Translator: CinderTL
Roland stared at the parchment, remarkably well-preserved despite its age, his fingertips unconsciously tapping lightly on the wooden table.
The silence of the cabin was broken only by the crisp rhythm of his tapping.
After a moment of silence, Roland frowned and spoke slowly.
"So, Mr. Bronson..."
He tapped his finger on the Crystal Cluster on the table.
"Would a wizard be behind such a forbidden experiment?"
"A wizard? Ha!"
Mr. Bronson blinked in surprise, then shook his head decisively.
"Absolutely impossible. Believe me, Roland, no transcendent professional who has mastered extraordinary power would ever dabble in such dark arts. However..."
He noticed Roland's furrowed brow and asked curiously, "You seem... particularly wary of wizards?"
"Not wary," Roland replied, a complex emotion flickering in his eyes. "Merely respectful of those who wield extraordinary power."
"But when we discussed knights, you didn't show them the same level of respect you do for wizards."
As Bronson spoke, he carefully folded the yellowed wanted poster and put away the ancient texts.
Only after completing these actions did he suddenly realize something. He turned slowly, his tone becoming subtly nuanced.
"Roland, you don't actually believe knights are far weaker than wizards, do you?"
"Isn't that true?" Roland blurted out instinctively.
In his memories of his past life, all Western Fantasy literature depicted wizards and mages as supreme beings, their immense power celebrated in countless epics. Other professions, including knights, seemed destined to remain supporting characters.
"Of course not." Bronson shook his head, puzzled by Roland's prejudice. "In truth, every transcendent professional possesses unique strengths. In terms of overall power, they are roughly equal. Wizards are merely one type of transcendent professional among many."
He ticked off the professions on his fingers.
"Forget about long-lost ancient professions like warlocks, Martial Monks, and sorcerers. Even among the existing ones—knights, rangers, and barbarians—their strength rivals that of wizards."
At this point, Bronson's gaze turned distant, his voice tinged with a hint of nostalgia.
"When I was young and had just left the High Tower, I was fortunate enough to witness King Monen of the Golden Valley Empire presiding over a grand military review."
"The Blood Moon Rebellion had just been quelled, and King Monen held an unprecedented Martial Arts Grand Assembly to demonstrate the empire's might and reassure the populace."
His expression grew complex, a mixture of awe and wistfulness.
"I saw with my own eyes that the king merely waved his sword, and a small hill in the distance was leveled to the ground."
"That strength, in my eyes, was no less formidable than the fourth-circle spells recorded in ancient texts."
"Of course..." Bronson said, carefully placing the Crystal Cluster on the table into a wooden box. "Even among practitioners of the same transcendent profession, there's vast individual variation. King Monen, for example, must have stood at the pinnacle of the knightly profession."
Having committed this information to memory, Roland pressed further.
"Then, Mr. Bronson, in your opinion, who would be conducting such forbidden experiments?"
Bronson shook his head and gently closed the wooden box.
"I have no way of knowing the exact identity, but I can say with certainty that it must be those who were denied the path of transcendence yet crave extraordinary power above all else."
"I understand. Thank you for your explanation, Mr. Bronson."
"You're welcome."
Bronson waved his hand dismissively and returned to his usual seat, taking out the white skeletal remains. A self-deprecating smile played on his lips.
"In the end, all I have left to show for myself is this collection of stale knowledge."
The two men chatted for a while longer before Roland rose to take his leave.
Walking along the quiet gravel path, Roland pondered Bronson's words. He unconsciously stroked his smooth chin, lost in thought.
Bronson's explanation had made him realize that his understanding of this world was deeply flawed.
According to his previous assumptions, knights, though transcendent professionals, were little more than minor superhumans at best.
Yet from Bronson's description, the power wielded by top-tier knights was akin to a human-shaped nuclear bomb.
What was even more alarming was that barbarians and rangers possessed similar terrifying strength, not just knights.
With magic gradually returning, more powerful transcendent professionals were bound to emerge in the future.
"This world... is far more dangerous than I imagined."
The thought intensified Roland's desire for strength.
"So those pulp novels about knights weren't exaggerating their power after all."
Recalling Sean's endless stories about knights from those novels, he shook his head slightly and headed back to his dormitory.
Over the next few days, Roland adjusted to the sudden surge in strength after becoming a warrior while keeping a close eye on his surroundings.
Once he confirmed that the strange mob had vanished, he began packing his belongings, preparing to set off for the port east of Dawn Territory.
Just as he was ready to leave, Darco paid him a visit.
The young noble brought a meticulously crafted set of plate armor, complete with chestplate, armguards, and leg armor. Its exquisite craftsmanship was truly awe-inspiring.
The only flaw was that Roland, now a warrior, had grown even more muscular than Darco, making the custom-made plate armor Hawk had crafted for him feel a bit cramped.
"Uh..."
Darco, who had rushed over excitedly, watched Roland clumsily move around in the ill-fitting armor. His smile gradually faded.
After testing the armor by walking back and forth in the room and confirming that it indeed hindered his movements, Roland could only shake his head in resignation.
"Forget it, Darco. This armor just isn't right for me."
As he spoke, Roland began removing the heavy chestplate, the metal components clinking together with a crisp sound.
Darco looked embarrassed, gesturing at his own frame before glancing up at Roland.
"You're right. Sorry, I didn't think about that."
He hesitated, a flicker of confusion in his eyes.
Perhaps it was just his imagination, but after their fierce battle the previous night, his friend's physique seemed to have grown even more robust.
"You've grown so fast..."
Darco muttered under his breath, his voice filled with disbelief.
Seeing the young noble's crestfallen expression, Roland chuckled and removed the last piece of leg armor.
"Darco, as a member of the manor, defending the territory is my duty. You really don't need to..."
"No way!"
Darco suddenly raised his voice, cutting him off.
The young noble crossed his arms behind his back and paced the room, his boots clicking sharply against the floor.
"Father taught me that those who perform meritorious deeds must be rewarded."
He stopped pacing and turned, his eyes flashing with determination.
"How about this? I'll ask Master Hawk to craft you a brand-new set of plate armor tailored just for you. And besides..."
He nervously rubbed his fingers together.
"What else do you need?"
Faced with Darco's earnest gaze, Roland shook his head and smiled wryly.
"Perhaps... you could reward me with some coins?"
In truth, Roland wasn't short on money.
The reward he'd received from completing the Adventurer's Guild commission, after deducting the funds given to Bronson for spell pattern research, was more than enough to cover his journey.
But refusing any reward would likely leave the stubborn young noble feeling uneasy.
"Coins?"
Darco's eyes lit up. He immediately turned and strode quickly toward the door.
"Then wait here for a moment!"
His voice faded with his retreating footsteps.
Watching Darco's hurried departure, Roland shook his head and chuckled before turning to carefully inspect his luggage.
Unlike his previous trip to Pine Wood Town, this time he had packed not only essential dry rations and water but also a full set of alchemy equipment and the materials needed to brew the Awakened Consciousness Shoal Potion.
Even though his alchemy skill had advanced to second-tier, whether he could successfully brew this special potion remained uncertain.
Therefore, Roland decided to stay at the port for a few extra days until he was sure the potion was successfully crafted.
He didn't want to return to the manor only to discover he was short on Devilfish Eye Fluid, forcing him to turn back and waste valuable time.
"Hmm, I think I have everything... Oh, right! I should bring extra Sharp Eye Potions. Their effect is far better than I expected."
With everything prepared, Roland gently stroked the alchemy materials in his bag, his thoughts drifting away.
"I wonder what new class will unlock once I successfully brew the Awakened Consciousness Shoal and master the trick?"
"Wizard, as a transcendent spellcaster, is definitely out of the question. But since tricks and spells both fall under the umbrella of magic, it's likely to open up a spellcasting-related career path."
As Roland pondered, hurried footsteps approached from afar.
Darco burst through the door, slamming a heavy coin purse onto the wooden table with a dull thud.
"Roland, even though Father's away, I can't touch the manor's public funds."
Darco wiped the sweat from his brow, a hint of pride in his voice.
"This is all the money I've saved over the years. It's all yours!"
Watching Darco's generous display, Roland couldn't help but chuckle as he untied the purse.
Amidst the glint of silver coins, a flash of gold stood out.
"Whoa! One gold coin and thirty-two silver?" Roland raised an eyebrow, deliberately drawing out his words. "Your little piggy bank is quite substantial, isn't it?"
Through their frequent casual conversations, Roland knew Darco's situation intimately.
Since the manor provided for all his basic needs, Baron Forslin never gave his son extra money, claiming it cultivated diligence.
However, Roland found it hard to take the Lord Baron seriously, given his penchant for throwing lavish banquets every other day.
Carefully securing the coin purse, Roland casually asked, "By the way, Darco, has Lord Baron Forslin sent a reply yet?"
"Not yet." Darco shook his head. "It's only been a few days. The messenger is probably still on his way back."
Roland nodded lightly.
Though he'd never witnessed Baron Forslin's power firsthand, he'd gleaned some insights from John's casual remarks about the Baron's strength.
Although he hadn't been able to cultivate the Knight's Breathing Technique for certain reasons, his strength had long surpassed mortal limits, reaching the extraordinary realm. His overall combat ability was on par with his current self.
Those bizarre rioters might pose a threat to ordinary people, but they were utterly insignificant to extraordinary beings.
Moreover, Baron Forslin was accompanied by the manor's most elite guard.
Thinking this, Roland's worries gradually dissipated.
After exchanging a few more pleasantries, he stepped out of the room and gracefully mounted his horse.
With the crisp sound of hooves fading into the distance, his figure soon vanished along the road leading to the Dawn Territory.
At a large crossroads, Roland reined in his horse, carefully checked his bearings, and chose one path to continue his journey.
Shortly after he left, a group of staggering figures emerged from the other path.
Their armor was tattered and bloodied, the chainmail gleaming a dark crimson under the midday sun.
Every face was smeared with blood and dust, and heavy breaths escaped their cracked lips.
The soldiers in the front row leaned on broken spears to support themselves, yet stubbornly maintained their defensive formation.
The midday sun pierced through the clouds, casting a beam of light directly onto the tightly guarded center of their formation.
In the blinding glare, a lifeless body was clearly visible.
Baron Forslin's eyes were closed, his usually stern face now ashen as paper.
(End of the Chapter)