Early the next morning, the first ray of sunlight passed through the window lattice, and Roland opened his eyes.

He released a breath and rolled neatly out of the wooden bed.

"This feeling..."

His mind was unusually clear, and energy filled his body. Remembering the exhaustion and weakness after yesterday's bloody fighting in the forest, Roland moved his limbs thoughtfully.

A faint smile touched his mouth.

"After the Mithril Body Tempering Method reached max level, my mind seems clearer than before, and my stamina recovers much faster. But..."

The burning hunger in his stomach made him shake his head.

"The hunger is stronger too."

Roland dressed, washed up simply, and reached out to push open the door.

Damp morning wind blew against his face.

After his eyes adjusted to the bright sunlight, Roland discovered two tall, thin servants standing outside.

Tiny drops of dew still clung to their hair, glimmering beneath the morning sun, and their collars showed traces of dampness.

Clearly, they had been waiting for some time.

"Mr. Roland, you are awake."

One servant bowed respectfully.

Before Roland could speak, he took the initiative to say, "Young Master Darco originally wished to come personally, but because his injuries are too severe, he specially sent us to welcome you."

The other servant stepped forward at the right time, holding a tray filled with exquisite food.

"You likely have not had breakfast yet. Young Master Darco specially instructed that you need not hurry. It will not be too late to meet him after you finish your meal."

Mr. Roland?

The sudden honorific made Roland's mouth curve slightly.

He stepped aside from the doorway and said calmly, "Very well. Then I'll have breakfast first before going to see him."

One servant carried the tray into the room and placed the food neatly on the wooden table.

"Do you need me to attend you while you dine?"

Roland waved to indicate there was no need.

The servant bowed again.

"Then please enjoy your meal, Mr. Roland."

After saying this, he withdrew and stood silently outside the door with his companion, one on each side, heads lowered like two statues.

The meal was far richer than expected.

Soft, snow-white freshly baked bread gave off an enticing wheat fragrance. Beside it sat a small dish of rich golden butter.

A large piece of roasted venison had a browned surface, with juices seeping along the grain.

Two river fish had been fried perfectly, their skins crisp and dotted with fresh green herbs.

Most eye-catching of all was the steaming bowl of vegetable chowder.

Tender seasonal vegetables surfaced and sank in the milky-white soup, releasing an aroma of cream and vegetable sweetness.

A breakfast of this level would not have been inferior even in his previous life.

It was far beyond the apprentice dining hall's food, which existed only to fill the stomach.

Knife and fork moved briskly across the plates. Before long, the dishes were empty.

These long-missed delicacies made Roland cherish every bite. He even wiped up the last drop of thick soup with bread until nothing remained.

"Huff..."

With the lingering fragrance still in his mouth, Roland stood, touched his rounded belly, and nodded in satisfaction.

Then he walked outside and said, "Let's go. Take me to see Young Master Darco."

"Yes, Mr. Roland. Please follow me this way."

As they walked along the estate's winding gravel paths, Roland caught sight of a familiar figure.

"Captain John!"

Hearing the call, the old soldier turned, revealing bloodshot eyes.

He yawned and walked closer with dragging, exhausted steps.

"Up this early? Are you going to..."

"To see Young Master Darco. And you..."

Noticing the fatigue on John's face, Roland asked, "Didn't you rest well last night?"

"Rest?"

John gave a bitter smile and rubbed his sore eyes.

"The baron sent us to search that forest overnight. We only just got back."

"Did you find anything?"

John curled his lip and jerked his chin to the side.

Several guards were laboriously carrying over a wooden chest.

Inside were broken weapons, shattered armor fragments, and a bloodstained white cloak.

The sun emblem of the Blazing Sun Church was clearly embroidered on it.

"Aside from Goblin corpses all over the ground, we only found this junk."

John's mouth twisted with mockery.

"Who knows what the people from the Blazing Sun Church were doing there? They couldn't have gone to preach doctrine to the Goblins, right? Hah!"

He waved a hand.

"All right, I still have things to do. I'll go first."

"Goodbye, Captain John."

Roland frowned as he watched John leave.

The undisguised contempt in the old soldier's tone when he spoke of the Blazing Sun Church was exactly the same as Darco's.

"Looks like the Blazing Sun Church isn't very popular here..."

Privately noting the discovery, Roland continued forward under the servant's guidance.

Before long, a cluster of tall buildings entered his sight.

This was the first time he had truly stepped into the core area of the noble estate.

An exquisite fountain shimmered in the morning light.

A marble statue of a water deity held a bottle, and clear water drew an elegant arc from its mouth.

Behind the fountain, wide steps led to the main residence. Old-fashioned stone lamp posts stood on both sides, their lampshades carved with intricate patterns.

The servant led Roland up the steps, and the heavy oak doors opened inward without a sound.

The entrance hall floor was covered in a dark red Persian carpet, soft enough to swallow footsteps.

Portraits of past family members hung on the walls.

Each painting sat inside a gilded frame. The figures inside either stood or sat, all wearing the restrained expressions unique to nobles.

Beyond the entrance hall stretched a long corridor.

Sunlight passed through stained-glass windows, spilling colored light across the carpet.

Various trophies were displayed on both sides.

Gem-inlaid swords, beautifully crafted armor, and even the preserved head of an enormous magical beast.

Its glass eyes gave off an eerie gleam beneath the light.

"Please wait a moment."

The servant stopped before a carved wooden door and knocked gently.

"My lord baron, Mr. Roland has arrived."

A deep response came from inside.

The servant opened the door and gestured for Roland to enter.

Inside the reception room, sunlight poured through floor-to-ceiling windows and shone over dark solid-wood furniture.

A huge family banner hung above the fireplace. Several old-looking antiques were displayed on both sides, giving off a mysterious luster beneath the sunlight.

Baron Forsling sat upright behind a broad mahogany desk, maintaining a steady noble smile.

Behind him, Darco stood with an oak cane, his face pale.

"Good morning, Mr. Roland."

The baron's voice was gentle and magnetic.

"You honor me too much, Lord Baron."

Roland stepped forward and bowed slightly.

"Just call me Roland."

When Roland raised his head, revealing his clean, handsome face, Baron Forsling's brows lifted almost imperceptibly.

Unlike ordinary commoners, whose gazes usually mixed awe with avoidance, this young man's eyes were clear and calm, neither servile nor arrogant, carrying a natural composure.

The ease in that gaze made it seem that the person standing before him was not a lofty noble, but a peer of equal status.

That rare attitude surprised even the experienced baron.

"Darco told me yesterday that you saved his life, but he could not explain clearly what happened, so..."

Baron Forsling lifted the porcelain cup beside him and took a small sip of black tea.

"May I ask you to recount it for me?"

"Of course, Lord Baron."

Roland nodded, then narrated what he had seen and heard in the forest yesterday.

This included the battle between the Blazing Sun Church and the Goblins.

Regarding that matter, Roland saw no need to hide it.

First, John would certainly have reported the discoveries in the forest to Baron Forsling.

Second, with Darco's personality, their current relationship, and Roland's status as a blacksmith apprentice, he and Baron Forsling were effectively on the same side for now.

If Baron Forsling heard about the matter and became more vigilant, making preparations in advance or investigating the sequence of events, that would not be a bad thing for Roland, who currently lacked information.

Of course, Roland still concealed the fact that the crimson Goblin could use fire magic.

He only said that the Goblins were powerful and that the Blazing Sun Church warriors had fought them to a stalemate.

"The Blazing Sun Church... Goblins..."

Baron Forsling's slender fingers tapped the oak tabletop in a steady rhythm.

"You're saying they were fighting over something... the remains of a gigantic creature?"

"Regarding that..."

Roland recalled yesterday's scene, paused briefly, then answered with care.

"Lord Baron, the distance was too great at the time. I could only barely identify it as what seemed to be a skeleton."

"I see."

Baron Forsling nodded, his brows drawing together.

He lowered his head and fell into thought. The reception room went silent, with only faint breathing echoing through the spacious hall.

After a long while, unable to reach any conclusion, Baron Forsling raised his head again, and the gentle smile returned to his face.

"In any case, Roland... you saved Darco's life."

"As for other rewards, I believe Darco will not be stingy. And regarding the promise he made to you..."

Baron Forsling opened a drawer in the desk and took out a slightly yellowed parchment scroll.

"This is a copy of our family's Combat Technique, Cleave, which has been passed down for several hundred years."

"I will give you one month to study it. After one month, I hope you can return it intact. Of course..."

"I do not wish this copy to be read by anyone other than you. Is that acceptable?"

After the words fell, Roland noticed Darco's brows draw together for a brief instant.

Though puzzled, Roland stepped forward and respectfully accepted the heavy parchment scroll with both hands.

He had only heard a little about Combat Techniques before, but the rumors were enough for him to understand how precious such skills were.

Saving Darco in the forest had mainly been a matter of self-preservation. Obtaining a Combat Technique was purely an unexpected gain.

With Roland's current status and position, under normal circumstances, he would never have come into contact with this level of inheritance.

So forget one month. Even ten days to study it would have been a tremendous favor.

"I will follow your instructions, Lord Baron."

Seeing that Roland's eyes held pure joy without greed, Baron Forsling nodded in satisfaction.

"Very well, Roland. If you have any other matters in the future, you may go directly to Darco."

"I understand, Lord Baron."

Roland still wanted to ask Darco about the Adventurer's Guild, but he sensed the dismissal in those words and tactfully stepped back, bowing respectfully.

"Then please allow me to take my leave."

After receiving the baron's approval, Roland left the reception room under the servant's guidance.

But after he left, an argument began inside.

"Father!"

Listening to the footsteps fade away, Darco finally lost patience. He frowned and asked, "Why did you only give Roland one month to study it?"

"You know how difficult Cleave is to learn! Forget one month. Even in one year or two years, Roland might not be able to master it!"

Baron Forsling did not respond to his son's questioning at once.

He picked up the porcelain cup, took a small sip of black tea, breathed out a mouthful of steam, then spoke calmly.

"Darco, what is your status?"

"Father, why are you suddenly asking..."

Darco froze.

"Answer me!"

The gentle smile on Baron Forsling's face disappeared, and his voice turned stern.

Under his father's cold gaze, Darco lowered his head and answered honestly,

"I am the eldest son of the Collins family, Darco Collins..."

"I am asking about your status! Your status!"

Baron Forsling's fingers struck the tabletop heavily. The crisp, rapid tapping made Darco shudder.

"A noble! I am a noble!"

He quickly corrected himself.

"Hmph!"

Baron Forsling snorted. Only then did his expression ease slightly.

He turned sideways, his gaze sharp as it fixed on Darco.

"Then what status does that youth named Roland have?"

"A... a commoner?"

Darco hesitated.

"Correct."

Baron Forsling nodded and tapped the chair beside him, signaling his son to sit.

"But aside from that, you should add a few prefixes to him."

Baron Forsling rubbed the armrest of his chair, his gaze deep.

"He is a commoner with astonishing forging talent and considerable swordsmanship."

"Do you know? Three months ago, he could not even perform the most basic forging motions properly. His body was so thin and weak that the other apprentice boys bullied him every day. But now..."

The baron paused, amazement entering his voice.

"His forging skill has even made Mr. Hawk marvel. As for martial skill, he fought his way out of a Goblin-filled jungle while carrying you, this burden. And..."

"Father..."

Darco tugged at the corner of his clothes and defended himself in a small voice,

"I wasn't a burden. I was just careless for a moment..."

"Shut up!"

Seeing his son's unpromising state, Baron Forsling held his forehead and sighed.

"Darco, you are already eighteen years old. Going to the Knight Academy for further study is only a matter of time. I can understand you starting to build your own knightly retinue now, but..."

The baron's gaze was bright and sharp, and his tone grew solemn.

"Do you truly think a genius like Roland would be willing to serve as your army blacksmith?"

"But... but we are good friends who went through life and death together!"

Darco argued anxiously.

"I can avoid making him a blacksmith. He can become my Squire instead..."

"Friends?"

Baron Forsling let out a cold laugh.

"Darco, remember this. In this world, aside from blood-related family affection, any relationship that does not involve an exchange of interests cannot be relied upon. Do you understand?"

"I... I understand."

Darco lowered his head, but unwillingness still flickered in his eyes.

Baron Forsling rubbed his temples at his son's appearance.

"Forget it. In any case, first..."

His expression turned serious.

"When dealing with a talent like Roland, you may attempt to win him over, but you absolutely cannot rely on your noble status to pressure him the way you would other commoners."

"How could I possibly do that?"

Darco lifted his head, eyes wide.

"Roland is different from other commoners. He is my best friend!"

Hearing the word friend, Baron Forsling's mouth twitched visibly.

He forced down his emotions and changed the topic.

"Second!"

He bent a finger and struck the tabletop heavily. The crisp knock accompanied his stern lecture.

"You must remember that no matter how outstanding Roland's talent is, his status is ultimately only that of a commoner. And you are a noble."

"When dealing with commoners, you may bestow charity. You may grant rewards. But absolutely..."

The baron enunciated each word.

"Do not make promises lightly."

"Without my approval, you casually promised our family Combat Technique as a bargaining chip. I do not wish to see such a thing happen a second time. Do you understand?"

Baron Forsling's voice turned severe.

"But..."

Darco muttered quietly.

"Didn't you still give the Combat Technique to Roland to study, Father?"

"Darco!"

Baron Forsling slammed the desk and stood, his sharp gaze locking onto his son like a hawk.

"What is the ancestral teaching of the Collins family?"

This question, which he had been tested on repeatedly since childhood, made Darco straighten by reflex and puff out his chest.

"Words spoken must be carried out!"

"Good!"

Seeing his son answer without hesitation, the baron nodded.

Then he pointed at the door and said sternly,

"Now take that broken cane of yours and get out! You are not allowed to step out of the estate for the next six months. Did you hear me clearly?"

"Yes..."

Darco lowered his head and answered dejectedly, like a rooster defeated in battle.

...

...

Naturally, Roland knew nothing about what had happened in the reception room.

He followed the servant's guidance and had just walked out the main doors when a man and a woman came toward him.

After seeing Roland, the two hurried forward and bowed. The man spoke first.

"Good day, Mr. Roland. I am the servant Matthew, and this is..."

Matthew gestured toward the girl beside him.

"Mary, a maid."

"Young Master Darco instructed that she take care of your food and daily living. As for me, when you need it, I will help you send messages to Young Master Darco."

"Darco is quite thoughtful."

Roland rubbed his chin and looked the two over.

Matthew keenly noticed Roland's examining gaze and bowed slightly, wearing the right amount of smile.

Mary kept her head lowered. Her fair cheeks were flushed in the morning light, and her slender fingers twisted the corner of her skirt.

"Take care of my food and daily living? To put it plainly, isn't that warming my bed?"

Roland understood Darco's goodwill.

It was not that he disliked women. The problem was that signs of mana element revival were becoming more obvious, and chaotic times were approaching.

Before he had enough strength to protect himself, he would not let romantic matters distract him.

Thinking of this, he waved a hand.

"There is no need to take care of my daily living."

Ignoring Mary's disappointed gaze, Roland dismissed her with a few simple sentences, then turned to Matthew.

"Do you know Mr. Bronson?"

"Of course."

Matthew nodded.

"Mr. Bronson is deeply learned. There should be no one in the entire estate who does not know him."

Roland raised his brows.

He had heard no shortage of servants slandering Bronson in private before.

"This fellow... is quite good at reading expressions."

After a light cough, Roland continued, "Mr. Bronson went out earlier and still hasn't returned."

"So I would like to ask you for a favor. If he returns to the estate, notify me right away. Is that all right?"

"Of course, Mr. Roland."

Matthew bowed slightly.

"It is my honor."

After a brief conversation, Roland followed Matthew back to the outer area of the estate.

However, he did not return directly to the dormitory. Instead, he went to the smithy first.

Although he longed to study the Cleave scroll, Roland understood that in this strict hierarchy, strength and status had to support each other.

The occupation panel could let him continuously improve his strength.

But as a commoner, if he wanted to improve his social status, becoming a blacksmith was currently the best path.

He could not disrupt his original plan because of his desire for power.

After entering the smithy, Roland explained what had happened yesterday to Hawk, then threw himself into the forging tasks.

Hammer blows continued without pause. Before lunch, he successfully completed the work Hawk had assigned.

After eating lunch in a hurry, Roland returned to the dormitory, spread the heavy scroll across the wooden table, and studied it with complete focus.

Time passed quietly. Only when the afterglow of sunset spilled through the window did he raise his head from the scroll and rub his sore eyes.

"This Combat Technique called Cleave..."

Roland pressed his fingers against his throbbing temples and carefully reviewed what he had just studied.

"Rather than a combat skill, it is more like a unique force-exertion technique."

The sky outside the window was not yet fully dark, and eagerness rose in him.

He picked up the iron sword set aside and strode out the door.

Thanks to his relationship with John, he entered the training ground without trouble.

Standing before a thick wooden post that one person could barely wrap their arms around, Roland drew a breath, gripped the iron sword with both hands, and recalled the force-exertion method described in the scroll.

"It doesn't rely purely on arm strength. The muscles of the entire body must move like waves, beginning from the soles of the feet, advancing layer by layer along the spine, and finally gathering all that force onto the blade."

Silently reciting this, he stepped forward. The iron sword drew an arc and chopped heavily into the wooden post.

Bang!

The post trembled, and wood chips flew, but Roland frowned.

The strike was indeed stronger than usual, but it was far from the effect described in the scroll.

His force was still scattered, several different streams patched together by force rather than forming a single seamless whole.

"Again!"

He adjusted his breathing and tried once more.

This time, he deliberately slowed his movements, trying to feel the flow of force.

But the more consciously he controlled it, the stiffer his body became. When the blade bit into the wooden post, the recoil made his wrist ache.

A third time. A fourth.

The sunset faded, leaving only Roland's heavy breathing in the training ground.

Sweat beaded on his forehead, and the palm gripping the sword had begun to go numb from repeated impacts.

Each attempt failed in a different way. Either the force could not transmit fully, or the movement distorted. He still could not achieve the smooth exertion described in the scroll.

"The difficulty lies in... full-body coordination."

Roland wiped sweat from his forehead.

The essence of Cleave lay in letting force transmit as naturally as flowing water. But the human body was not a machine.

Muscle contraction, joint rotation, breathing rhythm. The slightest deviation in any part would cause the force to collapse midway.

"No wonder Darco said this Combat Technique was difficult to master."

"With this level of difficulty, even battle-hardened old soldiers would probably need quite a long time just to cross the threshold."

Roland breathed out, planted the iron sword in the ground, and closed his eyes to reflect.

"The force transmission isn't coherent enough."

"My wrist is too stiff. My waist applies force too late."

The details of each failure echoed through his mind, and Roland summarized them one by one. When he opened his eyes again, [Focus] had already activated.

The world seemed separated by a transparent membrane. Surrounding sounds became distant and blurred, leaving only the wooden post before him and the iron sword in his hand.

His thoughts became clearer than ever. The state of every muscle and the rhythm of every breath reflected precisely in his mind, and he controlled them with intent.

He raised the sword again.

This time, he could clearly sense force rising from the soles of his feet.

It passed through his calves, thighs, waist, and back, advancing layer by layer.

Muscle contraction and relaxation became coordinated under his control. Even the subtle angle of his wrist was just right.

Whoosh!

Bang!

The blade cut through the air and struck the wooden post almost at the same instant.

A deep crack appeared on the surface of the post, deeper than any previous strike.

Roland could feel that at least seventy percent of the power in this strike had been transmitted outward.

It still had not reached the effect described in the scroll, but compared with before, it was a qualitative leap.

Without pausing, he swung again.

In the [Focus] state, every failure gave him precise feedback, allowing him to adjust the details of force exertion.

Sweat soaked his clothes, and his temples began to throb. His Spirit was being rapidly consumed, but he did not dare stop.

This mysterious state was fleeting. He had to seize every second.

Finally, on the twelfth attempt...

Slash!

Silver light cut across the training ground, and the blade passed straight through the middle of the wooden post.

After a muffled sound, the upper and lower halves separated. The cut was unbelievably smooth.

Perfect force exertion seemed to have given the iron sword additional sharpness.

"So this is the true... Cleave?"

Before joy could rise, intense dizziness swept over him.

Because his Spirit had been exhausted too severely, the [Focus] state ended by force.

Roland staggered and collapsed onto the ground, his vision going black.

Sweat dripped onto the dirt. The arm holding the sword trembled uncontrollably, all strength drained by that slash.

Even bending his fingers, a motion as simple as breathing, had become incredibly difficult.

But the corners of his mouth curved upward.