Translator: CinderTL
"That's precisely what puzzles me."
Bronson's gaze was once again riveted to the red crystal in Roland's hand.
After a moment, he forced himself to look away, his brow furrowed as he began pacing back and forth in the cramped room. The soles of his shoes squeaked softly against the wooden floor.
After a long silence, his steps suddenly halted as if he'd remembered something important. He spoke slowly, his voice low and gravelly.
"I once read in an ancient text—the details are somewhat hazy now—but the general idea was this:"
Bronson looked out the window, the moonlight bathing his face in a silvery glow. His voice deepened and roughened as he continued.
"All things in this world follow the law of reincarnation."
"Like flowers that bloom in spring, wither in autumn, and eventually decay to nourish the soil. Like streams that cascade from mountain peaks, flow into the vast ocean, and then rise as clouds under the scorching sun, repeating the cycle endlessly. Like stars that are born, shine brightly, and then vanish in the vast night sky, their dust giving birth to new light."
As he spoke, he instinctively crossed one arm over his chest, his other hand curled into a fist resting against his chin.
After a long pause, he spoke hesitantly.
"So I'm wondering if Magic Elements might also follow this same law of reincarnation."
"You mean..."
Roland looked at the crystal in his hand, which shimmered with a faint red glow, and tentatively summarized, "The Magic Element is slowly reviving on this continent?"
"That's just my speculation, but..."
Bronson's brow furrowed deeper as he pointed at the red crystal in Roland's hand.
"I'd rather it be a coincidence, because from what I know, hundreds of years ago, this continent wasn't as barren and silent as it is now."
His gaze grew distant, his fingertips lightly tracing the tabletop as if touching a memory sealed by dust.
"Back then, the Magic Element flowed through the air like breath itself."
"Trees in the forests could grow hundreds of meters tall, their branches shimmering with a faint glow. The water in the streams wasn't just water; it was liquid Magic brimming with life force. A single sip could heal wounds. Even the most ordinary stones might develop sentience over centuries, becoming living stones."
"Wizards weren't as rare and mysterious as they are now. They walked between cities and wilderness, using Magic to build bridges, heal diseases, and even alter the weather."
"And ordinary people could perform simple rituals to borrow Magic from nature for minor tasks, like lighting a fire or ripening crops. It was an era where humans and Magic coexisted."
Roland listened intently, the red crystal in his hand seeming to respond to the description by growing slightly warm.
"But later..." Bronson's voice suddenly grew heavy.
"Magic began to wane. No one knows the exact reason, but according to ancient texts, when Magic began to dry up, the people of that era called it the Year of the Apocalypse, because they knew a glorious age was about to end."
"Wizards found it increasingly difficult to cast spells, and the light of the forests gradually dimmed. Creatures that relied on Magic either went extinct or devolved into their current forms."
He gave a bitter smile and pointed toward the dark night sky outside the window.
"Look, the night sky now is lit only by the stars themselves. But records say that hundreds of years ago, the heavens were once draped in auroras of Magic, like flowing silk or mist, dazzling beyond description."
He paused, a complex mix of longing and worry flashing in his eyes.
"But that era was also filled with danger."
"The demonic beasts nourished by Magic were far more formidable than those of today. They were massive, cunning, and ferocious, some even possessing intelligence comparable to humans."
"Humans, Elves, Dwarves... all races had to unite just to barely drive them back into the dark corners of the world."
Roland lowered his head, gazing at the crystal, and murmured, "So... if the Magic Element is truly reviving..."
"If the Magic Element revives, even if demonic beasts have degenerated to their current weakened state, they will adapt far faster than we will. Other races will need time to relearn magic, but demonic beasts? They need only instinct."
Bronson's voice grew hoarse as he spoke, his tone becoming increasingly urgent.
"And what about Dwarves, Elves, and Orcs? These races have grown weaker since the Year of the Apocalypse, forcing them to retreat into hiding."
"But if the Magic Element truly begins to revive, will they really be content to let humanity continue to dominate this continent?"
Roland gripped the red crystal in his hand, his knuckles turning white.
"So, the revival of the Magic Element doesn't just mean the return of magic."
"It also means the return of war."
Bronson shook his head slowly.
"The Year of the Apocalypse ended the last era. Now... we may be standing at the dawn of another."
Silence fell over the room.
Seeing Roland's furrowed brow, Bronson snapped out of his vivid description. He cleared his throat awkwardly, the earlier fervor completely gone.
"Roland, you really don't need to worry so much..."
Bronson reverted to his usual timid demeanor, his fingers unconsciously twisting the hem of his robe.
"What I said just now... those were just records from ancient texts. If... I mean, if..."
Bronson stammered, his gaze darting around as if searching for the right words.
After a moment of silence, he suddenly looked up, a spark of insight flashing in his eyes.
"If you know enough, you'll realize that history is like a blank parchment, free for later generations to write on as they please. Besides..."
He paused, his voice growing steadier.
"Even if the Magic Element truly begins to revive, it would take at least several centuries to reach its peak, the state it was in before the Year of the Apocalypse."
"By then, you and I will have long turned to dust. We won't have to worry about what happens then."
"I understand your point, Mr. Bronson."
Roland nodded gently.
Undeniably, Bronson's description of the Year of the Apocalypse had deeply shaken him.
Now that he had calmed down, the horrifying scenes seemed almost unreal.
Roland looked down at his tattered sleeve, then out the window at the muddy manor path.
Life here was virtually indistinguishable from that of medieval Europe.
If he hadn't personally witnessed the rumored kobolds, he might have thought this was a world devoid of magic.
And the Year of the Apocalypse Bronson had spoken of...
It was like a mythical era.
Magic Element tides swept across the continent, and magic was as commonplace as breathing.
Compared to this impoverished backwater where even lighting depended on oil lamps, it was a completely different world.
Roland took a deep breath, pushing Bronson's words to the back of his mind for now.
He calmed his racing thoughts, then suddenly looked up as if remembering something, a meaningful curve forming on his lips.
"Mr. Bronson, everything you just said..."
He deliberately drew out his words, taking a step forward.
"Even those high-and-mighty noble lords might not know this. So..."
"Who exactly are you?"
"Uh..."
As he watched Roland's increasingly robust physique, Bronson involuntarily took two steps back, his expression growing strange.
This scene felt familiar.
It was like the day in the mess hall when he had questioned Roland about where he had learned the term "Silver Dust."
"This little guy... is he doing this on purpose or by accident?"
Recalling Roland's somewhat flustered demeanor that day, Bronson muttered a few words under his breath before simply sitting back in his chair and spreading his hands.
"Alright, Roland, since we've come this far and you've already agreed to be my assistant, I won't hide anything from you."
His expression suddenly turned melancholic.
"I come from the High Tower, the legendary dwelling place of Wizards. But because I could never master the Meditation Technique, I was expelled."
"And if you're still curious about the High Tower, I'm sorry..."
Bronson chuckled bitterly and tapped his temple with a finger.
"A curse has been placed on me, just like in those dime novels. Any attempt to reveal the secrets of the High Tower will result in instant death."
"To be honest, even my own recent memories are starting to fade. Everything about the High Tower is slowly disappearing from my mind."
Roland wasn't particularly surprised by this answer.
After spending time with Bronson and their earlier conversation, he had already guessed his true identity.
Even if he wasn't a Wizard himself, he was undoubtedly closely connected to them.
Seeing Roland's calm reaction, Bronson seemed unwilling to let his secret be exposed so easily. He quickly recovered and retorted, "So what about you, Roland? What exactly are you?"
"Me?" Roland smiled faintly. "Just an ordinary person with a bit of talent for forging."
In the end, Bronson failed to pry the answer he sought from Roland.
After all, Roland couldn't reveal the truth about his Job Panel.
But as Bronson himself had admitted, he wasn't one to pry too deeply.
Seeing Roland's reluctance to elaborate, he didn't press further, instead moving on to discuss the specific scheduling for Roland's assistant duties.
As they walked along the quiet manor path, the smile on Roland's face gradually faded. Bronson's descriptions of the recent demonic beast disturbances in the Black Cedar Forest and the Dawn Territory flooded his mind, stirring a sense of urgency within him.
"I must improve my strength as quickly as possible!"
With that thought, Roland quickened his pace back to his dormitory.
After a quick wash, he lay down on his bed and drifted into sleep almost instantly.
He hadn't wasted any time, nor had Bronson's words kept him tossing and turning.
After all, tomorrow was the day of the Blacksmith Apprentice Assessment.
(End of the Chapter)
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