"When Darco and I went deep into the forest to hunt..."

Roland drew a breath, his fingertips rubbing the tabletop as he recounted that bizarre encounter.

As the story continued, Bronson's absent-minded expression froze.

The eccentric scholar's eyes widened, and his hands tightened around the hem of his robe.

When Roland finished, the wooden house fell into suffocating silence. Only their slightly hurried breathing remained.

"Cough..."

A moment later, Bronson finally broke the stillness with difficulty, his Adam's apple rolling as he swallowed.

His hoarse voice carried disbelief.

"You're saying... a Goblin... cast fire magic?"

His gaze drifted toward the charred pit on the wall.

That was the proud work left by the Fire Bolt cantrip he had cast just now.

"No need to compare, Mr. Bronson."

Roland shook his head, his fingertips tapping the tabletop in a muffled rhythm.

"The fireballs that Goblin summoned were enough to blow more than a dozen well-equipped, well-trained warriors to pieces. It was absolutely not something an ordinary cantrip could achieve."

"I... I see..."

Bronson's twitching mouth formed an ugly smile.

The wild joy he had felt over the Spell Circuits was doused like charcoal under cold water, leaving only a wisp of awkward smoke.

He went silent for a moment, then rose from his chair and began pacing through the cramped wooden house.

His boots scraped against the floor, accompanied by his low voice.

"The Blazing Sun Church..."

Bronson rubbed the stubble on his chin.

"I don't know much about them, but I imagine they should be one of the many sects that have arisen in recent years."

"Recent years?"

Roland caught the phrase at once.

"Correct."

Bronson stopped and turned to face him.

"When I traveled through the Royal Capital, I personally witnessed countless emerging sects grow like weeds. They dug long-forgotten names of gods out of ancient books and damaged scrolls, then used them to recruit believers and expand their influence."

His voice lowered.

"King Morne issued prohibitions many times, attempting to curb the spread of these churches, but the result..."

He spread his hands helplessly.

"It merely drove their activities underground."

"As for that Goblin that could use magic..."

When the topic returned to that crimson monster, Bronson's brows drew together, finally turning into a heavy sigh.

"Regarding monsters using mana..."

"As I said before, mastering mana elements is indeed as natural as breathing for them. But..."

He resumed pacing, his steps slower and heavier this time, with unconcealed confusion in his voice.

"A Goblin capable of casting fire magic with such power? This truly... exceeds my understanding."

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

Roland asked thoughtfully.

"Flame... giant creature..."

Bronson rubbed his temples, muttering under his breath.

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

"I seem to have... some clue, but based only on those two points, it is difficult to make any well-founded deduction."

"I understand."

Roland nodded.

It seemed his hope of obtaining a complete answer from this scholar had fallen through.

But that was understandable.

Bronson had only studied at the Tower. He was not a prophet.

Roland changed the subject.

"Then, Mr. Bronson, if I encounter that kind of Goblin capable of casting high-level magic, how should I respond?"

"Run!"

Bronson gave the answer without hesitation.

"If you want to confront that kind of monster head-on, you either need to master a knight breathing method and rely on a transcendent physique to maneuver against it, or master a meditation method and cast matching spells. Aside from that..."

His voice sank.

"Other than running, I cannot think of any possibility of survival."

After hearing the expected answer, Roland sighed and stood, bowing slightly.

"Then Mr. Bronson, I will take my leave for now. I will come again tonight to assist with your research."

"Mm..."

Bronson only nodded absently. His whole body seemed drained of spirit, and he slumped into the wooden chair.

Clearly, that Goblin capable of using high-level magic had dealt the scholar no small blow.

After closing the wooden door, Roland turned and strode toward the smithy.

"The Adventurer's Guild... the Blazing Sun Church..."

He murmured under his breath, his steps slowing before he noticed.

"Both rose in recent years. Could there be some connection between the two?"

A bold guess took shape in his mind.

"Could the rise of these organizations be related to the revival of mana elements?"

But he soon shook his head and cast aside thoughts that had nothing to do with him for now.

He pushed open the smithy's creaking wooden door, and familiar scorching air rushed over him.

Roland threw himself into work as usual.

After the final tool was forged, he wiped his hands with a coal-stained rag. When the other apprentices had all gone to the dining hall, he walked toward Hawk, who was busy at the forging platform.

"Master Hawk..."

"Oh? It's you, Roland."

Hawk put down the hammer in his hand and looked up at his young apprentice.

Sweat slid down his graying temples, but satisfaction showed in his eyes.

This newly accepted apprentice was quick with his hands and feet, and he always took the initiative to handle extra work. Hawk had grown deeply fond of him.

"There is something I would like to discuss with you..."

Roland drew a breath, looked directly at Hawk's face reddened by the furnace flames, and spoke the words he had considered for a long time.

"What? You want to take a month off? Go to the Adventurer's Guild to accept bounties? Practice combat skills?"

After hearing Roland's request, Hawk's thick brows nearly stood upright, and he reprimanded him in a low voice.

"Roland, what exactly are you thinking?"

The old blacksmith's rough hand slapped heavily onto the anvil.

"With your talent, if you focus on practicing for a few more years, you can pass the Blacksmith Guild's examination! Why go fight for food with people who live with blades at their throats?"

Facing Hawk's questioning, Roland's gaze remained firm.

"Master Hawk, I just... don't want to be completely unable to resist when facing monsters."

Although he was going to the Adventurer's Guild to complete the Warrior job-change requirements, those words came from the heart.

"You... sigh..."

Hawk released a long sigh, remembering the village Roland had lived in, the village attacked by Kobolds.

The young man's stubborn expression finally made him loosen his grip on the hammer.

"Fine. But you must complete a month's worth of work in advance."

"No problem!"

Joy entered Roland's eyes.

For this old master who had taught him without reservation, Roland held the deepest respect.

So if nothing unexpected happened, he truly did not want to damage their relationship.

"Thank you, Master Hawk!"

Roland bowed solemnly, then said awkwardly,

"Master Hawk, actually... I have one more presumptuous request."

"Speak!"

Hawk answered roughly, his thick brows lifting.

Roland tugged at the washed-white linen clothes on his body.

"Could you... teach me how to make leather armor? You see... I can't exactly wear this when I go subdue monsters and practice combat skills."

"You brat..."

Hawk rolled his eyes, then turned and strode outside.

"Follow me."

Roland froze for a moment, then quickly followed.

As they crossed the courtyard, gravel crunched beneath Hawk's heavy boots.

They eventually stopped before that familiar storeroom.

This was the same place where Hawk had tested Roland's knowledge in the beginning.

The old blacksmith pushed open the creaking wooden door, walked straight to a corner, and dragged a heavy oak chest from a pile of dusty odds and ends.

Bang!

The wooden chest hit the ground with a muffled sound, stirring dust in the shafts of light.

When Hawk lifted the lid, Roland held his breath.

Inside the chest, thousands of iron rings were stacked neatly, each polished bright.

Sunlight slanted in from the high window, leaping across the metal rings and refracting cold light.

"This is..."

"Chainmail custom ordered by an old friend."

Hawk's voice lowered, his rough fingers brushing the iron rings.

"Unfortunately..."

His gaze turned distant.

"Before I could finish forging it, that old bastard died at the hands of monsters."

"Now... it's yours."

Hawk's low voice echoed through the storeroom, startling Roland into raising his head.

Sunlight passed through the window lattice, casting broken light across the old blacksmith's wrinkled face.

"This... Master Hawk..."

Roland's throat moved, and his fingertips brushed the cold iron rings.

Every ring had been carefully forged, with perfectly tight seams that could be called flawless.

Compared with the crude chainmail worn by the estate guards, this was worlds apart.

If these iron rings alone were placed on the market, they would probably be worth more than ten silver coins.

"Quit acting like an old woman!"

Hawk interrupted him roughly, though he could not hide the softness in his eyes.

He slapped Roland's back hard, making the young man stagger.

"These bits of scrap metal will only rust if they're left here. But I'll say the ugly words first..."

The old blacksmith put on a stern face, his rough finger jabbing Roland in the chest.

"I'll give you the materials, but every single piece of armor has to be hammered out by you yourself! Use the workshop's tools as you like. If there's anything you don't understand..."

He paused.

"Come ask me anytime."

"Yes!"

Roland's voice trembled slightly from excitement.

"Useless kid..."

When Hawk turned around, Roland clearly saw the smile tugging at his mouth.

The old blacksmith clasped his hands behind his back and walked toward the door, sunlight stretching his straight-backed figure.

Right before he vanished through the doorframe, a reminder like muffled thunder came back.

"Don't die at the hands of those bastards!"

...

...

For the next period of time, Roland lived a more fulfilling life than ever before.

At dawn, he was already standing before the furnace in the smithy, using increasingly refined forging skill to complete Hawk's assigned tasks with astonishing efficiency.

In the afternoon, the two experienced old soldiers Darco introduced appeared at the training ground on time.

At first, they held no expectations for this lean young man.

Then they saw the learning ability Roland displayed in the [Focus] state.

In his hands, all kinds of weapons often went from clumsy to smooth in a single afternoon.

The two old soldiers exchanged looks filled with disbelief.

By evening, Roland would hurry to that remote wooden house.

Amid flickering candlelight, he helped Bronson draw intricate Spell Circuits on parchment while studying those ancient characters.

Strangely, every time his gaze swept over those twisted characters, his head grew heavier, as though some force were quietly consuming his Spirit. This slowed his learning considerably.

As for forging the chainmail, that became the easiest task.

Hawk had already prepared all the materials. Roland only needed to follow instructions and rivet those coldly gleaming iron rings one by one.

Amid the crisp sounds of metal striking metal, a suit of armor fitted to his body took shape.

During his rare free time, Roland also tried all kinds of new skills, hoping to awaken brand-new skills or even open an unprecedented occupational path.

Although attempt after attempt sank like stones into the sea and the occupation panel remained silent, Roland did not give up.

Through repeated exploration, he finally awakened several brand-new skills.

Just like this, half a month passed.

Roland had finished making preparations to head to Pinewood Town, accept bounties, and subdue monsters.

At dawn, when the sky had only just begun to brighten, Darco opened his eyes.

The young noble turned his head and glanced at the paling sky outside the window, then lazily yawned.

After a moment, he rose from the goose-down bedding.

The servants waiting outside the door heard movement and knocked lightly.

"Young Master Darco, are you awake?"

"Mm..."

Still half asleep, Darco rubbed his eyes.

"Come in."

"As ordered."

The door opened at once, and several well-trained servants pushed carved walnut carts inside in single file.

With their practiced, attentive service, Darco quickly finished washing, dressing, breakfast, and everything else.

Once everything was in order, he leaned on his oak cane and walked outside, surrounded by his personal attendants.

After following the slippery gravel path, the group arrived near the estate's horse grounds.

Darco looked around. Soon, he spotted a clean, handsome young man.

The young man stood before a black horse with a brush in hand.

Morning light outlined his tall, lean silhouette.

Though he was only seventeen or eighteen, the childishness had already faded from his features. His nose bridge was high, his jawline clean, and his amber eyes looked especially sharp in the dim light.

His black hair was neatly tied behind his head, with a few stray locks falling over his forehead against his cool, pale skin.

Although the chainmail was hidden beneath his inner layer, the faint glimpse of it was enough to show how fine it was. The silver-gray metal rings gave off a cold gleam in the morning light.

The dark brown linen robe draped over him lifted slightly in the wind, revealing the iron sword at his waist.

The scabbard was plain and unadorned, but the leather on the hilt had been worn shiny from frequent use.

There was a little mud on his boots, and leather bracers were wrapped around his wrists. Everything about him gave off an efficient, steady air.

...

...

Scrape, scrape, scrape!

The brush swept rhythmically over the black horse's back, drawing smooth arcs across the glossy coat.

After fine dust drifted down with his movements, Roland knelt on one knee and carefully lifted the black horse's forehoof.

Hard clumps of dried mud had collected around the horseshoe.

With the crisp click of an iron hook scraping past, brown bits of dirt peeled away and fell to the ground.

The final step was washing.

The wooden bucket tilted, and bright silver water splashed across the horse's back, washing away the remaining grass bits and dust.

The black horse shuddered all over, mane flying.

The instant countless crystal droplets rose into the air, a line of golden text appeared in Roland's vision.

[You have successfully performed horse grooming. Experience +1]

Roland only glanced at it, and his hands did not stop.

He took a dry cake mixed with hay and oats from the saddlebag on the horse's back. His broad palm rubbed it apart, crushing the cake into pieces suitable for eating.

The black horse obediently lowered its head and enjoyed breakfast from his palm, and another line of golden text appeared at the right time.

[You have successfully performed horse feeding. Experience +1]

"If I'm not wrong..."

Roland stroked the black horse's mane. His fingertips passed through the dense hair, while his thoughts drifted.

"If I train Horse Grooming, Horse Feeding, and Basic Riding all to max level, it should trigger an occupation like Stableman."

"I just don't know what this occupation's trait would be... or what extra buffs it would bring if it resonates with other occupations."

Thinking of this, Roland's mind moved, and a translucent occupation panel appeared before his eyes.

[Name: Roland]

[Race: Human]

[Age: 17]

[Occupation: Blacksmith Apprentice, Recruit, Scholar, Blacksmith, Hunter]

[Strength: 7.8]

[Agility: 4.7]

[Spirit: 1.8]

[Skills: Lv.2 Basic Blacksmithing (6/200), Lv.MAX Basic Swordsmanship, Lv.MAX General Knowledge, Lv.MAX Mithril Body Tempering Method, Lv.MAX Basic Archery, Lv.MAX Basic Dagger Art, Lv.MAX Basic Spearmanship, Lv.3 Lion Swordsmanship (18/300), Lv.1 Cleave (12/100), Lv.1 Basic Riding (18/100), Lv.1 Horse Grooming (8/100), Lv.1 Horse Feeding (8/100)]

[Traits: Humble Apprentice, Combat Readiness, Focus, Animal Friend, Furnace Heart]

[Extra Buffs: Hundred Forgings Make Steel, Theory and Practice, Standardized Production, Ecology Scholar, Adaptive Training, Battlefield Maintenance]

His gaze swept over the dense row of "MAX" marks on the panel, and the corner of Roland's mouth rose.

"Half a month of results. Not bad."

Half a month of bitter training had increased his Strength and Agility by 0.2 and 0.1 respectively.

As for Horse Grooming, Horse Feeding, and Riding, those had all triggered because he specifically asked Darco to bring him to the horse grounds.

Seeing his enthusiasm, Darco had even generously given him this black horse.

Just as Roland had expected, base combat skills such as Basic Dagger Art, Basic Spearmanship, Basic Archery, and Basic Swordsmanship all reached max level at Lv.2.

With the support of the [Combat Readiness] trait, he had quickly trained all of them to max level.

"Of the five max-level combat-related skills required for the Warrior job change, I'm only missing Lion Swordsmanship."

It was not that he did not want to learn other combat skills. Most estate guards were good at battlefield fighting, so in terms of combat skills, they were better at swordsmanship and spearmanship.

If not for one old soldier Darco found who had once been a mercenary, Roland would not even have learned Basic Dagger Art.

"But it doesn't matter. Since I'm going to hunt monsters next, with the [Theory and Practice] trait, Lion Swordsmanship should reach max level quickly."

Roland was still pondering when a call sounded beside him.

"Roland!"

Following the sound, he saw Darco leaning on that familiar oak cane, surrounded by several attendants, limping toward him.

"How is he?"

Darco patted the horse's neck, his tone carrying a hint of showing off.

"Blackwind isn't bad, right?"

Blackwind was the name Darco had given this black horse.

Although it was clichéd, Roland did not mind and had simply accepted it.

"He's a good boy."

Roland smiled, his palm stroking down along the horse's back.

The smooth, silk-like touch brought approval to his eyes, but he still sighed softly.

He was not dissatisfied with the horse. It was just that when he used the [Animal Friend] trait to communicate with Blackwind, the effect was far worse than expected.

If the red squirrel Joe in the forest had intelligence equivalent to a teenager, then Blackwind was at most like a three-to-five-year-old child.

He could understand simple commands, but complex communication was difficult.

Because of this, when Roland practiced riding, his efficiency had not been as high as he had imagined.

"When are you planning to set out?"

As Darco asked, he untied an ornately decorated dagger from his waist.

The silver scabbard gave off a warm luster beneath the sunset, and the hilt was finely carved with the family crest.

"Take this. If you run into trouble, show this to the sheriff of Pinewood Town. He will recognize it as my personal belonging."

Roland's brows drew together, and his fingertips brushed over the scabbard.

The luxurious feel made him instinctively want to refuse, but when he raised his head, he met Darco's sincere gaze.

"Then I won't stand on ceremony."

"That's more like it!"

Seeing that Roland did not thank him this time, Darco laughed loudly, his broad palm patting Roland's shoulder.

Then he bent closer and lowered his voice.

"When you come back, you have to tell me properly what it feels like to be an adventurer."

The young noble glanced at the surrounding servants and complained,

"I've been stuck indoors for half a month. My bones are about to rust! Heavenly Father knows when my father will allow me to go hunting again."

"Hahaha!"

Roland was amused by Darco's gloomy appearance.

"At the very least, you have to wait until that leg wound heals, right?"

"I doubt it..."

Darco curled his lip and shook his head in feigned resentment.

While they laughed and talked, Roland mounted the horse nimbly.

Under Darco's gaze, man and horse disappeared down the forest path east of the estate.

The journey was unexpectedly peaceful, with only the changing scenery reminding him that he was moving forward.

The originally open road narrowed, while the pine trees on both sides grew taller and denser.

When the sky darkened, Pinewood Town's mottled walls finally appeared at the end of the road.

The gate guard stared closely at Roland's clean, handsome face, his brows drawn tight, and his tone stiff.

"I don't care whether you're a mercenary or a so-called adventurer..."

He paused with clear irritation.

"Remember, don't make trouble in town. Understand?"

His impatient expression and rigid tone made it clear that the mercenaries and adventurers passing through town had tormented him plenty.

After smiling and nodding, Roland dismounted, led the horse through the wall, and entered Pinewood Town.

The streets were much more crowded than he had imagined.

Roland led the horse forward, his boots sinking into mud mixed with horse dung. The air carried the mingled smells of ale, sweat, and rust.

Crooked wooden houses leaned against each other on both sides of the street, looking ready to collapse at any moment.

Beneath leather armor drying on a windowsill, several unsheathed short blades dripped water.

The horse snorted uneasily.

Roland followed its gaze.

In the shadow of an alley, a skinny man in leather armor was wiping a bloodstained longsword, while the sack by his feet squirmed strangely.

Their eyes had barely met when three drunken mercenaries knocked open the tavern's wooden door and staggered outside.

Roland turned sideways to avoid the splashing beer foam and glanced inside.

A one-eyed female server was tearing a bandage open with her teeth while wrapping a customer's wound, but her right hand remained pressed to the sharp dagger at her waist.

Bang!

Wood chips fell from overhead.

The sudden fight on the tavern's second floor made everyone raise their heads.

The instant a figure smashed through a wooden window and fell, the vendor selling roasted meat skewers by the roadside skillfully lifted an oilcloth and covered his grill.

Roland noticed that when the vendor lifted the cloth, the motion had the shape of a practiced block, and half a metal bracer was faintly visible beneath his greasy apron.

"Good grief... how is this a town? It's clearly a small military camp."

"New here?"

As Roland sighed to himself, an old man smoking a pipe in front of the blacksmith shop spoke.

In the glow of sparks, an old arrow scar on his neck was faintly visible.

Before Roland could answer, the old man had already pointed with his pipe toward the stone building in the center of town.

Under its porch hung a banner bearing crossed sword and axe emblems.

"That's the Adventurer's Guild."

"Uh... thank you."

After nodding in thanks, Roland led the horse toward the wooden post outside the Adventurer's Guild entrance.

He was preparing to tie Blackwind up when a fierce argument came from inside the guild.

"Go look at yourself in a puddle of horse piss and see what you are! You think you're worthy of fighting me over a commission?"

Before the words had finished, the guild's heavy wooden door was kicked open from the inside.

A tall man rolled out in a sorry state, tumbling down the steps and into the muddy street.

Then a burly man nearly six and a half feet tall stepped over the threshold, cursing as he came out. His shiny bald head was covered in bluish-black tattoos, giving off a savage gleam beneath the dim sunlight.

He strode down the steps and kicked the man on the ground several more times. Only when the man curled up and stopped moving did he spit in lingering dissatisfaction and straighten.

When the bald brute raised his head, his gaze swept across Roland standing nearby, and contempt appeared in his eyes.

However, when his gaze landed on Blackwind beside Roland, those fierce eyes lit with greed.