Roland stared at the parchment, which remained remarkably well-preserved despite its age, his fingertips tapping unconsciously on the wooden table.

The crisp tapping was the only sound echoing through the quiet cabin.

After a moment of silence, Roland spoke slowly, his brow furrowed.

"So, Mr. Bronson..."

His finger tapped the Crystal Cluster on the table.

"Could it be a Wizard conducting this kind of forbidden experiment?"

"A Wizard? Ha!"

Bronson froze for a second, then shook his head decisively.

"Absolutely not. Believe me, Roland, no Professional who has mastered an Extraordinary Power would ever dabble in such nefarious practices. However..."

He noticed Roland’s furrowed brow and asked in confusion.

"You seem... particularly wary of Wizards?"

"It’s not that I’m wary..."

Roland shook his head, a complicated look flashing in his eyes.

"It’s merely awe for those who command Extraordinary Power."

"But you didn’t show this same sense of awe when we were talking about Knights..."

Bronson said, carefully putting away the yellowed wanted poster and the ancient tome.

Once he was done, he suddenly seemed to realize something. He turned around slowly, his tone shifting.

"Roland, you don’t actually think... that Knights are far weaker than Wizards, do you?"

"Aren’t they?"

Roland blurted out subconsciously.

In his past-life memories, every account of Western fantasy depicted Wizards and Mages as supreme beings, their immense power celebrated in countless epics.

Meanwhile, other Professions, including Knights, seemed eternally cast in supporting roles.

"Of course not..."

Bronson shook his head in confusion, baffled as to why Roland held such a prejudice.

"In fact, every Extraordinary Professional has their own unique strengths. When it comes to overall Power, they are more or less evenly matched. A Wizard is just one among many Extraordinary Professionals."

He began to count on his fingers.

"Never mind the ancient Professions that have been lost to time, like Evil Mages, Martial Monks, and Warlocks... Just among the existing ones, Knights, Rangers, and Barbarians all possess Power sufficient to rival any Wizard."

At this, Bronson’s gaze suddenly grew distant, and his voice took on a reminiscent tone.

"When I was young, just after leaving the High Tower, I had the honor of witnessing a military parade held by King Morne of the Golden Valley Empire..."

"The Blood Moon Rebellion had just been quelled, and to display the empire’s might and reassure the people, King Morne held a martial exhibition of unprecedented scale."

His expression grew complicated, a mixture of awe and nostalgia.

"I saw it with my own eyes. The King simply swung his sword, and a small mountain in the distance was leveled..."

"That kind of Power, in my opinion, was no less potent than a Fourth Ring Spell from the ancient records."

"Of course..."

Bronson added, carefully placing the Crystal Cluster from the table into a small wooden box.

"Even within the same Extraordinary Profession, there are vast differences between individuals. Take King Morne, for example. He’s likely at the very pinnacle of the Knight Profession..."

After committing this information to memory, Roland pressed on.

"Then, Mr. Bronson, in your opinion... who could be conducting such a forbidden experiment?"

Bronson shook his head, gently closing the lid of the wooden box.

"I have no way of knowing who, exactly, but I’m certain it must be someone who was denied the path to the Extraordinary, yet desperately craves Power..."

"I understand. Thank you for the explanation, Mr. Bronson."

"Don’t mention it."

Bronson waved a dismissive hand and sat back in his usual spot. He took out the white bone fragment, a bitter, self-mocking smile touching his lips.

"At the end of the day, this stale old knowledge is all I have left to show off..."

The two chatted for a while longer before Roland stood up to take his leave.

Walking along the quiet, gravel path, Roland recalled Bronson’s words and unconsciously stroked his smooth chin, lost in thought.

Bronson’s words made him realize that he seemed to have some deep-seated misconceptions about this world.

According to his prior beliefs, even though Knights were Extraordinary Professionals, their strength was at best comparable to a minor superhero.

Yet, from Bronson’s description, the Power wielded by a top-tier Knight was comparable to a human-shaped nuclear bomb.

What was even more frightening was that besides Knights, Barbarians and Rangers also possessed this level of terrifying Power.

And now, with Magic Power gradually returning to the world, even more powerful Extraordinary Professionals were bound to emerge.

’This world... it seems much more dangerous than I imagined...’

At this thought, Roland’s desire for Power grew even more intense.

’So the descriptions of a Knight’s strength in those pulp novels... weren’t exaggerations after all...’

He couldn’t help but shake his head as he recalled the plots of the Knight novels Sean used to prattle on about. He continued walking toward his dormitory.

For the next few days, Roland focused on adapting to the sudden increase in strength he’d gained from becoming a Warrior, all while keeping a close eye on his surroundings.

After confirming that the bizarre mob had not reappeared, he began packing his bags, preparing to set off for the port east of Chenxi Territory.

Just as he was about to set off, Dalko paid him a sudden visit.

The young nobleman had brought a set of exquisitely crafted Plate Armor, complete with a Chest Guard, Arm Guards, and Leg Guards. The workmanship was truly admirable.

The only flaw was that since becoming a Warrior, Roland’s frame had grown more robust than Dalko’s, making the Plate Armor that Master Hawke had tailored to Dalko’s measurements a bit too snug.

"Er..."

Dalko, who had arrived in high spirits, watched Roland move awkwardly in the ill-fitting Plate Armor, and the smile on his face slowly froze.

Roland paced around the room to test it. After confirming that the Armor did indeed restrict his movements, he could only shake his head in resignation.

"Forget it, Dalko. This Plate Armor really doesn’t fit me..."

As he spoke, Roland began to unstrap the heavy chest plate, the metal components clanking together.

Dalko looked embarrassed. He gestured at his own frame with his hands, then looked up at Roland.

"You’re right. Sorry... I didn’t realize you..."

He trailed off, a flash of confusion in his eyes.

He wasn’t sure if it was his imagination, but his friend’s physique seemed to have bulked up even more since the fierce battle that night.

"You’re bulking up so fast..."

Dalko muttered under his breath, his tone tinged with disbelief.

Seeing the dejected young nobleman, Roland chuckled and removed the last Leg Guard.

"Dalko, as a member of the estate, it’s my duty to defend the territory. You really don’t need to..."

"No!"

Dalko interrupted him, his voice suddenly sharp.

The young nobleman clasped his hands behind his back and paced around the room, his boot heels tapping out an urgent rhythm on the floorboards.

"My father taught me that meritorious deeds must be rewarded..."

He stopped pacing and turned, his eyes shining with determination.

"Alright, how about this? I’ll have Master Hawke craft a brand new set of Plate Armor tailored just for you. And besides that..."

He rubbed his fingers together, looking slightly nervous.

"Is there anything else you need?"

Faced with Dalko’s earnest gaze, Roland could only shake his head with a helpless smile.

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

In truth, Roland wasn’t short on money.

The payment from the last Adventurer’s Guild commission was more than enough for his journey, even after paying Mr. Bronson for the Spell Patterns research.

But he knew that if he refused everything, the stubborn young nobleman would not be able to rest easy.

"Coins?"

Dalko’s eyes lit up. He immediately turned and strode out the door.

"Wait here a minute!"

His voice faded along with his retreating footsteps.

Watching Dalko’s hurried departure, Roland shook his head with a small laugh and turned back to carefully check his pack.

Unlike his last trip to Songmu Town, this time, in addition to the essential rations and water, he also packed a full set of Alchemy Tools and the materials to concoct the Awakened Consciousness Shallows Potion.

Although his Alchemy Skill had reached Level Two, it was still uncertain whether he could successfully brew this special Potion.

Because of this, Roland decided to stay at the port for a while, at least until he was sure he could successfully create the Potion.

He didn’t want to return to the estate only to discover he was short on Devil Fish Eye Liquid. Having to turn back to procure more would be a huge waste of time.

’Hmm... I should have everything... Oh, right! I need to pack a few more bottles of Sharp Eye Potion. The stuff works much better than I expected...’

Once everything was in order, Roland stroked the Alchemy Materials in his pack, his thoughts drifting.

’I wonder what new Profession will unlock once I successfully create the potion for the Awakened Consciousness Shallows and master a Trick...’

’An Extraordinary Spellcaster like a Wizard is definitely out of the question... but since a Trick is a form of Magic, it will probably open up a Profession path related to Casting...’

As he was lost in thought, the sound of hurried footsteps approached.

Dalko burst through the door and tossed a heavy coin pouch onto the wooden table with a dull THUD.

"Roland, even though my father isn’t here, I can’t touch the estate’s public funds."

Dalko wiped the sweat from his brow, a hint of pride in his voice.

"This is all the money I’ve saved up over the years. It’s all yours!"

Seeing Dalko’s magnanimous display, Roland couldn’t help but smile as he untied the pouch.

Amid the gleam of Silver Coins, a flash of gold was particularly eye-catching.

"Whoa! One gold and thirty-two Silver Coins?"

Roland raised an eyebrow, deliberately drawing out his words.

"That’s quite the private stash you’ve got..."

Thanks to their frequent chats, Roland knew Dalko’s situation all too well.

Since the estate provided for all his needs, Baron Fosling never gave his son any extra money, claiming it was to cultivate a diligent character.

But in Roland’s opinion, the Lord Baron who held banquets every other day hardly had the right to speak of diligence...

After carefully securing the coin pouch, Roland asked casually.

"By the way, Dalko, has there been any word back from Lord Baron Fosling?"

"Not yet."

Dalko shook his head.

"It’s only been a few days. The messenger is probably still on his way back."

Roland nodded slightly.

Although he’d never seen Baron Fosling in action, he had learned of the baron’s strength from John’s occasional comments.

For some reason, the Baron had never been able to practice the Knight’s Breathing Technique, but his strength had long since broken through mortal limits to reach the Extraordinary Realm. His overall Power was comparable to Roland’s own at present. 𝒻𝑟𝘦𝘦𝘸ℯ𝒷𝑛𝘰𝓋ℯ𝘭.𝘤𝘰𝘮

That bizarre mob might be a threat to ordinary people, but to an Extraordinary, they were hardly worth mentioning.

Moreover, Baron Fosling had the estate’s most elite Guard Team with him.

At this thought, Roland’s worries gradually faded.

After a few more pleasantries, he walked out the door and swung himself deftly onto his horse.

The crisp sound of hooves faded into the distance, and his figure soon vanished down the road to Chenxi Territory.

When he came to a large fork in the road, Roland reined in his horse. After carefully getting his bearings, he chose one of the paths and continued onward.

Not long after he departed, a group of staggering figures appeared on the other path.

Their Armor was tattered and broken, the bloodstained Chain Armor glinting a dull red in the sunlight.

Every face was smeared with blood and grime, and heavy gasps escaped from cracked lips.

The soldiers at the front used broken Long Spears to support themselves, yet they stubbornly maintained their defensive formation.

The noon sun broke through the clouds, its rays falling directly into the center of the tightly protected circle.

In the blinding light, an unconscious figure was clearly visible.

Baron Fosling’s eyes were shut tight. His face, usually so stern and imposing, was now ashen.