Translator: CinderTL
"When Darco and I ventured deep into the forest to hunt..."
Roland took a deep breath, his fingers unconsciously tracing patterns on the tabletop as he began to recount the bizarre encounter in detail.
As the story unfolded, Bronson's initially nonchalant expression gradually froze. The eccentric scholar's eyes widened, his hands clenching the edges of his robe.
When the last syllable faded, an oppressive silence descended upon the wooden cabin, broken only by the two men's slightly strained and heavy breathing.
"Ahem."
After a long moment, Bronson finally broke the silence, his throat bobbing violently as he swallowed hard. His hoarse voice carried disbelief.
"You're saying a goblin cast fire magic?"
His gaze drifted involuntarily to the charred crater in the wall—the proud result of his earlier demonstration with the Trick Flame Arrow.
"There's no need for comparison, Mr. Bronson," Roland said, shaking his head gently. His fingertips tapped the table with a dull thud. "The fireball summoned by that goblin... it could have pulverized a dozen well-equipped, highly trained warriors. This was no ordinary trick."
"I-I see..."
Bronson's twitching lips stretched into an awkward smile.
The euphoria he had felt moments ago, after successfully deciphering the spell pattern, had vanished like a charcoal fire doused with cold water, leaving only a wisp of embarrassed blue smoke.
He paused, then slowly rose from his chair and began pacing the cramped wooden cabin.
The dull thud of his boots against the floor accompanied his slightly subdued voice.
"The Blazing Sun Church..." Bronson stroked the stubble on his chin. "I don't know much about them, but I suspect they're one of the many new sects that have emerged in recent years."
"Recent years?" Roland seized on the phrase.
"Indeed." Bronson stopped pacing and turned to face Roland. "During my travels in the capital, I witnessed countless new sects sprouting like weeds. They unearthed forgotten deities from ancient texts, using these names to recruit followers and expand their influence."
His voice grew somber.
"King Monen repeatedly issued edicts to suppress these churches, but the result..." He spread his hands in a gesture of helplessness. "Only drove their activities underground."
"As for that magic-wielding goblin..."
When the conversation returned to the blood-red demonic beast, Bronson's brow furrowed deeply, ultimately resolving into a heavy sigh.
"Regarding the demonic beasts' use of magic..."
"As I mentioned earlier, their mastery of the Magic Elements is as natural as breathing. However..."
Footsteps echoed again, this time slower and heavier, and Bronson's voice carried an undisguised note of bewilderment:
"A goblin capable of wielding such potent fire magic? This far exceeds my understanding."
"Could it be related to the carcass of that giant creature they were fighting over?" Roland asked thoughtfully.
"Fire... giant creature..."
Bronson massaged his temples, muttering to himself.
After a moment, he slowly raised his head, speaking with uncertainty:
"I think I'm starting to see a connection, but... based solely on these two clues, it's difficult to make any solid deductions."
"I understand," Roland said, taking a deep breath and nodding slowly.
It seemed his hopes of obtaining a complete answer from the scholar had been dashed.
But that was hardly surprising.
Bronson had merely studied at the High Tower; he wasn't some kind of prophet.
With this in mind, Roland shifted the conversation.
"Mr. Bronson, if we encounter a goblin capable of casting high-level magic, what should we do?"
"Run!" Bronson replied flatly.
"To confront such a demonic beast head-on, you either need to master the Knight's Breathing Technique to engage it with superhuman physical prowess, or master a meditation technique to cast spells of equal power. Otherwise..."
His voice lowered.
"Apart from running, I see no other way to survive."
Hearing this predictable answer, Roland sighed softly, then rose and bowed slightly.
"Then, Mr. Bronson, I'll take my leave for now. I'll return tonight to assist with your research."
"Hmm."
Bronson nodded absently, as if his spirit had been drained, slumping heavily in his wooden chair.
Clearly, the goblin capable of high-level magic had dealt a significant blow to the scholar's morale.
After quietly closing the wooden door, Roland turned and strode purposefully toward the blacksmith shop.
"Adventurer's Guild... Blazing Sun Church..." he murmured, his pace slowing unconsciously.
"Both suddenly rose to prominence a few years ago. Could there be some connection between them?"
A bold hypothesis began to take shape in his mind.
Could the rise of these organizations be connected to the resurgence of the Magic Element?
He quickly shook his head, pushing these irrelevant thoughts to the back of his mind for the time being.
Pushing open the creaking wooden door of the blacksmith shop, the familiar wave of scorching heat washed over him.
Roland immediately threw himself into his work, as usual.
After finishing the last tool, he wiped his hands with a coal-smudged rag. Only when the other apprentices had gone to the dining hall did he approach Hawk, who was still busy at the forge.
"Master Hawk."
"Oh? It's you, Roland."
Hawk set down his hammer and looked up at the young apprentice. Sweat streamed down his graying temples, but his eyes shone with satisfaction. This newly accepted apprentice was not only quick and nimble but also always volunteered for extra tasks, earning Hawk's genuine admiration.
"I have something I'd like to discuss with you."
Roland took a deep breath, meeting Hawk's face, which was flushed crimson by the furnace's glow. He slowly spoke the words he had carefully rehearsed.
"What? You want a month off? To take on bounties at the Adventurer's Guild? To practice combat skills?"
Hawk's thick eyebrows nearly shot up at Roland's request, and he rebuked him in a low voice.
"Roland, what's going through your head?"
The old blacksmith's rough, calloused hand slammed heavily onto the anvil.
"With your talent, a few more years of focused practice and you'll pass the Blacksmith's Guild assessment! Why would you want to compete with those bloodthirsty adventurers for scraps?"
Facing Hawk's stern questioning, Roland's gaze remained unwavering.
"Master Hawk, I just... don't want to be completely helpless against demonic beasts."
Though his trip to the Adventurer's Guild was primarily to fulfill the requirements for his Warrior Class Change, these words truly came from his heart.
"You..." Hawk sighed deeply, recalling the kobold attack on Roland's village.
Seeing the young man's stubborn expression, he finally loosened his grip on the hammer.
"Fine, but you must complete a month's worth of work in advance."
"No problem!"
A spark of joy flashed in Roland's eyes.
He held the deepest respect for this master craftsman who had generously shared all his knowledge. Unless absolutely necessary, he had no desire to strain their relationship.
"Thank you, Master Hawk!" Roland bowed deeply, then added awkwardly, "Master Hawk, I actually have another request."
"Speak!" Hawk responded gruffly, his thick eyebrows lifting slightly.
Roland tugged at his faded, threadbare linen shirt.
"Could you... teach me how to make leather armor? You see, I can't exactly go fight demonic beasts or practice combat skills in this."
"You little rascal!" Hawk rolled his eyes in exasperation before abruptly turning and striding out of the room. "Follow me."
Roland froze for a moment, then hurried after him.
As they crossed the courtyard, the gravel crunched softly under Hawk's heavy boots. They eventually stopped before the familiar storage shed—the very place where Hawk had once tested Roland's knowledge.
Pushing open the creaking wooden door, the old blacksmith strode to a corner and dragged a heavy oak chest from a dusty pile of clutter.
Thump!
The chest landed with a dull thud that echoed through the shed, sending dust swirling in the sunbeams.
When Hawk lifted the lid, Roland held his breath.
Inside the chest lay thousands of meticulously stacked iron rings, each polished to a gleaming sheen. Sunlight streamed through the high window, dancing across the metal circles and reflecting a cold, metallic glint.
"What is this...?"
"A chainmail armor commissioned by an old comrade," Hawk's voice suddenly deepened, his rough fingers gently tracing the iron rings.
"What a pity."
His gaze drifted into the distance.
"Before I could finish forging it, that old man died at the hands of a demonic beast."
"Now... it's yours."
Hawk's deep voice echoed through the warehouse, startling Roland into looking up sharply.
Sunlight streamed through the window, casting dappled shadows across the old blacksmith's wrinkled face.
"This Master Hawk..."
Roland's throat bobbed as his fingertips unconsciously traced the cold iron rings.
Each ring had been meticulously forged, its seams perfectly aligned, a testament to flawless craftsmanship.
Compared to the crude chainmail worn by the manor guards, this was a world apart.
Even these iron rings alone would likely fetch a dozen silver coins on the market!
"Enough with the sentimentality!" Hawk barked, though the tenderness in his eyes couldn't be concealed.
He deliberately slapped Roland hard on the back, sending the youth staggering.
"These scraps will only rust if left here. But let's get one thing straight..."
The old blacksmith's face hardened, his calloused finger jabbing Roland's chest.
"I'll provide the materials, but you'll forge every single armor plate yourself! Use any tools in the workshop you need. If you get stuck..."
He paused.
"Come ask anytime."
"Yes, sir!" Roland's voice trembled slightly with excitement.
"You good-for-nothing brat."
As Hawk turned away, Roland clearly saw the corner of his mouth twitch upward.
The old blacksmith walked toward the door with his hands clasped behind his back, the sunlight stretching his tall, straight shadow long across the ground.
Just as his figure was about to disappear through the doorway, a thunderous warning suddenly boomed:
"Don't die at the hands of those mongrels!"
In the days that followed, Roland lived a life of unprecedented fulfillment.
At dawn, he would already be standing before the blacksmith shop's furnace, using his increasingly refined forging skills to complete Hawk's assignments with astonishing efficiency.
In the afternoon, two experienced veterans recommended by Darco would arrive punctually at the training grounds.
Initially, they held little hope for the slender young man, until they witnessed Roland's learning ability while in a state of focus.
The transformation of various weapons in his hands—from clumsy to fluid—often took only an afternoon.
The veterans exchanged glances filled with disbelief and awe.
By evening, Roland would rush to that secluded wooden cabin.
In the flickering candlelight, Roland assisted Bronson in drawing intricate spell patterns on parchment while simultaneously studying the ancient texts.
Oddly, each time his gaze swept across the twisted characters, his mind grew increasingly hazy, as if some unseen force were subtly draining his mental power. This significantly slowed his learning progress.
Forging the chainmail, on the other hand, proved to be the easiest task.
Hawk had already prepared all the materials. Roland simply followed instructions, riveting together the cold, gleaming iron rings one by one.
Amidst the crisp clanging of metal, a suit of armor gradually took shape, perfectly fitted to his body.
During rare moments of leisure, Roland experimented with various new techniques, hoping to awaken new skills or even unlock an entirely new career path.
Though each attempt seemed to vanish like a stone dropped into the sea, the Job Panel remained stubbornly dormant, Roland refused to give up.
Through persistent exploration, he finally awakened several new skills.
And so, half a month quietly slipped by.
Roland prepared to travel to Pine Wood Town to accept a bounty and hunt demonic beasts.
(End of the Chapter)
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