Translator: CinderTL
After finalizing the details with Noel, Roland didn't immediately leave the Blacksmith's Guild. Instead, he returned to his own workshop.
Although he had secured a source for mithril, Noel warned that smuggling the scraps past the Dwarf Royal Family's watchful eyes and transporting them to the River Domain Nations would be no easy task. The exact timeline remained uncertain.
Roland couldn't afford to let such uncertainty slow his progress in strengthening himself.
Therefore, it was highly unlikely he would obtain the mithril before embarking on his pirate-clearing expedition.
Yet Roland felt little disappointment.
Firstly, his original plan had been to inscribe elemental runes onto ordinary iron weapons, creating a batch of disposable enchanted arms. The mithril source was merely an unexpected bonus.
Secondly...
Roland was unaware of the dwarves' closely guarded mithril smelting techniques.
While he maintained a decent relationship with Master Griffin, he couldn't be sure if the dwarven master possessed this knowledge, let alone whether he would be willing to share it.
Thus, Roland didn't dwell on the mithril. Instead, he focused on executing his established plan.
Before he knew it, over ten days had passed.
In the courtyard gifted by Colin, Roland and Theresa stood facing each other, separated by only a few steps.
Galvis and Bronson stood to the side, observing the duel.
The bard looked relaxed, while the scholar nervously fidgeted with the hem of his robe.
"I'm ready," Roland said, his right hand resting lightly on the hilt of his sword, his gaze locked on the silver-haired woman opposite him. "Theresa, don't hold back. Attack with everything you've got."
"This... very well, Mr. Roland," Theresa replied, her initial hesitation fading as she met Roland's unwavering gaze. She nodded reluctantly.
Clang!
A clear, ringing sound echoed as the slender sword Roland had forged for her flashed from its sheath, reflecting a blindingly cold light under the sun.
In the next instant, the air cracked as Theresa's lithe figure blurred into motion, closing the distance to Roland in less than half a step with ghostly speed.
"So fast!" Roland's eyes widened slightly in surprise.
The afterimage of Theresa's initial position hadn't even faded from his vision. Compared to their battle against the Bear Goblins, her speed had increased by another level. Even now, he was slightly outmatched by her sheer speed.
As these thoughts raced through his mind, the icy sword tip was already closing in on his face.
But Roland didn't draw his sword.
With a mental attribute of eighteen points, he could manipulate his mental power as effortlessly as moving his own limbs.
At a mere thought, his extended mental power reached the ring on his finger, which was set with a cloudy crystal.
Then—
Buzz!
A resonant hum, like the booming of an ancient bell, suddenly reverberated through the courtyard.
The instant the sound erupted, a transparent, ripple-like membrane of light expanded at an imperceptible speed, instantly enveloping Roland's entire body.
Chirp!
Theresa's lightning-fast sword tip struck the light membrane with a sharp, ear-splitting screech.
Time seemed to freeze.
The membrane's surface rippled with only a few faint concentric waves, remaining utterly still and as immovable as a mountain.
As for Theresa—
No matter how much force she exerted, her joints even creaking under the strain of the extreme resistance, the razor-sharp sword tip couldn't advance even a millimeter further.
It was firmly blocked by that seemingly thin and fragile membrane of light, held just inches from Roland's eyes.
"That's enough, Theresa," Roland said softly, gazing at her beautiful face, flushed slightly from the exertion. "Thank you for your help."
Huff.
Before the words had fully left her lips, the Silver-Haired Woman had already retreated, sheathing her finely crafted rapier. Her eyes, fixed on the seemingly unscathed membrane before her, were filled with disbelief.
"Is this a first-circle spell, the Shield Spell?"
After murmuring her admiration, Theresa glanced at her slightly aching wrist and shook her head gently.
"Roland... he actually shattered a protective spell of this caliber with his own strength?"
Recalling the scene of the young man battling the Bear Goblin, the Silver-Haired Woman suddenly gripped her sword hilt tightly, a flicker of resentment in her eyes.
But with her head bowed and her face obscured by her silver hair, Roland couldn't see the expression on her face.
As his thoughts shifted, the Shield Spell quietly dissipated. A faint smile curved his lips as he turned to the anxious Bronson beside him.
"Mr. Bronson, your scholarship... it's truly astonishing."
This wasn't mere flattery; it was Roland's genuine impression.
After all, just over a month ago, this scholar had only proposed a concept and a hypothesis.
In just a month, the scholar had transformed his concept and hypothesis into reality, successfully infusing magic into the previously unusable magical artifact, restoring it to life.
"If it works, that's all that matters. If it works..."
Bronson stepped forward, carefully examining Roland to ensure he was unharmed, before letting out a long sigh and speaking slowly.
"However, the ring's quality is ultimately too poor. It can only be used three consecutive times at most, after which it requires a full day to recharge."
As he said this, a hint of regret flickered in Bronson's eyes.
Clearly, he wasn't entirely satisfied with the results of his research.
"Three times is enough, Mr. Bronson," Roland said, gently patting his shoulder.
"In the heat of battle, even a single cast of the Shield Spell can turn the tide."
Hearing these comforting words, Bronson nodded slightly and then retrieved from his robe a pendant—another magical artifact—inscribed with the fourth-circle spell Death Immunity.
"Since the spell in this ring is functioning properly, the pendant should also be fine. However..."
Bronson frowned slightly.
"Unlike the ring, which requires mental power to activate, my observations suggest that using the Death Immunity spell in this pendant doesn't require any mental power at all."
"When faced with an instant-death effect, it will immediately target the nearest creature. You need to be very careful about that."
"Understood, Mr. Bronson."
Roland chuckled lightly at the warning, took the pendant, and immediately hung it around his neck.
The teardrop-shaped obsidian shimmered faintly in the sunlight, its surface rippling with reflected light.
"Roland..."
Just as Roland was about to say more, a weak voice came from beside him.
He turned to see Galvis slumped over the table, speaking with a sigh.
"Are we finally fully prepared this time? For..."
Apart from Roland, the person most eagerly anticipating the pirate raid was the bard before him.
The bard had been rubbing his hands together in anticipation ever since Roland first proposed the mission, already crafting the plot of his epic poem in his mind.
But half a month had passed in the blink of an eye, and his creative fervor was nearly exhausted.
Thinking of Roland's meticulous preparations and almost maddeningly detailed plans over the past weeks, the bard sighed.
"When can we finally set sail?"
Ignoring Galvis's somewhat whiny tone, Roland walked over to Theresa, gently taking her swollen wrist to examine it closely as he replied, "We'll depart as soon as Hoby's crew returns with news. But..."
Having confirmed that Theresa's wrist injury wasn't serious, he added softly, "It's just a mild sprain. A light application of my specially crafted potion will do the trick."
After giving a few more simple instructions, Roland turned back to continue, "Judging by the timing, the crew should be back soon."
As soon as he finished speaking, light footsteps echoed from outside the courtyard.
(End of the Chapter)
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