Translator: CinderTL
Having learned from his previous experience, Roland effortlessly navigated the shaded path and arrived at the village once again.
However, the scene before him was starkly different from the festive atmosphere he remembered. The village now felt eerily deserted.
Though it wasn't yet noon, many shops were already shuttered, wooden signs reading "Closed" hanging on their doors.
Scattered pedestrians hurried through the streets, many carrying travel packs and fleeing toward the village entrance with terrified expressions.
"What's going on here?" Roland muttered to himself, his mind racing with questions as he entered the familiar tavern by the roadside.
The once-bustling tavern was now empty, save for a hunched old man behind the counter, tidying up.
Hearing footsteps, the old man flinched violently. Only when he recognized Roland did he exhale in relief.
"What'll it be, lad?"
After purchasing several bottles of wine and stowing them in his pack, Roland seized the opportunity to ask, "Has something happened in the village?"
"You don't know?" Lauren looked up at Roland in surprise before resuming his work, his voice raspy as he explained, "A massive horde of demonic beasts has emerged in the Dawn Territory to the south, already ravaging nearly half the villages. And that damned Baron Gavin—"
At this point, Lauren suddenly gritted his teeth, clenching the rag in his hand.
"After organizing his army, he didn't exterminate the demonic beasts. Instead, he drove those mongrels toward us!"
"Kid, I advise you to leave this place immediately."
Carrying Lauren's warning, Roland had barely stepped out of the shop when he heard the heavy thud of marching footsteps.
Turning toward the sound, he saw a column of soldiers advancing southward in formation.
The leaders looked familiar—they were the guards from the manor.
"Even the standing army has been mobilized?"
Unlike the militia hastily conscripted from the Black Cedar Forest, these regular soldiers were clad in full armor, wielding sharp iron weapons. They were the elite force under Baron Forslin's command.
The fact that even they had been deployed to defend against the demonic beasts showed the extraordinary scale of this invasion.
Seeing the standing army mobilized, many villagers who had been planning to flee hesitated and stopped in their tracks.
But Roland grew even more vigilant.
Once the army had completely passed, he immediately hurried to the apothecary he remembered.
Fortunately, the shop was still open.
After purchasing the ingredients according to the copied recipe, Roland turned toward Sean's house.
From a distance, he saw someone standing at the door, waving him over—it was Sean's uncle, Peyton.
"What's this, kid? Are you planning to follow Sean's example and abandon the assessment?"
Unlike the other panicked villagers, Peyton remained his usual laid-back self, a straw dangling from his lips.
"Too bad things are so chaotic lately. I'd already spoken to Lauren about getting you a job as his assistant."
Roland ignored his teasing.
"Uncle Peyton, have you heard about what's happening in the Dawn Territory?"
"Of course, I'm not deaf." Peyton nodded toward the house.
Gary was packing his belongings, clearly preparing to evacuate like the other villagers.
"We're leaving tonight. What about you? Why aren't you staying safe at the manor? What brings you back here at a time like this? It's much safer there than out here."
"Just handling some personal matters." Roland pulled out the wine he'd bought at the tavern and handed it over. "And thought I'd drop by to see you all."
"Whoa!" Peyton's eyes lit up as he snatched the flask, eagerly uncorked it, and took a long swig.
His Adam's apple bobbed as he wiped the wine-stained stubble from his chin, his eyebrows arching slightly.
"You're much more sensible than that idiot Sean. So, what's your angle this time?"
Having known Peyton for some time and with urgency pressing, Roland skipped the formalities and cut straight to the point.
"Uncle Peyton, I've practiced the basic swordsmanship you taught me last time to a decent level. So... I'd like to learn a new technique from you."
Asking Peyton for swordsmanship lessons had been part of Roland's plan since leaving the manor.
The training ground's tuition was prohibitively expensive, and Roland had no other way to learn combat skills. He had no choice but to ask Peyton for guidance again.
With this thought, he pulled a coin pouch from his chest.
Of the eight silver coins he'd earned from his previous counterattack, five remained after buying medicinal herbs—exactly the price Peyton had quoted earlier.
However, to Roland's surprise, Peyton didn't reach for the coins. Instead, he pushed the pouch back, patting the iron sword at his waist.
"I told you before, five silver coins for a month's training for you and Sean. Didn't you two offer this thing as payment last time?"
With that, he tilted his head back and drained the wine flask in one gulp.
"But we only have this afternoon. How much you learn depends entirely on your aptitude."
Before the words had even left his mouth, Peyton turned and strode toward the open space behind the house.
Seeing this, Roland nodded to Gary, who was packing his luggage, set down his own pack, and hurried after him.
Peyton stopped in the open space, casually snapped off a tree branch, and tested its weight.
"Watch closely, kid."
He flicked his wrist.
"Basic swordsmanship can keep you alive, but this..."
The branch slashed through the air in a swift arc.
"...is Lion Swordsmanship, used by the Golden Valley Kingdom's regular army. It's designed specifically for battlefield combat."
"Military Swordsmanship? Didn't Sean say Peyton used to be a mercenary?"
Before Roland could ponder further, Peyton's figure suddenly moved.
His movements were astonishingly swift, the tree branch blurring into a series of afterimages.
Thrust, slash, backswing.
Each strike was clean and precise, devoid of any unnecessary flourishes.
What truly unnerved Roland were the cunning angles of attack.
Peyton targeted the throat, armpits, and backs of the knees—vulnerable spots where armor offered little protection.
Amidst the swirling dust, Peyton abruptly halted, the tip of the branch stopping a mere inch from Roland's throat.
His expression remained impassive, his breathing steady.
"Did you see that?"
Fine beads of sweat dotted Roland's forehead.
This swordsmanship was utterly different from the basic techniques he had learned before.
There were no defensive stances, no parrying techniques—every strike radiated raw killing intent.
The seemingly casual variations concealed deadly follow-up moves.
"Too fast," Roland admitted honestly, wiping the sweat from his forehead before looking up to plead.
"Uncle Peyton, could you demonstrate it again?"
Peyton raised an eyebrow but reassumed his stance.
"Alright, kid. Since you gave me that iron sword..."
Seeing Peyton prepare again, Roland quickly took a deep breath and quietly activated his [Focus] trait.
In an instant, the surrounding sounds faded away, leaving only Peyton's figure in Roland's field of vision.
To Roland, everything seemed to slow down.
He could clearly see each muscle in Peyton's body contract, the rhythm of his breathing, even the precise arc of the branch as it sliced through the air.
Details that had been imperceptible in his normal state now unfolded before him, as if dissected and laid bare.
As Peyton completed his final, razor-sharp flourish, Roland's pupils contracted slightly.
He had not only memorized the entire sequence of movements but also grasped the tactical intent behind each strike.
Which were feints, which were lethal blows, and which were designed to force an opponent to reveal an opening.
"Well?" Peyton asked, sheathing the branch. He noticed Roland's gaze had become unusually sharp.
"Uncle Peyton," Roland said, his voice slightly detached, "the variation in the third strike isn't just a diagonal slash. You adjusted your wrist angle mid-swing to counter a shield block, didn't you?"
The branch in Peyton's hand snapped in two with a crack.
His usually languid expression froze completely, and his perpetually half-closed eyes widened for the first time.
He instinctively took a half-step back, as if seeing the young man before him for the first time.
"Damn it," Peyton muttered, his voice trembling slightly.
"Have you studied this swordsmanship before?"
"No," Roland replied.
As the Focus trait deactivated, Roland felt a sudden wave of dizziness and had to lean against the fence behind him to steady himself.
"Then how do you know it?"
Remembering Roland's rapid progress in learning basic swordsmanship, Peyton simply shook his head and casually picked up a branch from the ground, tossing it to Roland.
"Forget it. Just demonstrate it for me."
"Alright, Uncle Peyton."
Roland caught the branch and, relying on the memory in his mind, perfectly replicated the Lion Swordsmanship.
Though his strength and speed were far inferior to Peyton's, and the transitions between moves were somewhat stiff, his movements were remarkably precise.
Peyton stared at Roland for a long moment before letting out a self-mocking chuckle.
If he hadn't known that Lion Swordsmanship was only taught to soldiers in the regular army, he would have almost believed the boy had already mastered the technique and come here specifically to mock him.
"Tch."
Recalling the years of grueling practice he had endured to master Lion Swordsmanship, Peyton clicked his tongue in frustration.
Dragging his feet, Roland slumped under the shade of a tree, collapsing onto the ground with a lazy wave of his hand.
"Alright, kid. I've taught you all I can. The rest is up to you to master through practice."
"Thank you, Uncle Peyton!" Roland bowed slightly in gratitude, then glanced at the golden subtitles floating before him, licking his lips in anticipation.
Lion Swordsmanship learned. Current level: Lv. 1
"Just as I suspected! The [ focus ] trait isn't limited to academic learning!"
"Activating [ focus ] allowed me to awaken Lion Swordsmanship—a technique far more advanced than basic swordsmanship—after just one demonstration and one practice session! However..."
Rubbing his throbbing temples, Roland sighed softly.
"It seems the mental energy required to activate [ focus ] varies depending on the complexity of the skill being learned. This two-minute activation cost more energy than the five minutes I used to learn writing last time."
After a moment to recover, Roland clenched his fist, recalling the extraordinary sensation of learning under [ focus ].
"With my current mental attributes, I should be able to activate the focus trait to learn most skills, as long as they aren't too complex or difficult. This would drastically reduce the time required to awaken new skills! This is simply—"
His thoughts were abruptly interrupted by a wave of intense dizziness.
Roland staggered, a wave of exhaustion washing over him.
"The feeling of mental exhaustion is truly unbearable," he thought, dragging his heavy feet to the shade of a tree beside Peyton and slowly sinking to the ground, leaning against the trunk.
"I should rest for a while."
Roland closed his eyes, letting the fatigue engulf him like a rising tide.
He didn't know how long he'd been resting when a piercing scream tore through the night.
Roland's eyes snapped open. The sky was now completely dark.
Even more alarming, the distant horizon glowed orange-red with fire, thick smoke billowing into the night sky.
"What's happening?"
Roland pushed himself up, his nostrils immediately catching the heavy stench of blood.
Then came the cacophony of screams, bestial roars, and...
Chewing sounds?
His blood froze instantly.
(End of the Chapter)
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