Translator: CinderTL
"Father!"
As Roland's footsteps faded into the distance, Darco finally lost his composure, furrowing his brow in frustration.
"Why did you only give Roland a month to study the Momentum Slash?"
"You know how difficult it is to master! Even a year or two might not be enough for Roland to grasp it, let alone a single month!"
Baron Forslin didn't immediately respond to his son's question.
He picked up his porcelain cup, took a slow sip of red tea, and exhaled a long stream of hot air before speaking calmly.
"Darco, what is your status?"
"Father, why are you suddenly asking this?" Darco stammered, taken aback.
"Answer me!"
The gentle smile on Baron Forslin's face vanished instantly, his voice hardening.
Seeing his father's stern expression, Darco lowered his head and replied obediently, "I am Darco Collins, the eldest son of the Collins Family..."
"I asked about your status! Your status!" Baron Forslin slammed his finger against the table, the sharp, rapid tapping making Darco flinch.
"A noble! I am a noble!"
Darco quickly corrected himself.
"Hmph!"
Baron Forslin snorted, his expression softening slightly. He turned sideways, his sharp gaze fixed on Darco.
"Then, what is the status of that boy named Roland?"
"A... commoner?" Darco hesitated.
"Correct." Baron Forslin nodded slightly, then gestured to a nearby chair, signaling his son to sit. "But you should add some prefixes to that."
The baron stroked the chair's armrest, his gaze deep and thoughtful as he spoke slowly.
"He is a commoner with astonishing talent in forging and remarkable skill in swordsmanship. Do you know that just three months ago, he couldn't even perform the most basic forging techniques? He was so frail that he was bullied daily by the other apprentices. But now..."
The baron paused, his voice tinged with amazement.
"His forging skills have left even Mr. Hawk speechless. And in terms of martial arts, he led you, this burden, through a goblin-infested forest, and..."
"Father..."
Darco tugged at his sleeve, muttering in defense, "I'm not a burden. I just let my guard down for a moment."
"Silence!"
Seeing his son's pathetic state, Baron Forslin couldn't help but sigh, pressing his hand to his forehead.
"Darco, you're already eighteen. Attending the Knight Academy is inevitable. I understand you want to start building your own knightly retinue now, but..."
The baron's gaze burned with intensity as he spoke earnestly.
"Do you truly believe a genius like Roland would willingly serve as your army's blacksmith?"
"But... we're sworn brothers!" Darco protested urgently. "I don't have to make him a blacksmith. He can be my knight's squire instead."
"Sworn brothers?" Baron Forslin scoffed. "Darco, remember this: in this world, aside from blood ties, every relationship without a vested interest is unreliable. Do you understand?"
"I... I understand," Darco mumbled, his head bowed, but a flicker of defiance still shone in his eyes.
Seeing his son's stubbornness, Baron Forslin rubbed his temples wearily.
"Never mind. First things first..."
He said sternly, "When dealing with a talent like Roland, you can try to win him over, but you must never treat him like other commoners, bullying him with your noble status."
"How could I ever do such a thing?" Darco snapped his head up, eyes wide. "Roland isn't like other commoners. He's my best friend!"
At the word "friend," Baron Forslin's lips twitched noticeably. He suppressed his emotions and abruptly changed the subject.
"Secondly!" He tapped his finger sharply on the table, the crisp sound accompanying his stern reprimand. "You must remember this clearly: no matter how outstanding Roland's talent, he remains a commoner. You, however, are a noble!"
"You can bestow charity upon commoners, you can reward them, but you must never..." The Baron spoke each word deliberately. "...make promises lightly!"
"I don't want to see you offering our family's combat technique as collateral without my permission again. Do you understand?" Baron Forslin's voice suddenly turned sharp.
"But..." Darco mumbled softly. "Father, didn't you let Roland study the combat technique?"
"Darco!"
Baron Forslin slammed his fist on the table, his sharp gaze locking onto his son like a hawk's.
"What is the Collins Family's motto?"
This question, drilled into Darco since childhood, made him straighten his back and puff out his chest instinctively.
"Our word is our bond!"
"Excellent!"
Seeing his son's immediate response, the Baron nodded slightly.
Then, suddenly pointing at the door, he barked, "Now! Immediately! Get out of here with that broken cane of yours! You're not to set foot outside the manor grounds for six months. Do you understand?"
"Yes, Father."
Darco hung his head, looking like a defeated rooster, and mumbled his reply dejectedly.
Roland, of course, had no idea what had transpired in the drawing room.
Following the servant's directions, he had just stepped out the door when a man and a woman approached him.
Upon seeing Roland, they hurried forward, bowed slightly, and the man spoke first.
"Good day, Mr. Roland. I am Matthew, a servant. This is..."
Matthew gestured to the girl beside him.
"Mary, a maid."
"Young Master Darco instructed me to take care of your daily needs, while I am here to relay messages to him whenever you require it."
"Darco has been quite thoughtful."
Roland stroked his chin, his gaze sweeping over the two figures before him.
Matthew, ever perceptive, immediately noticed Roland's scrutinizing gaze. He bowed slightly, a perfectly polite smile gracing his lips.
Mary, however, kept her head bowed, her pale cheeks flushed pink in the morning light. Her slender fingers nervously twisted the hem of her skirt.
"Taking care of my daily needs? Isn't that just a euphemism for sleeping with me?"
Roland appreciated Darco's thoughtfulness, but he had no intention of accepting the offer.
It wasn't that he was averse to women. However, the signs of the Magic Element's resurgence were becoming increasingly apparent, signaling the coming of a chaotic era.
Until he had the strength to protect himself, he wouldn't let such distractions divert his focus.
With this thought, he waved his hand dismissively.
"There's no need for you to take care of my daily needs."
Ignoring Mary's crestfallen expression, he dismissed her with a few curt words. Then, turning to Matthew, he asked, "Do you know Mr. Bronson?"
"Of course," Matthew replied with a slight nod.
"Mr. Bronson is a man of great learning. Everyone on the manor knows him."
Roland raised an eyebrow at this. He'd heard the manor servants badmouthing Bronson behind his back more than once.
"This guy is quite the observer," he thought.
Clearing his throat, Roland continued, "Mr. Bronson has been away and hasn't returned yet. I need a favor. If he comes back to the manor, could you notify me immediately?"
"Of course, Mr. Roland," Matthew replied with a slight bow. "It would be my honor."
After a brief exchange, Roland followed Matthew back to the outer perimeter of the manor. However, instead of returning to his dormitory, he headed to the blacksmith shop.
Though his heart yearned for the Momentum Slash Scroll, Roland knew that in this hierarchical world, strength and status must go hand in hand. The Job Panel allowed him to constantly improve his abilities, but as a commoner, becoming a blacksmith was currently the best path to social advancement. He couldn't let his desire for power derail his plans.
Entering the blacksmith shop, Roland explained what had happened the previous day to Hawk before immediately diving into his forging tasks.
The rhythmic clang of hammering continued uninterrupted until, just before lunch, he had successfully completed the work Hawk had assigned him.
After a hasty lunch, Roland returned to his dormitory, eager to unroll the heavy scroll on the wooden table and immerse himself in its contents.
Time slipped away unnoticed until the setting sun's rays streamed through the window, painting the room in golden hues. Only then did he finally lift his head from the scroll, rubbing his tired eyes.
"This combat technique called Momentum Slash..." Roland pressed his fingers against his throbbing temples, carefully replaying the details he had just read. "It's less a fighting skill and more a unique way of channeling force."
Gazing out at the sky, which had yet to fully darken, Roland felt an urge to test it out.
He swiftly picked up the iron sword leaning against the wall and strode out the door. Thanks to his friendship with John, he easily gained access to the training grounds.
Standing before a thick wooden stake that would barely fit in one person's arms, Roland took a deep breath, gripped his iron sword tightly, and recalled the Scroll's description of how to channel strength.
"It's not just about arm strength," he murmured, "but about letting the muscles throughout your body flow like waves, starting from your feet, cascading up your spine, and finally converging all that power into the blade."
As he recited the words, he lunged forward, his iron sword arcing through the air and crashing heavily against the stake.
Thud!
The stake shuddered, wood chips flying, but Roland frowned.
The blow was indeed stronger than usual, yet it fell far short of the Scroll's description. He felt his strength still scattered, like he was forcing several disparate forces to coalesce rather than moving as a unified whole.
"Again!"
He regulated his breathing and tried again.
This time, he deliberately slowed his movements, trying to feel the flow of power. But the more he tried to control it, the more rigid his movements became. When the blade finally struck the stake, the recoil even made his wrist ache faintly.
Third and Fourth Attempts
As the last rays of sunset faded, only Roland's heavy breathing echoed across the training ground.
Fine beads of sweat dotted his forehead, and his grip on the iron sword had grown numb from repeated impacts.
Yet with each attempt, either his strength failed to fully transmit, or his movements became distorted, never achieving the fluid, effortless power described in the Scroll.
"The key is whole-body coordination," Roland muttered, wiping the sweat from his brow.
The essence of the Momentum Slash lay in channeling strength like flowing water, but the human body wasn't a machine.
Muscle contractions, joint rotations, breathing rhythm—any slight deviation could cause the force to dissipate mid-way.
"No wonder Darco said this combat technique was so difficult to master," he thought. "Even seasoned veterans with years of battlefield experience would likely need considerable time just to grasp the basics."
With a sigh, Roland slowly exhaled, planted his iron sword in the ground, and closed his eyes to reflect.
"Strength transmission isn't smooth enough..."
"Wrists are too stiff... waist power comes too late..."
As the details of each failed attempt echoed in his mind, Roland summarized and analyzed them. When he opened his eyes again, the Focus trait had already activated.
In an instant, the world seemed to be separated by a thin, transparent membrane. The sounds around him faded into a distant blur, leaving only the wooden stake before him and the iron sword in his hand.
His thoughts became clearer than ever before. The state of each muscle, the rhythm of each breath—every detail was precisely reflected in his mind and consciously controlled.
He raised his sword again.
This time, he could distinctly feel strength rising slowly from the soles of his feet.
It surged up his calves, thighs, and back like a tidal wave, layer upon layer.
The contraction and relaxation of his muscles gradually coordinated under his control, even the subtle angle of his wrist's rotation was perfectly calibrated.
Swish!
Thud!
The sharp sound of the sword slicing through the air and the dull thud of the blade striking the stake erupted almost simultaneously.
A deep crack appeared on the stake's surface, deeper than any before.
Roland could feel that at least seventy percent of the strike's power had been perfectly transmitted.
While it still didn't match the effect described in the Scroll, it was a qualitative leap compared to his previous attempts.
Without pausing, he immediately swung his sword again.
In the Focus state, each failure provided the most precise feedback, allowing him to continuously adjust the details of his power delivery.
Sweat soaked through his clothes, and his temples began to pound—a clear sign of rapidly depleting mental energy. But he dared not stop.
This mystical state was fleeting, and he had to seize every moment.
Finally, on the twelfth attempt...
Clang!
A flash of silver light streaked across the air, and the iron sword sliced cleanly through the middle of the wooden stake.
After a dull thud, the stake separated into two halves, the cut so smooth it seemed impossible.
Perfect force application had somehow imbued the iron sword with extra sharpness!
"This... this is the true Momentum Slash?"
Before joy could fully bloom in his heart, a wave of intense dizziness crashed over him.
Because his mental energy had been so severely depleted, his focus state was forcibly broken.
Roland stumbled and collapsed to the ground, his vision darkening.
Sweat dripped onto the earth, and his sword arm trembled uncontrollably, as if all his strength had been drained by that single strike.
Even bending his fingers, a movement as natural as breathing, now felt impossibly difficult.
Yet a faint curve lifted the corners of his lips.
(End of the Chapter)
Translator's Corner
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🔓 𝐰𝐰𝐰.𝐜𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐭𝐥.𝐜𝐨𝐦 — 13 Series (7 Ongoing) | 14+ New Chapters Daily| 7,200+ FREE