The Bloodscale Kobold's death seemed to send out some unseen signal.

The Kobolds closing in on the village entrance suddenly scattered.

They hissed in a language no human could understand, backing away step by step. Before long, they vanished into the dark forest.

The village, moments ago filled with screams and slaughter, fell into a dead silence.

Only the crackle of burning houses and the pained groans of survivors remained.

"What... exactly happened?"

Peyton pushed himself up from the ground, pale and bewildered.

He had dodged the Bloodscale Kobold's final counterattack, but the wounds from the earlier battle had split open again. Blood soaked through his bandages, and his arm had gone completely weak.

Roland did not answer.

After confirming there was no immediate danger, he stepped to the charred remains of the Bloodscale Kobold and bent down beside the ashes.

Something small was embedded there.

He picked it up.

It was a blood-red crystal no larger than a fingernail. Its surface was smooth like a gemstone, but amber light moved inside it, like liquid fire sealed beneath glass.

"What is this...?"

Roland was studying the red crystal in his palm when staggering footsteps approached from behind.

He tucked the crystal into his coat and turned.

John limped toward him, covered in blood and leaning on a broken sword.

When the old soldier saw the face beneath the firelight, he froze.

"Good... good evening..."

John's voice was hoarse, thick with the smell of blood.

He had never expected the person who had struck the Bloodscale Kobold so fiercely to be such a thin-looking youth.

Still, remembering that terrifying sword strike, he endured the pain in his ribs and bowed solemnly.

"I am John, captain of the Third Patrol Team under Baron Forsling. May I ask who you are..."

"Captain John."

Roland gave a small laugh and reached out to support the man's trembling arm.

"You don't remember me?"

He moved closer, letting the shifting firelight reveal his face.

"I'm Roland, the youth studying at the estate. Before the celebration, I handled a matter for Mr. Hawk. You questioned me personally at the estate gate."

"It's you!"

John's eyes widened.

The shy, handsome youth in his memory began to merge with the bloodstained young man holding a sword before him.

Once he recognized Roland, the tension finally left John's back.

He braced his hands on his knees and gasped for breath. Blood kept dripping through the cracks in his leather armor.

"I truly didn't expect..."

He managed a strained smile, his bloodstained beard trembling.

"That you had skills like this..."

"You saved my life. If you ever need anything from me in the future, say the word."

As they spoke, Peyton and Gary staggered over, supporting Tom between them.

After everyone bandaged their wounds as best they could, John wiped blood from his face and asked, "Where are you planning to go next?"

"We're going to take shelter at the baron's estate..."

Gary had barely spoken when John shook his head and cut him off.

The old soldier raised a hand and pointed at Roland.

"He has been studying in the estate, so perhaps he can get in. As for you two... don't waste the effort."

His smile turned bitter.

"The baron never allows commoners into the estate. During last year's famine, even our families were kept outside the drawbridge."

Torches crackled, lighting the darkening faces around them.

The joy of survival faded. Reason returned to Gary and Peyton.

They exchanged a look and understood the same thing.

That high-and-mighty baron would never make an exception for lowly people like them.

"Head north."

Seeing their silence, John forced himself to stand.

"Lord Beckham is recruiting soldiers there, preparing to fight the monsters in the Black Fir Forest. With a powerful knight like him holding the position, it should be safe."

He helped Tom up and handed him over to Roland.

"You and Tom return to the estate together. With him as witness to explain what happened, the guards will let you in."

"What about you?"

Roland supported Tom and looked at the resolute old soldier.

"I have to report what happened here to the front line."

John struggled to sheathe his iron sword, his face grim.

"We originally left the estate and hurried to the border with Dawnlight Territory to hold position. But after waiting there for a long time, we never saw any sign of monsters. Only then did the commander send a few of us back to report. I didn't expect..."

He looked around at the devastated village and exhaled heavily, his eyes dimming.

"These Kobolds... how did they bypass the defensive line and infiltrate this place?"

"I've fought Kobolds before, but they were never this cunning. And they should never have been able to..."

John tipped his chin toward the remains of the Bloodscale Kobold, his voice rough.

"Produce a monster that powerful."

He shook his head and waved them off.

"Enough. Leave quickly. Who knows whether those damned bastards will come back."

With that, he turned and departed.

Roland and the others exchanged glances, then headed north.

They took the forest path, Roland staying alert the entire way.

Fortunately, nothing happened. They reached the estate without incident.

Tom entered first to explain the situation, then waved to Roland from atop the high wall.

Roland exchanged a few words with Peyton and Gary before stepping into the estate.

With Tom vouching for him, no one stopped him. He soon reached the dormitory area.

It was deep into the night, but the towering firelight from the village had made sleep impossible for the apprentice youths.

They had gathered in the open space, staring at the distant flames and talking among themselves. No one noticed Roland.

Some were panicked. Some looked afraid. Some sobbed quietly.

Only Marco and a few others stood in silence.

Their families did not live in the village.

As for Marco...

Roland remembered passing the blacksmith shop owned by Marco's father while fleeing.

He had wanted to take some weapons and armor, only to find the shop already emptied.

It seemed Marco's father had evacuated as soon as he received the news.

Roland shook his head, ignored the apprentices in the open space, and dragged his exhausted body into the dormitory.

After putting away his belongings, he dropped onto the bed.

Repeated use of [Focus], followed by intense combat, had drained him in both body and mind. His thoughts were hollow.

The moment his head touched the pillow, he fell asleep.

Night receded. Pale dawn soon spread across the estate.

The mansion was quiet and peaceful as always, almost making last night's bloody battle against the Kobolds feel like a fever dream.

Only when Roland's palm touched the warm red crystal inside his coat did his foggy awareness fully return.

He sat at the edge of the bed and raised the red crystal before his eyes, examining it carefully.

After a long while, he still found nothing useful. For now, he could only set the question aside and get up to wash.

Cold water struck his face.

His mind cleared, and scenes from last night's battle replayed again and again.

"With my current strength and [Focus] assisting me, I should be able to handle low-level monsters like Kobolds as long as there aren't too many. As for..."

He thought of the Bloodscale Kobold that had suddenly burned to ash and shook his head.

"A Mutant Kobold like that is far too strong. Even if it is sluggish, I can't face it alone right now."

"Last night, even with Peyton and John helping from the side, I only managed to wound it badly with everything I had. One-on-one, I probably wouldn't survive a single exchange."

The desire to increase his strength grew even sharper.

Roland opened his pack and inspected it.

"Good. These weren't damaged too badly in the fight..."

He let out a breath. Then, following the formula on the parchment, he ground the required herbs one by one into fine powder.

The pestle scraped softly against the mortar.

A while later, Roland looked at the gray-black powder inside and frowned.

"This can really temper the body?"

He had his doubts, but his hands did not stop. He accurately added the final ingredient, silver dust, into the mixture.

The instant the gray-black powder touched the silver dust, the two merged soundlessly, like snow melting into water.

At first, only tiny silver points glimmered.

Then the whole mass of powder began to writhe and contract, pulled by some invisible force.

The dry powder turned damp. A silver sheen rose across its surface, and it began to flow like mercury.

Within a few breaths, the mixture had become a thick pool of silver liquid, rippling gently in the mortar. Tiny waves occasionally rose across it, giving it the unsettling look of something alive.

"This is..."

Roland swallowed.

He stared at the shifting silver fluid, unsure what to do for a moment.

After he forced himself to calm down, he checked the parchment again.

Once he confirmed that the final product matched the record exactly, he stripped off his clothes and quickly smeared the viscous silver liquid over his entire body.

The moment the last bit of liquid covered his skin, a cool sensation washed through him like an early spring stream, loosening his taut nerves.

The comfort lasted only a breath.

Then the muscles beneath his skin contracted all at once.

Sharp pain surged through him like a tide, like countless silver needles piercing his pores at once and rushing through his blood vessels into every limb.

Roland's body shook violently. Cold sweat poured from him.

The silver liquid wriggled like a living thing, drilling into his pores, then seeping back out through his skin with some dark red substance caught within it.

With every cycle, the silver faded a little, returning by degrees to a muddy gray-black.

During the process, Roland could clearly feel something inside his body being dragged out by force.

Muscle, bone, blood, and even some deeper impurity were being torn away and carried off by the strange liquid.

Agony came in waves, nearly crushing his awareness, but an invisible force seemed to hold his body in place. He did not even have the right to collapse.

Golden text continued to appear before his eyes.

[You have learned Mithril Body Tempering Method. Current level: Lv.1]

[You have successfully performed Mithril Body Tempering Method training. Experience +1]

[You have successfully performed Mithril Body Tempering Method training...]

[You have successfully performed...]

Roland had no attention to spare for any of it.

"Ugh... ah!"

The sound forced from his throat was hoarse and broken.

His eyes turned bloodshot. Darkness crept into his vision, yet his consciousness only grew clearer, refusing to let him faint.

His nails dug deep into his palms. Blood ran down his wrists, only to be swallowed completely the instant it touched the gray-black powder.

After an unknown length of time, the liquid finally lost all silver color and returned to dry gray-black powder. It peeled from his body with soft rustles.

The force holding him vanished.

Roland's legs gave out, and he dropped heavily to his knees.

"Haa... haa..."

He panted, his throat burning like it had been seared by hot iron.

Cold sweat soaked his entire body and gathered in a small puddle on the ground.

Only after a long while did Roland recover enough to focus on the occupation panel before him.

"One training session gave thirty-four experience? And..."

His gaze moved lower, and shock made his voice tremble.

"My Strength attribute increased directly by 0.7!"

The number was almost unbelievable.

Before this, even deliberate strength training had barely raised his Strength by 0.1 in a month.

After he obtained the extra buff [Hundred Forgings Make Steel], that speed had improved, but it still took half a month of hard work to gain 0.1 Strength.

Now, one session of the Mithril Body Tempering Method had equaled more than three months of sweat.

The difference was so great that Roland took a deep breath and let it out, forcing down the excitement rising in his chest.

Once his heartbeat steadied, he lowered his head and examined his body.

The faint muscle lines he once had were now sharp and distinct, every muscle tight and powerful.

Even more surprising, his skin had become fair and smooth, almost like a newborn's, with a healthy luster beneath it.

The small wounds left from last night's fight with the Kobolds had vanished completely, cleansed away by some mysterious force.

"And this is with the effect greatly reduced because I lack a breathing method..."

Remembering the words on the parchment, Roland felt heat rise in his chest.

"If I could practice it together with a breathing method, then..."

A moment later, he calmed down and shook his head.

His access to information was limited, but he had still heard of legendary things like knight breathing methods.

At least in the Golden Valley Kingdom, knight breathing methods were core secrets of the noble class, tightly controlled by the great families and never leaked except under special circumstances.

With his current status, he had no chance of touching anything so precious.

"Forget it. Obtaining the Mithril Body Tempering Method is already an unexpected gain. Besides..."

Roland looked at the number behind Mithril Body Tempering Method in the skill column, and a faint smile appeared.

"An experience cap of one hundred means I can practice it at least two more times. I'm only one step away from the four Strength required to change occupation to Blacksmith. However..."

The breeze brushed his skin, bringing a faint sting. Roland recalled the parchment's warning.

"With my current physical condition, I'll probably need to wait a few days before the second training."

With that settled, he changed into spare clothes and pushed open the door.

Only a few days remained before the knowledge test deadline.

He did not want to miss the examination opportunity one month later because he failed the test.

The smithy still echoed with hammer strikes, but last night's fire in the direction of the village had clearly affected everyone.

Marco and the other apprentice youths worked in silence with their heads lowered. None of them noticed Roland arrive.

Only Hawk, leaning against the wall, raised his eyes. His broad palm settled on Roland's shoulder.

"Kid..."

Surprise crossed Hawk's eyes, and his rough fingers rubbed the fabric of Roland's clothes.

"Didn't expect you to come back alive..."

He sighed, as though he wanted to say more, but he did not ask about last night. Instead, he lifted his gray-white brows.

"Recognized all the words?"

"Yes, Mr. Hawk."

"Good."

After giving Marco and the others a few instructions, Hawk beckoned to Roland.

"Follow me."

Leather boots thudded over the stone path.

They passed through a yard piled with farming tools and arrived at a spacious storeroom.

Sunlight slanted in through the high window, illuminating drifting dust.

Hawk took a yellowed strip of cloth from an oak cabinet and slapped it into Roland's palm.

"Read."

Roland lowered his head. His gaze fell on the yellowed strip, and the knowledge in his mind began moving rapidly.

He read through it silently first. After confirming there were no issues, his clear voice echoed through the storeroom.

Hawk's calm expression changed little by little. His brows eased, and surprise appeared in his eyes.

When Roland finished the final paragraph and even corrected several awkward phrases, the old blacksmith clapped his rough hands with a dull smack.

"Good lad!"

Hawk's praise was undisguised.

"I thought your forging talent was already surprising enough. I didn't expect your reading and writing to..."

He paused.

Half a month ago, Roland had still stumbled over a contract. Now he could read fluently and point out grammatical omissions.

Hawk clicked his tongue and made the decision at once.

"Fine. You passed the knowledge test. From today onward, you can come to the smithy and train as usual."

Then he stepped forward, pressing his broad palm heavily onto Roland's shoulder. His tone turned serious.

"However, Marco and those boys haven't been idle. They've trained harder than anyone during this period. If you want to win in the examination one month from now, you'll need to put your life into it. Understand?"

"Yes!"

Seeing the determination in Roland's eyes, Hawk nodded in satisfaction.

"Right, Mr. Hawk..."

Thinking of Bronson's commission, Roland spoke quietly. He concealed the details of the silver dust transaction and briefly explained that he had agreed to forge a dagger.

Hawk gave a helpless chuckle after listening.

"That fellow is still so stubborn... Fine. Since he's the one asking you for help, do as you like. However..."

The old blacksmith stopped abruptly, his brows drawing together.

"Because of the war near the Black Fir Forest, ore supplies are tight, so I'll only give you enough for three iron blanks."

He raised three short, thick fingers and waved them in front of Roland.

"If you ruin them, you'll pay market price. Understand?"

"Understood, Mr. Hawk."

Roland nodded without hesitation.

He still had five silver coins. Buying a few pieces of ore was more than manageable.

They returned the way they had come and entered the smithy again.

When Hawk announced that Roland could reenter the smithy and train his forging skills, the rhythm of hammering paused for a brief moment.

Marco and the other apprentice youths exchanged surprised looks.

None of them had expected this boy, who once could not read a contract smoothly, to overcome the knowledge test in less than a month.

Soon, however, the hammering resumed.

Faint smiles hung at the corners of the youths' mouths, and their hands kept working.

To them, what did it matter if Roland returned?

Before this, they had already believed their forging skills were close to his.

More importantly, they had trained day and night over the past month, and their forging had advanced rapidly.

Roland, who had abandoned training, was probably rusty even with the basics.

Only Marco frowned slightly.

But when he saw the increasingly refined skills of the youths beside him, he said nothing and lowered his head to continue swinging his hammer.

Roland ignored their faint mockery and went to the anvil in the corner.

He pulled the bellows, smelted ore, and forged tools with practiced movements.

After confirming that his skills had not gone rusty, he did not continue making finished tools to accumulate experience. Instead, he took out the blueprint Bronson had given him.

In a few days, he would be able to increase his Strength through the Mithril Body Tempering Method and officially change occupation to Blacksmith.

When that happened, he could see what trait the Blacksmith occupation granted and train accordingly.

For now, he might as well try to complete Bronson's dagger and settle the transaction early.

Personally, he disliked owing people.

Practically...

Thinking of the mysterious side Bronson had shown that night, Roland lowered his head and studied the blueprint carefully.

"Tsk..."

He had examined it many times already, but the dagger's forging difficulty still made him click his tongue.

The weapon Bronson wanted was completely unlike an ordinary dagger.

Overall, it resembled a short sword. The tip and tail were unremarkable, but the middle section curved inward until it narrowed into a cylindrical shape.

That strange structure would test both forging and ore-smelting technique.

Not only that, he had to use a file to carve dense lines across the central cylinder.

The slightest mistake could snap the middle section.

And those lines...

Roland rubbed the patterns on the blueprint with his fingertips.

He faintly felt they were not as chaotic as they appeared. They seemed to follow some strange rule.

Some areas were dense like spiderwebs, while others opened into sparse, clean spaces. Even the turning points held subtle arcs, like they were guiding something.

"This thing... doesn't look like simple decoration."