Translator: CinderTL
Roland's body trembled violently, cold sweat pouring down like rain.
The silvery liquid writhed like a living creature, frantically burrowing into his pores before oozing back out, carrying with it a dark reddish substance.
With each cycle, the liquid's silvery sheen faded, gradually reverting to a murky, grayish-black state.
Throughout this process, Roland could distinctly feel something being forcibly extracted from within him.
Muscles, bones, blood, and even deeper impurities were being torn away by the bizarre liquid.
Waves of excruciating pain crashed over him, threatening to crush his consciousness, yet his body remained rigidly fixed by an invisible force, denying him even the relief of collapsing.
Simultaneously, lines of golden text flashed incessantly before his eyes:
[Mithril Body Tempering Technique learned. Current level: Lv. 1]
[You have successfully cultivated the Mithril Body Tempering Technique once. Gained 1 experience point.]
[You have successfully cultivated the Mithril Body Tempering Technique once.]
[You have successfully cultivated...]
But Roland had no attention to spare for such distractions.
"Ugh... Aaaah!"
The sound that forced its way from his throat was hoarse and broken.
His eyes were bloodshot, and his vision began to darken, yet his consciousness remained stubbornly clear, refusing to let him faint.
As his fingernails dug deeper into his palm, blood dripped down his wrist, only to be instantly devoured upon contact with the gray-black powder.
After what felt like an eternity, the liquid finally lost its silvery sheen, reverting to dry, gray-black powder that cascaded off his body with a rustling sound. The binding force vanished abruptly.
Roland's legs buckled, and he collapsed heavily to his knees.
"Ha... ha..."
He gasped for breath, his throat burning as if seared by a hot iron. Cold sweat drenched his entire body, forming a small puddle on the ground.
It took a long while for Roland to regain his senses. His gaze refocused on the Job Panel before him.
"Just one session of cultivation and I gained thirty-four experience points? And..."
His eyes darted downward, his voice trembling with shock.
"My strength attribute increased by 0.7!"
The number left Roland in disbelief.
Previously, even with conscious strength training, he had barely managed to increase his strength by 0.1 per month.
Later, even with the added bonus of "hundred-refined steel" to accelerate his progress, it still took him half a month of grueling training to increase his strength by a mere 0.1 point.
Now, a single session of the Mithril Body Tempering Technique had yielded results equivalent to over three months of sweat and effort.
The sheer disparity in efficiency made Roland gasp deeply, slowly exhaling as he struggled to calm the surging excitement in his chest.
Once his heart rate gradually returned to normal, he lowered his head to examine his body closely.
The previously faint muscle definition had become sharply defined, each muscle group now displaying a firm, powerful contour.
Even more astonishingly, his skin had become as fair and delicate as a newborn's, radiating a healthy, vibrant glow.
The minor scratches he had sustained during the kobold fight the previous night had completely vanished, as if purified by some mysterious force.
"And this is only because I lacked the Knight's Breathing Technique, which severely diminished the tempering effect," Roland recalled the words on the parchment, his heart burning with anticipation.
"If I could cultivate with the breathing technique..."
But after a moment, he regained his composure and slowly shook his head.
Although his access to information channels was severely limited, Roland had heard whispers of the legendary Knight's Breathing Technique.
In the Golden Valley Kingdom, the Knight's Breathing Technique was a closely guarded secret of the noble class, strictly controlled by the great families and never leaked except under extraordinary circumstances.
Given his current status and position, it was utterly impossible for him to ever come into contact with such a precious treasure.
Well, obtaining the Mithril Body Tempering Technique was already an unexpected blessing. Besides...
Roland's lips curled into a slight smile as he glanced at the number next to the Mithril Body Tempering Technique in his Job Panel.
A maximum of 100 experience points means I can cultivate the Mithril Body Tempering Technique at least two more times. And I'm only one point of strength away from the four required to advance to the blacksmith class. However...
Feeling the faint stinging sensation of the breeze against his skin, Roland recalled the words on the parchment and pondered.
Given my current physical condition, I'll probably need to wait a few more days before attempting the second cultivation.
With that thought, Roland changed into his spare clothes and pushed open the door.
The deadline for the Scholastic Test was only a few days away.
He couldn't afford to miss the assessment opportunity a month later due to failing the test.
The blacksmith shop still echoed with the rhythmic clang of forging, but the firelight that had illuminated the village the previous night had clearly dampened everyone's spirits.
Marco and the apprentice boys worked silently, heads bowed, none noticing Roland's arrival.
Only Hawk, leaning against the wall, glanced up and gently placed a calloused hand on Roland's shoulder.
"Boy..."
A flicker of surprise crossed Hawk's eyes as his rough fingers unconsciously rubbed against Roland's tunic.
"I didn't expect you to come back alive."
He sighed, stopping himself from asking about the previous night's events, and instead raised his grizzled eyebrows.
"Can you read all the characters now?"
"Yes, Mr. Hawk."
"Good."
Hawk turned to Marco and the others, giving them a few instructions, then beckoned Roland over.
"Come with me."
Their leather boots thudded heavily on the stone-paved path.
After crossing the courtyard cluttered with farming tools, they entered a spacious storeroom.
Sunlight streamed through high windows, illuminating motes of dust suspended in the air.
Hawk retrieved a yellowed scrap of cloth from an oak cabinet and pressed it into Roland's palm.
"Read."
Hearing this simple command, Roland lowered his gaze to the faded fabric, his mind racing through the knowledge he had acquired.
After quickly scanning the text to confirm its accuracy, his clear voice resonated through the storeroom as he began to read aloud.
Hawk's usually calm expression gradually softened, his brow unfurrowing as surprise flickered in his eyes.
As Roland finished reading the final passage, even correcting a few grammatical errors, the old blacksmith finally couldn't resist clapping his calloused hands together with a dull thud.
"Good lad!" Hawk's voice carried undisguised admiration. "I thought your exceptional talent for forging was impressive enough, but I never imagined you'd be so literate too."
He paused, recalling how just half a month ago, Roland had stumbled through reading even a simple contract. Now, he could read fluently and even point out grammatical flaws. Hawk clicked his tongue in amazement and declared decisively, "Alright, you've passed the Scholastic Test. From today onward, you can resume your training at the blacksmith shop as usual."
With that, he stepped forward and clapped his broad, calloused hand heavily on Roland's shoulder, his tone turning serious. "But don't think Marco and the others have been slacking off. They've been training harder than ever. If you want to win the assessment in a month, you'll have to give it everything you've got. Understand?"
"Yes!" Roland replied, his eyes burning with determination.
Hawk nodded in satisfaction at the unwavering resolve in Roland's gaze.
"By the way, Mr. Hawk," Roland said softly, remembering Bronson's request. He carefully omitted the details of his transaction with Silver Dust, simply explaining that he had agreed to help forge a dagger.
Hawk listened, then chuckled wryly.
"That stubborn old man hasn't changed a bit. Well, since he asked you for help, it's up to you. But..."
The blacksmith suddenly paused, his brow furrowing into a deep crease.
"Due to the war in the Black Cedar Forest, ore supplies are tight. I can only give you enough material for three iron ingots."
He held up three thick, stubby fingers and waved them in front of Roland's face.
"If you mess it up, you'll have to pay the market price. Understand?"
"Understood, Mr. Hawk," Roland nodded without hesitation.
With five silver coins still in his possession, he had more than enough to purchase a few ingots.
The two retraced their steps back to the blacksmith shop.
When Hawk announced that Roland could resume his forging training, the rhythmic clang of hammers momentarily ceased.
Marco and the other apprentices exchanged surprised glances.
None of them had expected this boy, who had once struggled to read even the simplest contracts, to actually pass the Scholastic Test in less than a month.
But soon, the hammers resumed their steady rhythm.
The apprentices worked with unwavering focus, faint smiles playing on their lips.
What did it matter if Roland returned?
Before his absence, they had already considered their forging skills to be roughly equal to his.
And after a month of relentless practice, their skills had improved by leaps and bounds.
As for Roland, who had neglected his training, he had likely grown rusty even with the most basic forging techniques.
Among the group, only Marco frowned slightly.
But seeing the increasingly refined forging skills of his companions, he said nothing and continued to swing his hammer in silence.
Ignoring the others' slightly mocking glances, Roland went to the anvil in the corner.
He skillfully pumped the bellows, smelted ore, and forged tools.
Having confirmed that his skills hadn't deteriorated, he didn't bother accumulating further experience in crafting finished tools. Instead, he retrieved the blueprints Bronson had given him earlier from his pocket.
In a few days, he would be able to increase his strength through the Mithril Body Tempering Technique and officially become a blacksmith.
At that point, he could examine the additional traits granted by the blacksmith profession and tailor his training accordingly.
For now, it was better to focus on completing Bronson's commissioned dagger forging and see if he could close the deal sooner.
Out of principle, he disliked owing people favors.
And logically...
Thinking of Bronson's mysterious side that day, Roland frowned slightly and lowered his head to study the blueprints in his hand.
Tsk.
Despite having studied the blueprint countless times, the sheer difficulty of forging this dagger still made him click his tongue in exasperation.
Bronson's requested dagger was unlike any ordinary weapon.
Its overall shape resembled a short sword, with unremarkable tip and pommel. However, the central portion curved inward, narrowing into a cylindrical shape.
This peculiar structure posed immense challenges to both forging and ore smelting techniques.
Moreover, the cylindrical section required intricate, densely packed lines to be carved with a file.
The slightest misstep could cause the entire middle section to snap.
And those lines...
Roland's fingers traced the patterns on the blueprint, his brow furrowing deeper.
He sensed that these lines weren't as random as they appeared, but rather followed some peculiar, underlying pattern.
In some areas, they clustered as tightly as spiderwebs, while in others they spread out sparsely. At the curves, they even exhibited subtle arcs, as if guiding something.
This thing... doesn't seem like mere decoration.
(End of the Chapter)
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