Knight: from Apprentice to the Almighty

Even before they reached the manor, a somewhat gaunt figure could be seen standing before the gate from a distance.

"Father!"

After getting a clear look at the man’s face, Dalko cried out in surprise and immediately spurred his horse into a gallop.

As he drew near, he performed a beautiful dismount, his movements clean and sharp.

However, when he saw Baron Fosling’s pale face, a lump formed in his throat.

"Father, you... you’re awake?"

"Dalko!"

Fosling gazed at his son’s sun-darkened face. A flash of warmth flickered in his eyes, but it was gone in an instant.

He lowered his voice and chided him.

"As the eldest son of the Collins family, you are not to cry!"

"Yes, sir!"

Dalko reflexively straightened his back and quickly blinked away the moisture in his eyes, scratching his hair in embarrassment.

"I was just... so excited, Father."

"I know, Dalko..."

Seeing his son’s evasive gaze, Fosling sighed softly and reached out to pat his shoulder.

"I’ve heard all about what happened at Distant Harbor. You did very well."

He paused.

"It seems that while I was unconscious, you’ve grown into a reliable man."

The unexpected praise left Dalko at a loss for words.

He glanced around awkwardly, abruptly changing the subject.

"Father, where is that old... I mean, where is Knight Beckham? Didn’t I tell him to stay and guard the manor?"

"Watch how you address him! You must show respect to Knight Beckham!"

"Yes... yes..."

Seeing his son revert to his timid, shrinking demeanor, Fosling shook his head helplessly.

"Since I’m awake now, I’ve sent Knight Beckham back to garrison Black Pine Forest."

He explained in a low voice.

"Although for some reason the Demons have been holing up in their lairs recently, we absolutely cannot let our guard down."

As he spoke, Fosling waved his hand at the people behind Dalko, signaling for them to enter the manor first.

Roland understood. He nodded to Dalko, then dismounted and led Black Wind slowly through the manor gates.

After returning to the long-unseen apprentice dorms to briefly pack his things and remove his blue and white Armor, Roland didn’t delay for a moment. He immediately set out for the Blacksmith Shop.

Upon meeting Hawke, Roland explained his plans and intentions in detail.

Unexpectedly, the perpetually stern old Blacksmith didn’t scold him. Instead, he enthusiastically explained the culture, customs, and social systems of the River Domain.

"Oh, right!"

Hawke suddenly remembered something. He turned and retrieved a Sheepskin Scroll marked with a hammer-shaped seal from the back of the counter.

Through the faintly visible text, Roland recognized it as a letter of recommendation for himself.

"This is a letter of recommendation for the Blacksmith Guild."

Hawke gazed at the young man before him, his eyes a mixture of pride and reluctance to see him go.

He clapped Roland heavily on the shoulder, his voice as booming as ever.

"To join the Guild, you need recommendations from two members. You’ll have to figure out how to get the other one yourself. After all, besides me, the only other one in all of Black Water Territory is that old stubborn mule, Henry..."

At this point, the old Blacksmith suddenly changed his tone, poking Roland’s chest with a rough finger.

"Your smithing skills are decent now, but you’re still not quite up to the Guild’s assessment standards."

He urged him earnestly.

"Don’t let your skills get rusty when you get to the River Domain, understand?"

"Yes, Master Hawke!"

Roland bowed deeply, his heart filled with gratitude.

’If it weren’t for this old master’s careful cultivation and appreciation, I never would have achieved what I have today.’

"Alright, enough of that!"

Hawke pulled Roland up and waved his hand dismissively.

"If you get the chance, remember to come back and visit. Let me see how much your skills have improved by then!"

"No problem, Master Hawke!"

After a few more pleasantries, Hawke turned back to his work.

The surrounding apprentices overheard snippets of the conversation and mistakenly believed Roland was just leaving Black Water Territory on a long journey.

Since Roland often helped them with their tasks, everyone got along very well.

Taking advantage of the lunch break, the apprentices held a simple but heartfelt farewell party for Roland in the mess hall.

After bidding farewell to George and the other Blacksmith Apprentices, Roland went to find John.

Unlike Hawke’s earnest advice, the old veteran’s reaction to Roland’s decision to leave Black Water Territory was much more blunt.

"About time you left!"

John waved his hand dismissively, a stalk of wheat dangling from his mouth.

"If I had any other choice, I’d rather die than come to this godforsaken shithole!"

After making plans to drink with the old veteran that evening, Roland hurried to the secluded cabin.

Before he even entered, he could hear the SCRITCH-SCRATCH of a quill pen flying across paper from inside.

The familiar sound made Roland smile knowingly as he pushed the door open and walked in.

The room inside was as messy as ever.

Books and tools were scattered all over the floor, leaving almost no room to stand.

Bronson’s appearance was even more disheveled.

His already patched-up robe had several new holes, and his hair was as messy as a bird’s nest.

The only reassuring thing was that he hadn’t grown any thinner. It seemed he had at least taken the advice to eat on time to heart.

"Roland?"

Bronson looked up at the sound of his voice. Upon seeing his visitor, he jumped up excitedly, nearly tripping over the clutter on the floor.

"Listen! I’ve made a major discovery!"

He gesticulated wildly.

"I’ve discovered that the concentration of Magic Elements of different Attributes varies significantly between regions! For example..."

After pouring out all his findings in a torrent of words, the scholar smacked his lips, still not quite satisfied, and belatedly asked...

"Oh, right. That white bone that young master Dalko brought you last time—is it working out for you?"

"The effect is surprisingly good."

Roland showed off the white bone he wore on his left hand, the corner of his mouth lifting in a slight smile.

"And I can already successfully perform a Trick."

"Ha! Your talent is astonishing, my boy!"

After briefly catching up, Roland told Bronson about his plan to travel to the River Domain.

Just as he expected, when the scholar heard there would be ample research funding, he agreed without a moment’s hesitation.

"When do we leave?"

Bronson asked impatiently, his eyes gleaming with excitement.

Looking at his eager expression, Roland gave a helpless smile.

"I still need to visit a friend in Wuxi Town. It won’t take long."

He paused.

"Why don’t you start packing your things? When I get back, we’ll set off for Distant Harbor to wait for a ship."

"No problem!"

"Oh, right!"

Roland suddenly remembered something and took a quaintly-styled pendant from his tunic.

This was the item that had dropped from the body of the Truth Church leader’s doppelgänger after Roland killed it with a Flaming Arrow not long ago.

"Mr. Bronson, can you help me figure out what this is?"

Bronson took the pendant and squinted, examining it closely.

After a moment, he spoke with some hesitation.

"This seems... somewhat similar to the Magic Tools recorded in ancient texts."

"Magic Tools?"

"That’s right."

Bronson slowly sat down with the pendant, explaining as he observed it.

"Before the Era of the End, some Casters, in order to conserve Spiritual Power, would often pre-inscribe the Runes of specific spells onto tools. When they wanted to use them, they only needed to inject Magic Elements to cast the spell quickly..."

Roland understood.

"Like the Spell Patterns you’re researching that absorb Magic Elements?"

"Oh, it’s a far cry from that."

Bronson waved his hand in embarrassment.

"The crafting process for Magic Tools is extremely complex and precise. In comparison, my research is merely the most rudimentary application of Spell Patterns."

After a moment of contemplation, Bronson’s expression turned serious as he warned...

"Roland, until we figure out what kind of spell is inscribed in this Magic Tool, I suggest you don’t use it rashly. Spells from before the Era of the End were bizarre and varied, and many aren’t even recorded in any texts."

He gently rubbed the pendant.

"For safety’s sake, why don’t you let me study it for a while first?"

"Of course, no problem. I’ll leave it in your hands, then."

Roland agreed readily.

After a few more pleasantries, Bronson buried himself in his research once again.

Seeing this, Roland quietly backed out of the room and gently closed the door.

’Hawke, John, Bronson... oh, right, and Dalko.’

Roland suddenly slapped his forehead and laughed at himself.

’I’ve been with him practically nonstop lately, I almost thought I’d already told him I was leaving...’

At that thought, he summoned Matthew, the Attendant Dalko had assigned him, to ask about the situation. Upon learning that the young noble had been in a private discussion with Baron Fosling in the reception hall ever since he returned, Roland decided to tell him another day.

Strolling aimlessly, Roland found himself at the training grounds.

After asking the old veterans present and confirming that no one there was an expert in the use of Long-Handled Weapons, Roland gazed at the darkening sky and began walking leisurely toward the mess hall.

Before he even reached the door, he heard a rough, angry shout from inside.

"Finally caught you! What little bastard dares sneak in here to steal food!"

Hearing the voice, Roland frowned in confusion and stepped into the mess hall.

Following the sound, he saw a bearded Chef cursing as he gripped something in his hand.

It was a small, reddish-brown squirrel, struggling desperately.