The Mithril Body Tempering Method was not what Roland had imagined.

It did not describe a way to hammer the body into shape through training. Compared with the cultivation art he had pictured, it was closer to a peculiar potion formula.

The method called for grinding various materials into powder, mixing them evenly, spreading the mixture over the entire body, and then...

"And then it must be used together with a breathing method, or the effect will be greatly reduced?"

Roland stared at the final line on the parchment. His face tightened for a moment before he sighed and comforted himself.

"Reduced or not, it is still better than having nothing. With my current status, there is no way I can get my hands on a breathing method..."

Muttering under his breath, he carefully copied each required ingredient onto a strip of cloth.

"Silverleaf grass, nightshade vine... wait. What is silver dust?"

He knew the earlier herbs.

When the original Roland's father had fallen ill, Roland had often run errands to buy medicines like these. They were expensive, but at least they were common.

Silver dust, however, was something he had never heard of.

Worse, the formula required a large amount of it. It was practically one of the main ingredients.

"Tsk..."

Roland clicked his tongue and shook his head.

When he first discovered the Mithril Body Tempering Method, he had been excited.

According to the parchment, practicing it would greatly increase Strength and improve the body's resistance to blows. It neatly covered his current weaknesses.

He was also still a little short on Strength for the occupation change to Blacksmith.

"Forget it..."

Seeing the sky darken beyond the window, Roland rubbed his hollow stomach.

"Food first. I can study the body-tempering method after that."

With that decided, he opened the door and headed for the dining hall.

The dinner bell had rung some time ago.

By the time Roland arrived, the hall that was usually full of noise had gone quiet and nearly empty. Only one lonely figure sat on a long bench, chewing cold food with mechanical persistence.

"Mr. Bronson?"

Roland's eyes brightened with surprise.

He had known this reserved teacher for only three days, but Bronson's speech and bearing already made one thing clear: the man was deeply knowledgeable.

"Maybe he knows what silver dust is..."

With that hope, Roland served himself from the last of the cold food and sat down beside Bronson.

"Mr. Bronson, why are you eating so late today?"

"Hm?"

Bronson lifted his head. When he saw Roland, he managed a tired smile.

He swallowed the food in his mouth before answering, his voice mild but weary.

"You are late as well... Were you studying?"

Roland soaked the hard black bread in the meat soup left from noon, then replied.

"Yes, Mr. Bronson. I spent the entire afternoon studying the novel you handed out."

"I see..."

Bronson looked at the knowledge-hungry youth in front of him, guilt crossing his face.

"I received the notice too suddenly, so I had no time to prepare proper teaching materials for you. I am sorry."

"It's all right, Mr. Bronson."

Roland swallowed his food and hesitated for a beat.

"The novel mentioned something that made me curious. It was called 'silver dust.' Do you know what that is?"

"Silver dust?"

Bronson's hand paused.

He tipped his head back a little, his attention drifting into some old memory.

The dining hall's dim yellow lamplight threw uneven shadows across his face.

After a short silence, he spoke.

"It is a common material in alchemy. However..."

He turned back to Roland, one brow raised, a knowing smile at his lips.

"Knowledge involving alchemical technique should not appear in a novel meant for entertainment, should it?"

"Uh... well..."

Roland froze with the wooden spoon in his hand.

Those eyes seemed to see far more than Bronson's usual weak, reserved manner suggested.

Roland scratched his head. His throat bobbed.

"No need to be nervous."

Bronson withdrew that sharp attention and picked up his spoon again.

"Everyone has secrets. I don't enjoy digging them out."

He stirred the thick soup in his bowl.

"So... you need silver dust?"

"Yes."

Since Bronson had already laid it out, Roland stopped trying to hide it and nodded.

Bronson's smile deepened.

"I do still have some. However..."

"What do you need me to do?"

Roland asked directly, his fingers rubbing the rough edge of the wooden table.

"Heh..."

Bronson gave a soft laugh, and the fine lines at the corners of his eyes relaxed.

"Mr. Hawk was right. You really are clever."

He set down his utensils and folded his hands on the table.

"I need to commission a dagger. I heard... your forging skill is quite outstanding."

"A dagger?"

Roland was caught off guard.

He had expected a harsh condition. Instead, Bronson only wanted a dagger.

At Roland's current level, that would be easy.

Then another thought struck him.

Hawk's forging skill was obviously far above his, and Bronson seemed to know him well enough. Why go through Roland?

Bronson gave a bitter smile, reading the doubt before Roland could ask.

"I truly cannot afford Hawk's fee..."

His explanation was quiet, touched with embarrassment.

Roland watched Bronson lower his eyes. The reason still felt a little thin, but he nodded anyway.

"Forging it is no problem, but Mr. Hawk has ordered that I cannot enter the smithy or use any tools until I pass the knowledge test."

"Then... are you confident you can pass?"

Roland did not answer at once.

Bronson studied him for a moment. When he found no discouragement in the youth's face, he nodded with quiet meaning.

"Eat first. After that, come with me."

Bronson said nothing more, so Roland fell silent and focused on finishing the food on his plate.

The dining hall, already empty, felt even lonelier. Only the occasional clean clink of utensils broke the stillness.

"Let's go."

Once Roland set down his utensils, Bronson took a silk handkerchief from his coat and wiped the corner of his mouth with practiced elegance. Then he rose and led the way out.

Roland followed at once.

They passed through winding corridors and eventually reached the farthest corner of the estate.

Under the moonlight, a small, dilapidated house stood alone.

"Wait outside."

Bronson opened the door and stepped in. An indescribable odor spilled out.

Through the gap, Roland caught a glimpse of the interior.

Books lay scattered over the floor, leaving almost nowhere to stand. At the far end, a stained wooden table held an array of strange instruments.

Roland tried to see more, but the door closed.

When Bronson returned, he held a cloth pouch tied with a silver ribbon.

"This is the silver dust you wanted. As for this..."

He drew a worn sheet of paper from his coat.

"It is the design for the dagger. I hope to receive the finished product within three months."

A faint smile touched Bronson's mouth.

"I trust you will not disappoint me."

Moonlight cast a cold shade over his face.

Roland gazed at him for a moment, then nodded solemnly.