Roland stared at the parchment, which had survived the years in relatively complete condition. His fingertips tapped the wooden table.

For a time, that crisp sound was the only thing echoing through the silent house.

After a moment, his expression tightened.

"Then, Mr. Bronson..."

His finger moved to the crystal clusters on the table.

"Could the ones conducting this forbidden experiment be Warlocks?"

"Warlocks? Ha!"

Bronson froze at first, then shook his head with absolute certainty.

"Impossible. Trust me, Roland. Any professional who has mastered transcendent power would never involve themselves in crooked methods like this. However..."

He noticed Roland's frown and asked in confusion, "You seem especially wary of Warlocks..."

"Not wary..."

Roland shook his head.

"Only in awe of those who possess transcendent power."

"But when we talk about Knights, you don't show that same awe toward them..."

As Bronson spoke, he carefully put away the yellowed wanted notices and ancient text.

Only after finishing did he realize something. He turned around, his tone becoming subtle.

"Roland, don't tell me you think... Knights are far weaker than Warlocks?"

"Aren't they?"

Roland blurted the question out before thinking.

In the memories of his previous life, every record of Western fantasy placed Warlocks and Mages at the top, supreme beings praised in countless epics.

Other occupations, Knights included, always seemed relegated to supporting roles.

"Of course not..."

Bronson shook his head, unable to understand where Roland's bias had come from.

"In truth, every transcendent professional has their own strengths. In terms of overall power, none are inherently superior or inferior. Warlocks are only one kind of transcendent professional among many."

He counted them off on his fingers.

"Leaving aside ancient occupations that have already been lost, such as hexblades, Monks, and Sorcerers... even among the surviving Knights, Rangers, and Barbarians, the power they possess is fully capable of standing shoulder to shoulder with Warlocks."

At this point, Bronson's gaze drifted, and reminiscence entered his voice.

"When I was young and had just left the Tower, I once had the honor of witnessing a military parade hosted by King Morne of the Golden Valley Kingdom..."

"The Blood Moon Rebellion had just been quelled at the time. To display national power and stabilize the people, King Morne held an unprecedented martial tournament."

His expression turned complex, caught between shock and nostalgia.

"I saw it with my own eyes. That king merely swung his sword casually, and a small hill in the distance was leveled flat..."

"That kind of power, in my view, was not inferior in the slightest to the fourth-ring spells recorded in ancient texts."

"Of course..."

As Bronson spoke, he placed the crystal clusters on the table into a wooden box.

"Even among transcendent professionals of the same occupation, there are enormous differences between individuals. Someone like King Morne has likely already reached the peak of the Knight occupation..."

Roland committed this information to memory, then asked, "Then, Mr. Bronson, in your opinion... what kind of person would conduct such forbidden experiments?"

Bronson shook his head and closed the wooden box.

"I can't know exactly who. But one thing is certain. It must be someone with no chance of walking the Path of Transcendence, yet desperate for power..."

"I understand. Thank you for your answer, Mr. Bronson."

"No need to be polite."

Bronson waved a hand, returned to his usual seat, and took out the white bone. A self-mocking bitter smile appeared at the corner of his mouth.

"In the end, all I have left to show off is this stale knowledge..."

The two chatted for a while longer before Roland rose and took his leave.

Walking along the quiet gravel path, Roland recalled Bronson's words and rubbed his chin in thought.

They had made him realize that his understanding of this world contained a deeply rooted misconception.

According to his original view, although Knights were transcendent professionals, their strength should at most be that of minor superhumans.

But judging from Bronson's description, top Knights were practically walking calamities.

Even more alarming, Barbarians and Rangers possessed the same kind of terrifying strength.

And now, as mana recovered, even more powerful transcendent professionals would surely emerge in the future.

"This world... seems far more dangerous than I imagined..."

With that thought, Roland's desire for strength burned hotter.

"So the descriptions of Knight strength in those popular novels... weren't exaggerated after all..."

Remembering the Knight novel plots Sean had once chattered about endlessly, he shook his head and walked toward the dormitory.

Over the next few days, Roland adapted to the sudden increase in strength after taking up Warrior while keeping close watch on nearby movements.

After confirming that the strange rioters had not appeared again, he began packing his bags, preparing to set out for the port east of Dawnlight Territory.

Just as he finished packing and was ready to go, Darco visited.

The young noble master brought a carefully forged suit of plate armor, complete with breastplate, arm guards, and leg guards. The craftsmanship was exquisite enough to inspire admiration.

The only flaw was that Roland's build after taking up Warrior had become even more imposing than Darco's, so the plate armor Hawk had custom-made for Darco felt cramped on him.

"Uh..."

Darco, who had arrived full of excitement, watched Roland move awkwardly in the ill-fitting armor. The smile on his face froze.

Roland walked back and forth inside the room to test it. After confirming that the plate armor truly hindered his movement, he shook his head helplessly.

"Forget it, Darco. This suit of plate armor really doesn't suit me..."

As he spoke, Roland removed the heavy breastplate, and the metal pieces clashed with crisp sounds.

Darco looked embarrassed. He gestured at his own body with both hands, then looked up and measured Roland again.

"True. Sorry... I didn't expect you to..."

He hesitated, confusion passing over his face.

He was not sure whether it was an illusion, but after the fierce battle that night, the friend before him seemed to have grown even more powerfully built.

"You really are growing fast..."

Darco muttered, disbelief in his tone.

Looking at the dejected young noble, Roland chuckled and removed the last piece of leg armor.

"Darco, as a member of the estate, defending the territory is my duty. You really don't have to..."

"No!"

Darco raised his voice and interrupted him.

The young noble master clasped his hands behind his back and paced through the room, boot heels knocking out an urgent rhythm against the floor.

"Father taught me that those who render merit must be rewarded..."

He stopped and turned, determination lighting his eyes.

"How about this? I'll ask Master Hawk to forge an entirely new suit of plate armor tailored to you. Besides that..."

He rubbed his fingers together, a little nervous.

"What else do you lack?"

Facing Darco's earnest gaze, Roland shook his head with a helpless smile.

"Perhaps... you could reward me with some coin?"

In truth, Roland was not short of money.

The reward from completing the Adventurer's Guild commission, after deducting what he had given Bronson for Spell Circuit research, was enough to support this journey.

But if he accepted nothing at all, this stubborn young noble would probably find it hard to let the matter go.

"Coin?"

Darco's eyes lit up, and he immediately strode toward the door.

"Wait here for me!"

His voice faded with his departing footsteps.

Watching Darco leave in such a hurry, Roland shook his head with a laugh, then turned and carefully checked his luggage.

Unlike his previous trip to Pinewood Town, this time, besides the necessary rations and clean water, he had also brought a full set of alchemy tools and the materials needed to prepare the Consciousness Shoal awakening potion.

Although his alchemy skill had already risen to Lv.2, whether he could successfully prepare this special potion remained unknown.

For that reason, Roland decided to stay at the port for some time until he ensured the potion was successfully refined.

He did not want to return to the estate only to discover that his supply of Devilfish Eye Fluid was insufficient. Turning back to buy more would waste far too much time.

"Hm... I shouldn't be missing anything... Right! I need to bring a few more bottles of keen-eye potion. That stuff works much better than expected..."

Once everything was prepared, Roland stroked the alchemy materials in his bag, and his thoughts drifted.

"I wonder what new occupation will be triggered after I successfully prepare the potion, awaken the Consciousness Shoal, and master cantrips..."

"A transcendent Spellcaster like Warlock is definitely out of the question... But since cantrips and spells both belong to magic, they should open an occupation path related to spellcasting..."

As he thought, hurried footsteps came from far away and quickly drew near.

Darco pushed open the door and tossed a weighty money pouch onto the wooden table, producing a dull thud.

"Roland, although Father isn't here, I can't touch the estate's public funds."

Darco wiped sweat from the corner of his forehead, pride in his tone.

"These are all the coins I've saved over the years. They're yours!"

Looking at Darco's generous appearance, Roland laughed and opened the money pouch.

Amid the gleam of silver coins, a flash of gold was especially eye-catching.

"Oh! One gold and thirty-two silver?"

Roland raised a brow and deliberately drew out his tone.

"Your little stash is not small..."

Because they chatted so often on ordinary days, Roland knew Darco's situation very well.

Since food, clothing, housing, and travel were all provided by the estate, Baron Forsling never gave his son extra coin, claiming it was to cultivate diligence.

In Roland's view, however, the baron who hosted banquets every other day did not seem particularly qualified to talk about diligence.

After carefully putting away the money pouch, Roland asked casually, "Right, Darco. Has Lord Baron Forsling sent any reply?"

"Not yet."

Darco shook his head.

"It's only been a few days. The messenger may still be on the way back."

Roland nodded.

Although he had never personally seen Baron Forsling take action, from John's occasional remarks, he had learned something about the baron's strength.

Although for certain reasons Forsling had been unable to cultivate a knight breathing method, his strength had long since broken past mortal limits and reached the transcendent domain. His overall strength was not much different from Roland's current level.

Those strange rioters might be a threat to ordinary people, but to someone who had stepped beyond mortal limits, they were not worth mentioning.

Moreover, Baron Forsling had brought the estate's most elite guards with him.

Thinking of this, the worry in Roland's heart dispersed.

After exchanging a few more pleasantries, he walked out of the room and mounted his horse neatly.

As hoofbeats faded, his figure soon disappeared down the road leading toward Dawnlight Territory.

When he passed a large fork in the road, Roland reined in and stopped. After carefully identifying the directions, he chose one path and continued forward.

Not long after he left, on another branch of the road, a group of staggering figures appeared.

The armor on their bodies had long since become tattered beyond recognition, and their bloodstained chain mail gleamed dark red beneath the sunlight.

Every face was covered with blood and dust, and heavy breaths came from cracked lips.

The soldiers at the front supported themselves with broken spears, yet still stubbornly maintained a defensive formation.

The noon sunlight pierced through the clouds and happened to fall into the tightly protected center.

In the dazzling light, an unconscious body could be clearly seen.

Baron Forsling's eyes were tightly shut, and the face that always carried authority was now pale as paper.

Dawnlight Territory was not far from the estate. On a fast horse, the journey took only a few days.

Roland did not delay much on the road, stopping only briefly at the village where he had once taken temporary shelter.

Time had moved on. The village had long since recovered, as though the Kobold attack back then had only been a dream.

There were fewer familiar faces and more unfamiliar figures.

When his gaze landed on the inn converted from the blacksmith shop, his brows drew together.

The image of Marco, that blacksmith's son who had always looked down on others, surfaced in his mind.

"That guy... he can't still be locked in the dungeon, can he?"

The thought vanished as quickly as it came.

Amid the villagers' noise, Roland lightly squeezed the horse's sides and continued on his journey.

Unlike Blackwater Territory, whose terrain was rugged with dense forests and mountains, Dawnlight Territory appeared relatively open.

As he traveled east, the road beneath him became broad and flat. The forests on both sides grew sparse, replaced by rolling hills and open fields.

On the third day after leaving the estate, Roland arrived at a small village on the border between the two territories.

However, the scene before him was completely different from the Blackwater Territory villages he knew.

If Blackwater Territory's villages were quiet and peaceful, this border village of Dawnlight Territory showed an entirely different face.

Crooked thatched cottages crowded both sides of the muddy path. Several sallow, thin children hid behind cracked doors and peered out.

At the entrance to the tavern in the center of the village, several drunken mercenaries were grabbing a village woman and joking crudely with her. The swords and knives at their waists gleamed coldly in the dusk.

Fresh blade marks scarred the tavern wall, and dark red bloodstains could be seen on the ground.

Several wanted notices were pasted to the signboard at the village entrance, rustling in the evening wind.

Occasional screams from women and curses from men sounded, then were quickly drowned in the smell of cheap ale.

The entire village was bleak. Even the watchdogs tucked their tails and hid in corners.

Roland looked around. After sensing those ill-intentioned gazes, he immediately gave up on the idea of staying here for the night, raised his riding crop, urged his horse onward, and continued galloping forward.

The village was extremely small. In only a short while, he reached the entrance at the other end.

There, several dozen villagers had gathered to wait.

Their clothes were ragged. There were men and women among them, but all craned their necks and looked into the distance, hope shining in their eyes, as though awaiting something important.

While Roland was still confused, a line of figures appeared on the distant horizon.

Those people walked calmly, yet their speed was strangely fast. That contradictory gait gave Roland a strange sense of familiarity.

In the blink of an eye, the group approached the village, and only then did Roland clearly see their appearance.

There were about a dozen of them. Loose white robes covered their entire bodies, exposing only jawlines of different shapes.

At the sight, Roland's face tightened. Without revealing anything, he reined in and retreated to a concealed spot at the side.

When the white-robed group drew near, the villagers waiting eagerly immediately swarmed forward.

Like pilgrims, they all knelt in unison, stretched both hands forward, and pressed their foreheads tightly against the earth.

The leading white-robed person's mouth lifted slightly. He took a step forward and asked in an ethereal voice, "What do you seek?"

The moment the words fell, the villagers answered in low voices at the same time.

"Only truth."

"May truth endure."

"May truth endure."

Both sides murmured like people exchanging a password, their voices so faint they were almost inaudible.

Afterward, the white-robed people scattered. They took glass bottles filled with pale blue liquid from their robes and handed them one by one to the villagers.

The villagers reacted differently after receiving the potion bottles.

Some carefully hid the bottles in their clothes, while others impatiently pulled out the stoppers, tilted their heads back, and drank the liquid in one gulp.

As his Adam's apple bobbed, the villager who had drunk the pale blue liquid saw his dull eyes brighten with unusual vigor visible to the naked eye.

"Is that... an energy potion?"

Roland narrowed his eyes.

"The effect is fairly similar, but..."

His gaze followed that gaunt villager.

The man's shriveled cheeks quickly regained color, even flushing with an unnatural red.

"The potency seems much stronger than the energy potion I refine?"

While Roland pondered in silence, the villagers who had received potions thanked the white-robed people profusely and dispersed.

The group of white-robed people continued into the village. Only then did Roland see the pattern embroidered on their backs.

A huge eye outlined with dark silver thread. Its pupil was dilated to the limit, a sight that made his skin prickle.

"Truth?"

Roland's brow tightened, and he suddenly thought of the mysterious woman he had met in Pinewood Town.

"Could this be the Church of Truth Teresa mentioned?"

Although he already had a guess, Roland took no action.

His purpose for this trip was to purchase Devilfish. Creating complications was not wise.

Only after the villagers and white-robed figures had completely disappeared at the end of the village road did he lead his horse out from the shadows, mount neatly, and continue galloping east.

As he continued deeper into Dawnlight Territory, Roland discovered that the villages and towns along the way did not become more prosperous. Instead, they grew increasingly desolate.

Even more alarming, among the mass graves scattered beside the road, more than half of the piled-up corpses were young women.

Security here was even worse.

Over the short journey of only a few days, Roland could no longer remember how many waves of bandits had tried to rob him on the road.

Those desperadoes all became souls beneath his sword in the end. Their corpses lay quietly in the wilderness, merging with this chaotic land.

Compared to this place, Pinewood Town, which he had visited before, could practically be called an orderly paradise.

After five days of riding day and night, the salty, damp scent of the sea breeze finally blew against Roland's face, and his taut nerves eased slightly.

He looked into the distance and saw a grand port city built along the sea taking shape ahead.

That was the destination of his journey, Far Harbor.

Although this port city was surrounded by several baronies of the Golden Valley Kingdom, it did not belong to the Golden Valley Kingdom. Instead, it belonged to the River Kingdoms bordering it to the north.

Unlike the Golden Valley Kingdom, the River Kingdoms had no actual centralized ruler. Several major merchant families governed it jointly with the local minor nobles.

Although its military strength was mediocre, its favorable geographic location made it a trade hub rich in goods, and it maintained good diplomatic relations with neighboring countries.

Shaking his head and setting aside the intelligence he had heard from Bronson, Roland dismounted and silently joined the long line entering the city while holding the reins, moving forward with the crowd.

As he drew closer, Far Harbor's outline became distinct.

Tall gray-white walls wound along the coastline. Several domed towers stood at key positions, flying flags with golden anchors on blue backgrounds.

On both sides of the city gate stood guards wearing dark blue uniforms.

The copper buttons on their chests were engraved with anchor emblems, and the scabbards of the curved blades at their waists were inlaid with mother-of-pearl, matching the harbor style very well.

"Next!"

When the guard shouted in a rough voice, Roland had already handed over the pass he had prepared in advance.

The man rubbed the parchment between calloused fingers, narrowed his eyes, and sized up the longsword at Roland's waist.

"Mercenary?"

"Traveler."

"Don't cause trouble."

After carefully identifying the seal on the pass and confirming there were no omissions, the guard quickly waved him through.

Once he passed through the heavy arched city gate, the scene before him opened wide.

Both sides of the main road paved with stone slabs were packed with shops hanging all kinds of signs. The air carried the mixed smells of grilled fish, spices, and caramel.

At the street corner, several merchants dressed in strange clothing were bargaining with local vendors, coins flashing in tiny glints beneath the sunlight.

As for the distant dock district, masts stood like a forest. Merchant ships from foreign lands were unloading cargo, and porters shouted work chants as they carried bundled goods down the gangplanks.

"Now this is a place fit for people..."

Feeling the noise and vitality completely different from Dawnlight Territory, Roland released a long breath.

He led Blackwind around the city, casually chose an inn that looked fairly clean, settled his belongings, and headed straight for the fish market he had just asked the attendant about.

After passing through several narrow alleys, a pungent fishy smell rushed toward him. Roland frowned, but his steps did not stop.

Soon, he locked onto his target.

"This... ma'am..."

Looking at the fish vendor who was busy with her head lowered, Roland lightly coughed and spoke.

"How much for Devilfish?"

"Devilfish?"

The fish-selling auntie did not even raise her head and briskly quoted the price.

"One silver and twelve copper per fish..."

Hearing this price, Roland, who had been about to take his money pouch from his clothes, froze in place.

"How... how much?"