the Manor before noon.
"Listen, buddy, you need to stay safe while I'm gone. If anything happens, go to my father or Uncle Peyton. I've already told them to look after you. And..."
Sean rambled on for ages, sounding like a nagging old woman, before finally shutting up.
After a reluctant wave goodbye, he continued down the road.
Watching Sean's figure recede into the distance, Roland took a deep breath and turned to enter the Manor gates.
He skillfully hid his belongings in a concealed spot before hurrying toward the blacksmith shop.
As soon as he crossed the threshold, Roland felt dozens of eyes fix on him, one gaze particularly piercing.
He glanced over to see Marco glaring at him, his freckled face twisted with fury, teeth grinding audibly.
"How did this bastard come back without a scratch?" Marco's knuckles whitened as he gripped the iron tongs.
"Did that useless Sam take the money and not do the job?"
Roland absorbed the venomous glare, confirming his suspicions.
Heh, so it was this guy who sent someone after me!
After a cold chuckle in his mind, Roland subtly scanned the surroundings, noticing that more than half the apprentices were missing from the blacksmith shop.
With the deadline for Hawk's assembly approaching, it was clear that many, like Sean, had given up on the assessment two months from now.
Most of those who stayed are the blacksmith's children.
Roland's gaze swept over the few remaining youths whose forging skills rivaled Marco's and were only slightly inferior to his own. A sudden tension gripped him, instantly dispelling the relaxed mood from his vacation.
"Everyone, stop what you're doing!"
The booming voice preceded the figure.
Hawk strode into the blacksmith shop with his hands clasped behind his back, coming to a halt before the assembled apprentices.
After a curt nod to Roland, he announced in a deep voice, "Before the break, I told you I would test your knowledge today."
The old blacksmith shifted his hands from behind his back, unfurling a cheap scroll made of birch bark and linen.
The dense, cramped writing on the scroll made Roland's scalp tingle.
"Now, come forward one by one and read the contents of this cloth scroll!"
Time dragged on under the oppressive atmosphere, and before they knew it, twilight had quietly enveloped the land.
Roland stood among the dejected apprentices, his head bowed and shoulders slumped slightly.
Thunderous roars echoed through the blacksmith shop, shaking their eardrums.
On the other side, Marco and the other apprentices who had passed the assessment exchanged smug glances and stifled laughter, their heads lowered.
Hawk's face flushed crimson, veins bulging on his thick neck as he gripped the cloth scroll so tightly it rustled.
"You blockheads! You can't even understand the most basic contract terms! How will you negotiate with trade caravans in the future? How will you calculate ore prices?"
He slammed the scroll onto the nearby anvil with a dull thud.
Several apprentices flinched, burying their heads even lower.
"Look at what it says here: 'If the delivered goods fail to meet the specified standards, the deposit must be repaid twofold.' Such a simple sentence, and you still stumble over it! You can't even recognize the word 'repayment'!"
He sneered, his gaze sweeping across the group.
"At this rate, even a vegetable vendor on the street could swindle you out of your entire fortune!"
"You worthless trash! You think you can make it in the blacksmithing trade? You'd be better off going back to farming!"
The blacksmith shop fell silent, broken only by the occasional crackle of the furnace.
Hawk panted heavily, his chest heaving violently as if trying to expel all the pent-up rage within him.
Just then, a timid voice broke the tension.
"Mr. Hawk, should I... step aside?"
"No, Mr. Bronson, you've come at the perfect time," Hawk roared, barely suppressing his fury.
"Idiots! Look up! This is Mr. Bronson, the teacher responsible for imparting knowledge to you!"
Hearing this, Roland raised his head.
Beside Hawk stood a tall, gaunt man.
He appeared to be around thirty years old, his back hunched, and his loose gray robe made him look even more frail.
Long, slender fingers nervously tugged at his disheveled brown hair, his gaze perpetually lowered.
Whenever Hawk raised his voice, the man instinctively shrank into the shadows, like a startled quail.
The surrounding apprentices immediately began whispering among themselves upon seeing the newcomer's appearance.
"This guy? He's supposed to be our teacher?"
"What's wrong? Do you know him?"
"My uncle said he's from the Capital, chasing after nobles like a beggar, begging for research funding all the way from the Capital to our town."
Capital? Research funding?
These unfamiliar terms from this world entered Roland's ears, but he paid them little attention.
At that moment, his mind was consumed by how to master more written characters as quickly as possible.
Marco and his group had already passed the knowledge assessment and could now focus entirely on honing their forging skills, while Roland still had to divide his attention between studying and practicing.
This brief head start could allow these blacksmith apprentices, who had grown up wielding hammers since childhood, to catch up—or even surpass his forging skills.
"And then there's strength training and the blacksmith job change... Tsk, the blacksmith apprentice assessment is in two months. Seems like I'm running out of time."
Just as his thoughts were racing, a thunderous clap abruptly interrupted his train of thought.
"Silence!"
Hawk clapped his hands forcefully, the dull sound echoing through the blacksmith shop.
"I'm giving you one month."
The old blacksmith's voice rang out like a hammer striking an anvil—powerful and resonant.
"After that, anyone who fails the knowledge assessment will pack their bags and leave! Is that clear?"
(End of the Chapter)
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