Translator: CinderTL
Although they didn't understand why Graham was so insistent on returning as soon as possible, Roland and the others raised no objections.
After all, given the choice, who would want to linger in this desolate, remote place?
Thus, before dawn broke, guided by Jashu, they successfully rejoined the main group.
"Instructor Reggie! I'm so glad you're safe!"
Seeing the mentor who had single-handedly blocked the High Tower's entrance against tens of thousands of magitech constructs at the last moment, Roland's eyes filled with genuine respect.
"Hahahaha! What could possibly happen to me? It's you young rascal..."
Reggie laughed heartily and stepped forward, giving Roland a firm hug.
But moments later...
"Stop, stop, stop!"
Feeling as if he were being crushed by two iron chains, the plain-looking mentor cried out in pain, slapping Roland's back.
"Easy there! Can't you see I'm still injured?"
"My apologies, Instructor Reggie," Roland said, hastily releasing his grip with an embarrassed smile.
Unlike the natural surge of power Roland had experienced when gaining attribute bonuses from previous class advancements, this time felt different.
Perhaps because the attribute bonus granted by the [Knight] class was so immense, Roland was experiencing for the first time a raw, unfamiliar sensation of struggling to fully control his own strength.
"Cough, cough, cough..."
Reggie coughed heavily several times, glanced at the blood-soaked bandages on his arm, and shook his head in resignation.
"Never mind. If it weren't for you, I probably would have..."
He surveyed the slightly crowded surroundings, seemed to remember something, and abruptly stopped speaking. Leaning closer to Roland, he lowered his voice.
"Don't worry, kid. Dean Graham told me everything. I'll keep your secret safe."
"Thank you, Instructor Reggie."
"Alright then."
Reggie patted Roland's shoulder lightly and pointed to a large tent nearby.
"Go over there, give them my name, and get some supplies. We still have a long way to go to the capital."
"Understood, Instructor Reggie. Oh, by the way..."
Roland wanted to ask more questions, but Reggie had already turned away to attend to other military matters.
Seeing this, Roland could only shake his head in resignation.
Since Instructor Reggie didn't mention anything specific, Mason... should be fine, right?
With that thought, Roland beckoned his companions and headed toward the tent.
"Line up, everyone! Registration starts now. What do you need?"
Before Roland even lifted the heavy curtain, a familiar voice rang out from inside the tent.
"Mason?"
Roland pulled back the curtain.
There sat the frail noble youth he had just been worrying about, sitting upright at a wooden table, his quill scratching across the paper.
Hearing his name, the youth looked up, his eyes lighting up instantly.
"Mr. Roland!"
Seeing Mason safe and sound, Roland let out a long sigh of relief.
Though they hadn't known each other long, Mason's gentle nature made him impossible to dislike, and they had become friends.
After a brief exchange of pleasantries and discussing their plans upon returning to the capital, Roland's group emerged from the tent, carrying significantly more supplies than the other soldiers, under their slightly bewildered gazes.
The journey back to the capital proceeded remarkably smoothly, without a single incident.
With a well-organized military escort, Roland and his companions felt doubly secure and comfortable.
Galvis even described the return trip as "the most relaxed journey I've ever experienced."
Before a month had passed, the distinctive salty, briny scent of the sea wind began to fill their nostrils.
As the silhouette of the port city gradually emerged on the horizon, Roland exhaled deeply, a wave of profound fatigue washing over him.
This weariness wasn't physical; it stemmed from the constant tension that had gripped his nerves throughout the past weeks.
From the moment he decided to confront the pirates, through the encounter with the mind flayer in Howling Gorge, to their accidental stranding in the Mistland, Roland's nerves had remained taut as a fully drawn bowstring, never once relaxing.
Now that they had finally reached safety, an overwhelming drowsiness surged through him, prompting him to yawn deeply.
After bidding farewell to Avril, Roland led his newly acquainted guests, Freddy and Mason, back to his courtyard.
As Roland stepped through the courtyard gate, an enticing aroma immediately filled his nostrils.
His eyebrows arched slightly in surprise.
"Mr. Bronson... when did he learn to cook?"
Just as he was pondering this, a light, brisk footstep sounded.
Turning toward the sound, he saw the halfling Hoby peering out from the kitchen.
The moment Hoby spotted Roland, his eyes lit up with delight.
"Mr. Roland!"
After a brief exchange, Roland introduced Mason to Hoby and then asked, "Hoby, where's Mr. Bronson?"
"At this time... Mr. Bronson should be in his study, conducting research."
Roland nodded knowingly, instructed Galvis to settle the guests, and headed straight for the room on the right side of the courtyard.
Knock, knock, knock!
The crisp knocks had barely faded when Roland pushed the door open.
"Hmm... Roland?"
Lost in his research, Bronson seemed to have completely forgotten the time.
When the scholar finally looked up, his eyes didn't register the joy of reunion, but rather a momentary blankness, followed by a surge of feverish excitement.
He hurried forward and thrust a slightly disorganized stack of papers into Roland's hands.
"Roland, you're just in time! Remember the element fusion theory I proposed earlier?"
Roland's heart leaped with excitement at these words.
He closed the door behind him with a flick of his wrist, flipping through the papers as he asked, "You've perfected the theory and successfully tested it?"
"Uh... well..."
The fervor on Bronson's face froze. He scratched his cheek, looking somewhat embarrassed.
"Success... I suppose you could call it that. I did find the critical nodes and triggers for fusing two elements, but..."
He spread his hands, looking rather helpless.
"But the effects of the fusion are far from what I envisioned. Free-floating magic elements, unbound by runes, have practically no potency..."
Hearing this news, Roland wasn't overly disappointed.
Having already unlocked the Deep Sea of Consciousness and mastered Ring-tier spells, his desire to enhance spell potency wasn't as urgent as before.
Moreover, since the theory itself was already complete, perhaps some of its principles... could be directly applied to spellcasting techniques?
For example... instead of being limited to a single magic element, could we attempt to fuse two spells together?
Hearing Roland's idea, Bronson pondered for a moment, a glint of inspiration flashing in his eyes. He decisively pulled out a fresh sheet of parchment, grabbed a quill, and began scribbling calculations with rapid strokes.
"Mr. Bronson..."
Seeing this, Roland sighed helplessly and gently tapped the scholar's shoulder, interrupting his deep concentration.
He retrieved the eight-sided die he had obtained from the Lich from his waist pouch and gently placed it on the table.
"Do you know what this is?"
"This..."
Bronson set down his quill, examined the die closely for a moment, then began deftly manipulating its facets with his slender fingers, causing the ancient runes to click softly and rhythmically as they rotated. He explained to Roland in a calm, scholarly tone:
"This is a rather ancient artifact."
His voice was gentle, his gaze fixed on the die at his fingertips.
"It's called the Secret Imprisonment Dice, or the Soul-Locking Dice."
"In the distant past, around the end of the Arcane Era—probably over a thousand years ago—some spellcasters used it to safely seal away items. The principle is similar to applying a complex magical seal."
Bronson's fingers steadily rotated the dice faces with precise, fluid movements.
"Theoretically, there are two ways to open it."
"First, you could forcibly break through the core's protective restrictions with immense magical power. This requires considerable mastery and carries significant risks, as it could easily damage the contents within."
Bronson shook his head slightly, clearly disapproving of this method.
"Second..."
His hands continued to manipulate the dice, producing a few more crisp "clicks."
"...is to understand the patterns in the rune arrangements. By rotating and aligning the rune sequences on the eight faces in a specific manner, you can form a complete 'key' sequence, thereby releasing the internal seal. This is the relatively safer approach."
"So, unlocking this Secret Imprisonment Dice sounds quite difficult?"
Roland frowned and asked, "Was that the case when it was first created?"
Bronson smiled faintly, his fingers still deftly manipulating the dice, spinning it in his palm like a docile toy.
"Indeed, that was true in its original era. However, over thousands of years, scholars specializing in ancient magical artifacts—especially the long-lived wizards of the High Tower—have conducted exhaustive research and deconstruction of the Secret Imprisonment Dice's structure and runic logic."
"The corresponding deciphering diagrams and principle analyses are now considered basic materials in the High Tower's archives. For someone like me who has studied these texts, mastering the deciphering method is more a matter of patience and familiarity than profound skill."
At this point, Bronson added gently,
"So, Roland, in my humble opinion, unless this is an ancient artifact from over a thousand years ago, something sealed using such a thoroughly deciphered method... its actual value is likely..."
He carefully chose his words, trying to soften the blow, but his meaning was clear:
Don't get your hopes up.
Just as Bronson's last words about value judgment, the gentle cadence of his voice still lingering in the air,
Click!
A crisp, clear sound, like the perfect engagement of precision gears, echoed from within the die.
Bronson's nimble fingers froze mid-motion, as if pulled by invisible threads.
The warm, rational, slightly regretful expression on his face instantly solidified, replaced by pure astonishment.
His eyes widened slightly as he stared in disbelief at the cold, eight-sided die in his palm.
At that moment, a surge of immense energy began to quietly seep out from the minute fissures at the die's eight vertices.
(End of the Chapter)
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