Knight: from Apprentice to the Almighty

"When Dalko and I were hunting deep in the forest..."

Roland took a deep breath, his fingertips unconsciously tracing the tabletop as he recounted the bizarre encounter.

As the story unfolded, Bronson’s initially nonchalant expression gradually froze.

The eccentric scholar’s eyes went wide, and his hands couldn’t help but clench the hem of his clothes.

When the last syllable fell, a suffocating silence descended upon the wooden cabin, leaving only the sound of their somewhat rapid and heavy breathing.

"Ahem..."

After a moment, Bronson finally broke the silence with difficulty, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed hard.

His hoarse voice was filled with disbelief.

"Are you saying... a goblin... used Flame Magic?"

His gaze drifted involuntarily to the scorched hole in the wall.

It was the proud result of the Trick Flaming Arrow he had just cast.

"There’s no need for comparison, Mr. Bronson."

Roland shook his head gently, his fingertips tapping a dull rhythm on the tabletop.

"The fireball that goblin summoned... was powerful enough to blow a dozen well-equipped, well-trained warriors to pieces. It was definitely not something an ordinary Trick could achieve..."

"I... I see..."

Bronson’s twitching lips twisted into an ugly smile.

The euphoria from his recent success with the Spell Patterns was now like a charcoal fire doused with cold water, leaving behind only a wisp of awkward smoke.

He fell silent for a moment, then slowly rose from his chair and began to pace back and forth in the small cabin.

The dull sound of his boot soles scuffing against the floor accompanied his somewhat low voice.

"The Fiery Sun Church..."

Bronson stroked the stubble on his chin.

"I don’t know much about them, but I imagine they’re one of the many sects that have sprung up in recent years."

"Recent years?"

Roland sharply caught that phrase.

"That’s right."

Bronson stopped pacing and turned to face Roland.

"During my travels in the Royal Capital, I witnessed countless new sects sprouting like weeds. They dig up the names of long-forgotten Deities from ancient tomes and scraps to attract followers and expand their influence."

His voice grew lower.

"Although King Morne has issued numerous prohibitions to try and curb the spread of these Churches, the result..."

He spread his hands in a helpless gesture.

"Was just to drive their activities underground."

"As for that goblin that can use Magic..."

When the topic returned to the blood-red-skinned Demon, Bronson’s brow furrowed deeply, eventually giving way to a heavy sigh.

"Regarding Demons using Magic Power..."

"As I said before, their mastery of Magic Elements is indeed as natural as breathing, but..."

The sound of footsteps resumed, slower and heavier this time, and Bronson’s voice was tinged with unconcealed confusion:

"A goblin... actually able to cast Flame Magic of such power? This is truly... beyond my scope of understanding."

"Could it be related to the giant creature’s remains they were fighting over?"

Roland asked thoughtfully.

"Flame... a giant creature..."

Bronson rubbed his temples, muttering to himself.

After a moment, he slowly raised his head and said with some uncertainty.

"I think... I might have a clue, but... based on just these two points, it’s difficult to make any well-founded deductions..."

"I understand."

Roland took a deep breath and nodded slowly.

’It seems my hope of getting a complete answer from this scholar was in vain.’

’But that’s not surprising.’

’After all, Bronson only ever studied at the High Tower; he isn’t some kind of prophet.’

With this in mind, Roland changed the subject.

"So, Mr. Bronson, if I were to encounter a goblin that can use High Tier Magic, how should I deal with it?"

"Run!"

Bronson spat out the word decisively.

"To confront this kind of Demon head-on, you either need to master the Knight’s Breathing Technique and use an Extraordinary Physique to fight it, or master a Meditation Technique and use equivalent Magic to counter it. Other than that..."

His voice dropped.

"Besides running, I can’t think of any other way to survive."

Hearing the expected answer, Roland sighed softly, then stood up and gave a slight bow.

"Well then, Mr. Bronson, I’ll take my leave. I’ll be back tonight to assist with your research."

"Mmm..."

Bronson just nodded absently, his entire body slumping into the wooden chair as if his spirit had been drained.

Evidently, the goblin that could use High Tier Magic had dealt a considerable blow to the scholar.

Gently closing the wooden door, Roland turned and strode toward the Blacksmith Shop.

"The Adventurer’s Guild... the Fiery Sun Church..."

He murmured under his breath, his pace slowing unconsciously.

’They both suddenly rose to prominence a few years ago. Could there be some connection between the two?’

A bold guess began to form in his mind.

’Could the rise of these organizations be related to the resurgence of Magic Elements?’

But he quickly shook his head, pushing aside these thoughts that were, for now, irrelevant to him.

Pushing open the creaking wooden door of the Blacksmith Shop, a familiar searing heat washed over him.

Roland threw himself into his work as usual.

After forging the last tool, he wiped his hands on a soot-covered rag and waited until the other apprentices had gone to the dining hall before approaching Hawke, who was busy at the forge.

"Master Hawke..."

"Oh? It’s you, Roland."

Hawke put down his hammer and looked up, sizing up the young apprentice.

Sweat trickled down his graying temples, but his eyes showed a look of satisfaction.

This new apprentice wasn’t just quick and nimble; he also always took on extra work, which made Hawke genuinely fond of him.

"I have something I’d like to discuss with you..."

Roland took a deep breath, looked directly at Hawke’s face, which was flushed red by the forge fire, and slowly spoke the words he had been mulling over for a long time.

"What? You want to take a month off? To go to the Adventurer’s Guild to accept bounties? To practice Combat Skills?"

After hearing Roland’s request, Hawke’s thick eyebrows nearly shot up as he berated him in a low voice.

"Roland, what are you thinking?"

The old blacksmith’s rough hand slammed down hard on the anvil.

"With your talent, you could pass the Blacksmith Guild’s assessment after just a few more years of dedicated practice! Why do you want to go compete for a living with that bunch of daredevils who live on the edge?"

Faced with Hawke’s questioning, Roland’s gaze was exceptionally firm.

"Master Hawke, I just... don’t want to be completely helpless when facing a Demon."

Although going to the Adventurer’s Guild was to fulfill the conditions for changing his Profession to Warrior, these were also his heartfelt words.

"You... *sigh*..."

Hawke let out a long sigh, recalling the village where Roland lived, which had been attacked by Kobolds.

Looking at the young man’s stubborn expression, he finally loosened his grip on the hammer.

"Fine, but you must finish a month’s worth of work in advance."

"No problem!"

A glint of joy flashed in Roland’s eyes.

He had always held the deepest respect for this old master who had taught him everything he knew.

So, if at all possible, he really didn’t want to strain their relationship.

"Thank you, Master Hawke!"

Roland bowed solemnly, then said with some embarrassment.

"Master Hawke, actually... I have another bold request."

"Spit it out!"

Hawke answered gruffly, his thick eyebrows raised slightly.

Roland tugged at the faded linen clothes on his body.

"Could you... teach me how to make Leather Armor? You see... I can’t exactly go fight Demons and practice Combat Skills dressed like this..."

"You little brat..."

Hawke rolled his eyes in annoyance, then suddenly turned and strode out.

"Follow me."

Roland was stunned for a moment, then quickly followed.

As they crossed the courtyard, gravel crunched under Hawke’s heavy boots.

They finally stopped in front of the familiar storeroom.

This was the very place where Hawke had first tested Roland’s knowledge.

Pushing open the creaking wooden door, the old blacksmith walked straight to a corner and dragged out a heavy oak chest from a pile of dusty clutter.

"THUD!"

The dull thud of the chest hitting the floor echoed in the storeroom, sending dust motes dancing in the beams of light.

When Hawke lifted the lid of the chest, Roland couldn’t help but hold his breath.

Neatly stacked inside the chest were thousands of iron rings, each one polished to a mirror shine.

Sunlight slanted in from a high window, dancing across the metal rings and reflecting a cold, sharp light.

"This is..."

"Chain Armor, commissioned by an old friend."

Hawke’s voice suddenly grew low, his rough fingers gently stroking the iron rings.

"Unfortunately..."

His gaze grew distant.

"Before I could finish forging it, the old codger died at the hands of a Demon..."

"Now... it’s yours."

Hawke’s low voice echoed in the storeroom, startling Roland so much that he snapped his head up.

Sunlight filtered through the window lattice, casting mottled shadows on the old blacksmith’s wrinkled face.

"This... Master Hawke..."

Roland’s throat tightened, his fingertips unconsciously tracing the cold iron rings.

Each ring was meticulously forged, the joints seamless, practically perfect.

Compared to the crude Chain Armor worn by the Manor Guards, the difference was night and day.

Just these rings alone would probably be worth over a dozen Silver Coins on the market!

"Stop being so wishy-washy!"

Hawke interrupted gruffly, but he couldn’t hide the softness in his eyes.

He deliberately clapped Roland hard on the back, making the young man stagger.

"This scrap metal will just rust if it sits here... But let me be clear..."

The old blacksmith’s face suddenly turned stern, his rough finger poking Roland in the chest.

"I’m giving you the materials, but you have to hammer every piece together yourself! You can use whatever tools you need from the workshop, and if you don’t understand something..."

He paused.

"...come and ask me anytime."

"Yes, sir!"

Roland’s voice trembled slightly with excitement.

"You hopeless kid..."

As Hawke turned away, Roland clearly saw the corner of his mouth curve into a smile.

The old blacksmith walked toward the door with his hands behind his back, the sunlight stretching his upright silhouette long.

Just as his figure was about to disappear through the doorway, a thunderous admonition suddenly boomed out.

"Don’t you go getting killed by those bastards!"

...

...

In the time that followed, Roland lived a life more fulfilling than ever before.

At dawn, he would already be standing before the furnace in the Blacksmith Shop, using his increasingly refined Forging Skills to complete the tasks Hawke assigned with astonishing efficiency.

In the afternoon, the two experienced old soldiers introduced by Dalko would appear at the training grounds on time.

At first, they held little hope for the lean young man, until they witnessed the learning ability Roland displayed while in his [Concentration] state.

The transition from clumsy to fluid with various weapons in his hands often took only a single afternoon.

The looks the two old soldiers exchanged were filled with incredible shock.

And by evening, Roland would hurry to the remote wooden cabin.

In the flickering candlelight, he would assist Bronson in drawing complex Spell Patterns on parchment while studying the ancient texts.

Strangely, whenever his eyes swept over those twisted characters, his head would grow increasingly groggy, as if some kind of force was quietly draining his Spiritual Power, which slowed his learning speed considerably.

As for forging the Chain Armor, that turned out to be the easiest task.

Hawke had already prepared all the materials; Roland only needed to follow the instructions and rivet the cold, gleaming iron rings one by one.

Amidst the crisp sound of colliding metal, a suit of Armor tailored to his body was gradually taking shape.

In his rare moments of leisure, Roland would also try out various new techniques, hoping to awaken brand-new Skills or even unlock an unprecedented Profession path.

Although his repeated attempts were like stones sinking into the sea, with his Professional Panel remaining silent, Roland did not give up.

Through repeated trial and error, he finally managed to awaken several new Skills.

Just like that, half a month quietly passed. 𝚏𝗿𝗲𝐞𝐰𝚎𝕓𝐧𝚘𝘃𝗲𝐥.𝐜𝚘𝕞

Roland was also ready to head to Songmu Town, accept bounties, and hunt Demons.