Translator: CinderTL
As the words faded, Roland's expression became subtly strange.
Vanessa's earlier whisper echoed in his mind:
"Death is not the end for me..."
"Looks like this guy really isn't afraid of dying," Roland muttered inwardly, shaking his head slightly before speaking.
"Miss Vanessa, I shared this information with you to help you prepare. As for confronting a Lich..."
He pointed a finger at himself.
"What do you think my chances of surviving that encounter are?"
"Well, that's hard to say..."
The Purple-Haired Witch chuckled, her almond-shaped eyes lingering on Roland with a playful, probing gaze.
An indescribable atmosphere hung between them for a moment.
"Alright..."
Just as Avril was about to break the tense silence, a voice called from outside the tent.
"Excuse me... is Shadow Envoy Avril inside?"
"I'm here," Avril replied, exchanging a glance with Roland.
She raised her fist, shaking it warningly in front of Roland before turning and lifting the tent flap to leave.
Roland watched the elf girl's actions, scratching his head in confusion, then turned to his companions.
"Mason, Freddy, go back to your tents and pack your essentials. Then meet me here. In the meantime..."
He knew this method would be of limited use against a real crisis, but he couldn't think of a better plan right now.
"You'll move in with me for the time being."
"Yes, sir."
Trusting Roland implicitly, the young noble and the orc warrior nodded without hesitation and left the tent.
"As for you, Miss Vanessa..."
"I have nothing to pack, Mr. Roland," the witch interrupted.
"I know," Roland said, stepping back half a pace and waving away the faint, lingering fragrance of her perfume. "When Avril returns, I'll explain the arrangements to her. Until then, you can stay with her..."
Before he could finish, Vanessa let out a soft laugh and waved him off.
"Mr. Roland, that old woman and I just don't get along."
Old woman...
At the sound of the term, Roland's eye twitched almost imperceptibly. He understood women's sensitivity to age to some extent. That's why, even after learning Avril's true age from Galvis, he had never mentioned it.
But this witch before him...
"She really isn't afraid of death, is she..."
Roland sighed wearily, repeating the same thought.
"If that's the case..."
He had just begun to speak when Vanessa interrupted him again.
"Then, just like Mason and the descendant of Hell's Roar, I'll move in with you. How does that sound?" she proposed, winking playfully with her right eye. "With two companions by your side, you surely won't have any... strange thoughts, Mr. Roland."
Meeting the witch's sly gaze, Roland was momentarily speechless. After a moment of silence, he waved his hand dismissively.
"As you wish, Miss Vanessa. But before that..."
He took a deep breath, decisively changing the subject.
"I still have some questions I'd like to ask."
With that, Roland composed himself, held his breath, and focused his mind.
Soon, the power known as "psionic energy," like a clear stream flowing from the depths of his soul, began to stir slowly.
It flowed sluggishly into his palm.
Unlike mental power, which he could barely perceive, psionic energy was almost ethereal.
Roland could only confirm its existence through the unique, icy sensation it left on his skin when he touched it.
"To prepare for potential dangers, I want to learn some spirit energy techniques," he said, patting the pouch at his waist. "I can offer the control gem in exchange."
Roland had witnessed firsthand how the Purple-Haired Witch had remained unharmed after drinking the potion crafted from mind flayer research. This undoubtedly meant she possessed knowledge of psionic energy techniques.
Compared to that...
Although Roland could sense the extraordinary nature of the control gem, his lack of knowledge rendered it useless to him. Trading something he couldn't use for a technique that would genuinely enhance his strength was a worthwhile deal in his eyes.
At the mention of the "control gem," the witch's normally indifferent eyes flickered slightly, but she shook her head gently.
"I apologize, Mr. Roland. Perhaps my earlier actions in drinking the potion led you to misunderstand. In truth..."
Vanessa gracefully settled back into her chair.
"I know very little about psionic energy, this mysterious power."
Seeing the doubt in Roland's eyes, the Purple-Haired Witch chuckled softly and continued.
"My ability to absorb... well, that psionic energy comes entirely from the great power granted by a deity from my previous faith."
"Great power?" Roland frowned. "Are you a... chosen one?"
"No, no, no." Vanessa shook her finger gently, elegantly leaning against the edge of the wooden table. "I'm merely a devout believer who has received some blessings through faith."
She tapped her fingertip against her crimson lips, thoughtfully furrowing her brow.
"The ability to absorb psionic energy seems to have come from Vigges... or perhaps Mithra? I apologize, Mr. Roland, I can't quite recall."
A faint smile played on the witch's lips.
"For me, if a so-called deity cannot answer my needs, there's no point in worshiping them, wouldn't you agree, Mr. Roland?"
The contradiction between Vanessa's "devout" faith and her casual attitude toward changing deities stirred a subtle sense of unease in Roland's heart. However, he didn't dwell on the topic, instead asking,
"So, Miss Vanessa, you possess the ability to absorb psionic energy... but you don't know how to use it?"
"That's right. Even before the Final Epoch..."
The Purple-Haired Witch shifted her posture, elegantly crossing her legs. Her slender fingers tapped unconsciously against the armrest of her chair.
"In that most glorious era, only one in ten thousand could truly touch the sea of consciousness and unlock the mysteries of psionic energy."
"It's not like the arcane arts studied by mages or the divine magic granted through prayer by priests."
She paused, as if carefully choosing her words.
"Psionic energy is an extension of pure will, proof that one's spirit is strong enough to shape reality itself."
"Mastering it requires a talent... so demanding that mere intelligence or mental concentration is insufficient. It demands an innate resonance, a fundamental harmony within the soul."
"Therefore, Mr. Roland," she said, her tone shifting. The familiar, slightly playful smile returned to her lips.
"In this age, unless you happen to stumble upon a 'reasonable' mind flayer willing to teach you, otherwise..."
The final sentence dripped with obvious mockery, as if teasing the near-impossible wish.
(End of the Chapter)
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