Roland stroked his chin, his eyes sizing up the two of them.

Matthew keenly noticed Roland’s scrutinizing gaze and immediately bowed slightly, a perfectly measured smile on his face.

Mary, however, kept her head bowed, her fair cheeks blushing in the Dawn Light. Her slender fingers nervously twisted the hem of her skirt.

’Taking care of my daily needs? To put it bluntly, isn’t that just a euphemism for warming my bed?’

Roland appreciated Dalko’s kind intentions, but he had to decline.

It wasn’t that he was averse to women, but the signs of the Magic Elements reawakening were becoming increasingly obvious. A time of chaos was approaching.

Until he had enough strength to protect himself, he would never let such worldly pleasures distract him.

With that thought, he waved his hand dismissively.

"There’s no need for someone to take care of my daily needs..."

Ignoring Mary’s disappointed look, Roland dismissed her with a few simple words and turned to Matthew.

"Do you know Mr. Bronson?"

"Of course."

Matthew nodded lightly.

"Mr. Bronson is profoundly knowledgeable. I doubt there’s anyone on the entire estate who doesn’t know him."

Hearing this, Roland raised an eyebrow.

He had heard plenty of servants on the estate bad-mouthing Bronson behind his back before.

’This guy... he’s pretty good at reading people.’

After a light cough, Roland continued.

"Mr. Bronson went out earlier and hasn’t returned yet."

"So I’d like to ask you for a favor. If he returns to the estate, please notify me immediately. Can you do that?"

"Of course, Mr. Roland,"

Matthew replied with a slight bow.

"It would be my honor."

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

However, he didn’t go straight back to his dormitory. He went to the Blacksmith Shop first.

Although he was desperate to get his hands on the Flowing Slash Scroll, Roland knew that in this rigidly stratified world, Power and status had to go hand in hand.

The Professional Panel allowed him to continuously increase his strength.

But as a commoner, becoming a Blacksmith was currently his best option for raising his social standing.

He couldn’t let his craving for Power derail his original plan.

Entering the Blacksmith Shop, Roland explained what happened yesterday to Hawke and then immediately threw himself into his forging tasks.

The CLANG CLANG CLANG of hammering continued without end. Finally, just before lunch, he perfectly completed the work Hawke had assigned him.

After a hasty lunch, Roland returned to his dormitory. He eagerly unrolled the heavy Scroll on his wooden desk and began to study it with his full attention.

Time slipped by quietly. It wasn’t until the last rays of the setting sun streamed through the window that he finally looked up from the Scroll and rubbed his sore eyes.

’This Combat Skill called Flowing Slash...’

Roland pressed his fingers against his throbbing temples, carefully recalling what he had just read.

’It’s less a Combat Skill and more a unique technique for exerting power.’

Gazing at the sky outside, which had not yet fully darkened, Roland felt a surge of eagerness to try it out.

He deftly picked up the Iron Sword resting at his side and strode out the door.

Thanks to his friendship with John, he had no trouble getting into the training grounds.

Standing before a thick wooden post that one person could barely wrap their arms around, Roland took a deep breath. He gripped the Iron Sword with both hands and recalled the power-exertion method described in the Scroll.

’Don’t just rely on arm strength. The muscles of the entire body must move like a wave, starting from the soles of the feet, advancing layer by layer up the spine, and finally gathering all the Power onto the sword’s edge.’

As he recited the instructions in his mind, he took a sudden step forward. The Iron Sword swung in an arc, striking the wooden post heavily.

BANG!

The post trembled and splinters flew, but Roland frowned.

The Power of this strike was indeed a bit greater than usual, but it was far from the effect described in the Scroll.

He felt his power exertion was still scattered, as if he had forcibly pieced several different forces together rather than channeling them as one unified whole.

’Again!’

He adjusted his breathing and tried again.

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

But the more he tried to consciously control it, the stiffer his movements became. When the blade cut into the post, the recoil even sent a dull ache through his wrist. 𝘧𝓇𝑒𝑒𝑤ℯ𝑏𝓃𝘰𝑣ℯ𝘭.𝘤ℴ𝘮

A third time, a fourth...

The last of the twilight faded, leaving only the sound of Roland’s heavy panting in the training grounds.

Fine beads of sweat dotted his forehead, and the hand gripping the sword was slightly numb from the repeated impacts.

But with every attempt, either the Power failed to transfer completely or his form was off. He simply couldn’t achieve the fluid, seamless power exertion described in the Scroll.

’The difficult part is... the full-body coordination.’

Roland wiped the sweat from his brow.

The essence of Flowing Slash was to let Power transmit naturally like flowing water, but the human body wasn’t a machine.

Muscle contraction, joint rotation, breathing rhythm—the slightest deviation in any of these would cause the Power to dissipate midway.

’No wonder Dalko said this Combat Skill was difficult to master...’

’It’s so difficult that even battle-hardened, experienced veterans would probably need a considerable amount of time just to grasp the basics...’

Thinking of this, Roland slowly exhaled, planted his Iron Sword in the ground, and closed his eyes to reflect.

’The Power transfer isn’t smooth enough...’

’My wrist is too stiff, my waist puts forth power too late...’

As the details of each failure replayed in his mind, Roland analyzed and summarized them. When he opened his eyes again, the [Concentration] Trait had already activated.

In an instant, the world seemed to be separated by a transparent film. The surrounding sounds grew distant and muffled, and his vision narrowed to only the wooden post before him and the Iron Sword in his hand.

His thoughts became unprecedentedly clear. The state of every muscle, the rhythm of every breath, was reflected with precision in his mind, and he could intentionally control it all.

He raised his sword again.

This time, he could clearly perceive the Power slowly rising from the soles of his feet.

It traveled up his calves, his thighs, his waist and back, advancing layer by layer like a tidal wave.

The contraction and relaxation of his muscles gradually synchronized under his control. Even the subtle angle of his wrist’s turn was perfect.

SWOOSH!

BANG!

The sharp sound of the blade cutting through the air and the dull thud of it striking the post exploded at almost the same time.

A deep gash appeared on the post’s surface, far deeper than any of his previous attempts.

Roland could feel that at least seventy percent of the strike’s Power had been perfectly transferred.

Although it still hadn’t reached the effect described in the Scroll, it was a quantum leap compared to before.

Without pausing, he immediately swung the sword again.

In the state of [Concentration], every failure provided the most precise feedback, allowing him to constantly adjust the fine details of his power exertion.

Sweat soaked his clothes and his temples began to throb—a sign of his Spiritual Power being rapidly depleted. But he didn’t dare stop.

This profound state was fleeting; he had to seize every single second.

Finally, on his twelfth attempt...

SCHLICK!

A silver gleam flashed, and the blade sliced straight through the middle of the post.

After a dull thud, the top half of the post separated from the bottom. The cut was unbelievably smooth.

The perfect power exertion seemed to grant the Iron Sword extra sharpness!

’This is the real... Flowing Slash?’

Before joy could even well up in his heart, a wave of intense dizziness washed over him.

Because his Spiritual Power was too severely depleted, the [Concentration] state was forcibly deactivated.

Roland staggered and collapsed to the ground, his vision turning black.

Sweat dripped onto the ground. The arm holding the sword trembled uncontrollably, as if all the strength in his body had been completely drained by that single slash.

Even a simple action like bending his fingers, normally as easy as breathing, had now become incredibly difficult.

But the corners of his mouth curved into a smile.