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🎉 GIVEAWAY LIVE! Ends Tomorrow! (Ends Aug 13)
Total Seats: 6
Entrants: 5
Win Probability: 100%
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Translator: CinderTL
At the edge of the training ground, Theresa's slender figure materialized silently.
As always, she remained composed, her gaze sweeping calmly over the two figures in the field.
Seeing her, Roland sheathed his sword and greeted her.
"Theresa."
Gloria also halted her movements.
"Then, Lord Roland, I'll go prepare for tomorrow's journey."
She nodded to Roland, gave Theresa a brief nod, and turned swiftly to leave, her figure vanishing through the training ground's exit in moments.
Once Gloria was out of earshot, Theresa approached slowly.
Her gaze settled on Roland as she spoke softly.
"You two... seemed quite engrossed in your conversation."
"Yes," Roland replied, sheathing his sword. "We just finalized our plans for the specific actions against Arno after meeting with the Duke."
Theresa paused, her voice remaining cool but with a hint of subtle inquiry.
"And afterward? What are your intentions? Will you continue assisting the Imperial Princess to completely resolve the crisis in the Golden Valley Kingdom?"
A cold, sharp smile curved Roland's lips.
"Of course I'll help, but not to save this kingdom. It's because of Arno."
His voice suddenly turned icy.
"He dragged us into this conflict for no reason, even pushing us to the brink. I refuse to swallow my anger."
"My goal is to completely shatter his schemes and make him pay the price."
His fingers unconsciously brushed the sword hilt, a sharp glint flashing in his eyes.
"If I could take his life with my own hands, that would be ideal. But..."
Roland's tone softened slightly, revealing a calm and pragmatic edge.
"If the situation shifts, we shouldn't stubbornly fight to the death. The chaos of the three-way battle between Duke, Arno, and the River Domain Nations will be our best chance to escape this place."
Theresa listened quietly, nodding slightly.
But when her gaze inadvertently drifted to Roland's hand, calloused from constant training and gripping the sword hilt, she paused involuntarily.
Her thoughts were suddenly pulled back to a recent memory.
The pitch-black wilderness, the terrifying abyssal creature flailing its twisted limbs, and herself completely overwhelmed by its dreadful aura, teetering on the edge of life and death...
Then Roland had burst onto the battlefield like lightning tearing through the night.
The longsword he now held steadily had then blazed with a fierce, holy light, snatching her back from the brink of despair.
A complex, indescribable emotion quietly spread through her heart.
It was the subtle resentment and guilt of facing her own inadequacy, still needing to rely on others for protection.
It was the faint sense of loss and shame that arose from witnessing Roland's rapid growth in strength, contrasted with her own slow progress.
These intertwined emotions caused a fleeting, elusive daze to flicker across her eyes, usually as calm as a deep lake.
Roland keenly noticed her momentary lapse in focus and the subtle shift in her aura, but he couldn't fully decipher the true meaning of her complex emotions.
He only vaguely sensed that she seemed suddenly... different.
"What's wrong, Theresa?" he asked with concern. "You seem a bit distracted."
Theresa gently shook her head, her silver hair gleaming softly in the training ground's dim light.
"It's nothing..."
Her voice remained steady, but her gaze unconsciously drifted toward the direction Gloria had left.
"I was just thinking about how much your swordsmanship has truly improved."
She paused, her fingers unconsciously smoothing the hem of her robe.
This subtle gesture formed a delicate contrast to her usual aloof demeanor.
"Mr. Roland..." she murmured softly.
"Could you... perhaps guide me as well? I feel my combat technique still needs refinement."
Roland raised an eyebrow in slight surprise. Theresa, always independent and self-possessed, rarely made such requests. But he quickly smiled warmly.
"Of course. Your swordsmanship is already exceptional. We can learn from each other."
The training resumed, but the atmosphere had shifted dramatically.
Theresa's movements were even more fluid and precise than Gloria's. Each strike carried the weight of years of combat experience, yet she deliberately restrained her power at critical moments. Her gaze remained fixed on Roland's figure. Deep within her usually calm, almost detached eyes, lay a hidden focus and longing that only the most observant could detect.
When parrying, she would linger for a fraction of a second longer than necessary. When retreating, her eyes always flickered to Roland's face first. These subtle gestures were skillfully concealed within her seamless flow of offense and defense, like an undercurrent beneath moonlight—only the most perceptive observer could sense the pulse of hidden emotion.
Roland remained oblivious to this concealed undercurrent, his focus entirely on guiding her. Like a true mentor, he earnestly analyzed each of her movements with pure, unwavering concentration.
For Theresa, this moment of close-quarters combat, the intertwined breaths in the air, and Roland's unwavering gaze—even though that gaze contained no extraordinary emotion—were enough to temporarily dispel the inexplicable unease and bitterness that had been plaguing her.
The rare training session finally drew to a close as evening approached.
The following morning, before dawn had fully broken, Roland and his party were already fully equipped and ready to depart.
After several days of rest, the trainees from the River Domain Nations had fully recovered their energy and were brimming with vitality.
But this time, their party was far larger than before.
In response to Gloria's call to purge the abyss's influence, High Priest Bodo of the Blazing Sun Church had unhesitatingly gathered the church's elite Sun Guard to join the campaign against Duke Arno.
A thousand strong, they stood in solemn formation under the faint morning light, their armor reflecting the yet-to-rise sun, radiating a quiet yet formidable presence.
Roland's gaze swept over the church guards.
Uniformly equipped and disciplined, they showed no signs of having truly stepped onto the path of transcendence. Yet each exuded a steady aura and possessed eyes that burned with focused intensity, clearly having crossed the threshold of the extraordinary. Their extensive combat experience made them far superior to ordinary soldiers.
After a brief but resolute oath-taking ceremony, the party departed the Corona Lands in a grand procession, heading eastward.
Thanks to the tense standoff between Duke Arno and the River Domain Nations, with war looming, the border checkpoints along the way were sparsely guarded, and they encountered almost no meaningful inspections.
As a result, they arrived with remarkable ease at the prearranged rendezvous point agreed upon by Gloria and Duke: a broad valley nestled between rolling hills.
The group paused to rest, calm their horses, and check their equipment.
As evening approached, painting the horizon in fiery hues of gold and crimson, a line of riders finally appeared on the distant horizon, steadily advancing in the fading sunlight.
The leader rode tall and proud, his armor gleaming with a cold, hard luster in the twilight.
It was Duke, the Duke of the Western Border.
Escorted by several elite Sun Guard from the Blazing Sun Church and Roland's personal guards, Gloria rode forward to formally meet Duke in the open space between their two groups.
The conversation unfolded exactly as she had anticipated.
Duke expressed clear satisfaction with the promises she had made and readily agreed to her request to borrow an elite military unit.
While Gloria and Duke spoke, Roland calmly observed the Duke of the Western Border.
The Duke was a man of imposing stature, his bearing radiating the authority of one long accustomed to command, and the crisp efficiency of a seasoned military leader.
What truly caught Roland's attention, however, was the Duke's extraordinary vitality—a surging, almost overflowing blood qi that far exceeded what ordinary knights could achieve through disciplined breathing techniques. This profound, almost primal life force hinted at something far beyond the ordinary.
As they parted ways, Gloria's expression turned grave. "Your Grace," she warned, "please remain vigilant. Arno... has mastered abyssal power."
The Duke's face remained impassive, though he nodded slightly. "I understand," he replied in a deep, resonant voice.
Gloria said no more, turning her horse and departing with Roland and the Sun Guard escorting her.
The Duke remained mounted, his gaze following her retreating figure. A fleeting, almost imperceptible glint of sharpness flashed in his eyes as he murmured to himself, "Abyssal power, you say? But..."
Recalling their earlier conversation, the Duke of the Western Border's lips curled into a faint smile. "Such boldness and cunning... hardly befit a saintess long confined to the Blazing Sun Church."
His gaze shifted to Roland, who had remained steadfastly at Gloria's side throughout their meeting.
His riding posture was steady, his back straight and muscular. At first glance, there was nothing remarkable about him, yet Duke's brow furrowed imperceptibly.
"Hmm?"
He let out a low hum, a flicker of suspicion crossing his eyes.
"This boy's aura... it's somewhat unusual."
Though outwardly he appeared ordinary, Duke's years of life-and-death combat had honed his instincts, allowing him to sense a subtle anomaly.
It wasn't the oppressive weight of great power, nor the emptiness of weakness, but rather an indescribable, perfectly contained, unnatural stillness.
"Which noble house has meticulously trained this young man?"
Duke shook his head, temporarily dismissing his lingering doubts about Roland.
He tightened the reins, turning his horse to face the assembled troops behind him. His voice suddenly boomed, carrying across the ranks.
"All troops, heed my command! Turn southeast! Our destination: the eastern border of the Golden Valley Kingdom! Advance with haste to 'support' Duke Arno!"
(End of the Chapter)
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