Translator: CinderTL
"A wizard?"
Upon hearing this title, Roland's brow immediately furrowed.
After experiencing numerous events, his understanding of this continent had deepened far beyond his initial superficial impressions.
For instance, he now knew about those who wielded transcendent power—the spellcasters.
"Spellcaster" was merely a general term, with wizards being just one branch among many.
Besides wizards, several other extraordinary professions also fell under this category.
Among these spellcasters, mages possessed strengths remarkably similar to those of wizards.
However, unlike mages, who prioritized practical application and precise manipulation of spell models for immediate effects, wizards focused on pure research.
They sought the deepest, most fundamental mysteries of mana itself, yearning to comprehend the underlying principles governing all things in the world—even those principles often deemed forbidden by conventional society.
To them, spells were more like tools for verifying theories or byproducts of their research, rather than ultimate goals in themselves.
This insatiable thirst for pure knowledge drove wizards to relentlessly explore forgotten corners, sealed ruins, and even the very boundaries between life and death.
Yet it was precisely this near-obsessive pursuit of knowledge that endowed wizards with a crucial and unsettling characteristic:
They often lacked moral boundaries, or rather, their ethical standards were far lower than those of ordinary people and even other transcendent professionals.
To acquire knowledge or validate a daring hypothesis, they could disregard moral norms, treating living beings as experimental subjects, souls as tradable currency, and even daring to desecrate divine domains or distort the natural processes of life.
Immortality, power, mastery of the universe's truths...
In their eyes, these grand ambitions justified any horrifying means.
For them, whether a method was "evil" mattered far less than whether the result was "true" and "valuable."
This ends-justify-the-means mentality meant that wizards' reputations in the mundane world were often closely associated with danger, madness, and unpredictability.
As Roland pondered this, he couldn't help but recall the Lich who had drained the core power of the Demon Capital.
Didn't his actions radiate this chillingly characteristic wizardly trait?
As Roland was deep in thought, a long sigh interrupted his reverie.
He looked up at the knight standing before him.
Compared to his earlier disheveled state, the Dean's appearance had almost returned to normal, except...
Roland slowly frowned.
He could clearly sense the Battle Qi surging within Graham's body, but it seemed...
significantly weaker than before.
Even its flow felt somewhat sluggish.
After a moment of silence, Graham gently shook his head and reached out to the left side of the wooden table, tapping a specific spot several times.
With a soft click, a hidden compartment sprang open.
Ignoring Roland's questioning gaze, the Knight Academy Dean retrieved a yellowed, wrinkled, and worn-out parchment scroll from the compartment and stood up from his chair.
"Let's go."
"Dean Graham?"
"To the training ground."
Graham offered no further explanation, merely taking his sword from the wall and striding toward the door.
Roland's eyebrows twitched slightly, and he had no choice but to hurry after him.
It was during class hours, and the training ground was nearly deserted.
After exchanging brief greetings with a few students training independently, Graham led Roland to a secluded corner.
Glancing around to ensure they wouldn't be disturbed, the knight slowly began to speak.
"You needn't worry about monetary rewards or treasures."
"I've already reported your contributions in the recent war to that fellow Derek. The corresponding items should be delivered to your residence soon. However, I believe..."
Graham took a deep breath, his body sinking slightly.
Bang!
In the next instant, a muffled explosion, accompanied by the sound of tearing air, erupted beside Roland's ear.
Before Roland could react, Graham, who had been standing before him, had already appeared dozens of paces away beside a wooden training dummy.
Only then did the Dean finish his unfinished sentence.
"...you'd be more interested in enhancing your strength than material rewards, wouldn't you?"
"This is..."
Roland's pupils constricted sharply.
The explosive force he had just witnessed was so swift that even afterimages struggled to capture it, as if space itself had been compressed.
That speed...
Even now, having completed his [Knight] class advancement and activating all his traits and skills at full power, he doubted he could even see Graham's dust.
Graham gently patted the training dummy's shoulder, a fleeting hint of fatigue crossing his face, though his eyes remained as sharp as an eagle's.
He stood before Roland, his voice steady and clear.
"Combat technique: Charge."
"Charge?"
"Exactly."
Graham wasted no time on lengthy explanations, instead diving straight into teaching the technique.
"Don't be fooled by the name. This isn't just about running fast. It's about fusing the explosive power of your muscles and Battle Qi with precise spiritual guidance, allowing you to launch your body like a stone from a catapult over an extremely short distance."
He gestured for Roland to step back a few paces, then returned to his starting position.
His body lowered slightly, his weight shifting forward, the muscles in his legs coiling taut like a fully drawn bowstring.
There was no flashy stance, no dazzling aura of Battle Qi leaking outward. All his power was compressed inward, contained within his core.
"Watch closely," Graham's voice deepened.
"The core of this technique lies in 'burst' and 'control.'"
"The burst requires you to mobilize every muscle, instantly channeling Battle Qi into your legs and spine, like a spring compressed to its limit."
"This force is immense. The slightest miscalculation can tear muscles or fracture bones. Therefore, the first step in mastering this combat technique is conditioning your body to withstand the recoil."
Before his words had fully faded, Graham vanished again.
This time, Roland focused his entire spirit, barely managing to catch a glimpse of a blurred trajectory.
It wasn't a simple linear dash, but rather a spatial leap achieved through extreme compression of strength.
With a muffled sonic boom as the violently compressed air exploded, Graham reappeared precisely beside another wooden training dummy, his position flawless.
Beneath his feet, the hard-packed training ground tiles were now crisscrossed with hairline cracks like a spiderweb.
Graham slowly straightened up, his breathing slightly ragged, but his movements remained steady.
"The second challenge: pinpoint accuracy."
The Knight Academy Dean pointed to the ground.
"After the burst, you must immediately regain control of your body, anchoring yourself to your target location like a nail driven into wood."
"An uncontrolled Charge will send you hurtling into the enemy's blade or crashing into a wall—a foolish suicide."
"Therefore, when executing this combat technique, your spirit must be highly focused. At the moment of the burst, lock onto your target and use your core strength to forcefully 'brake' and adjust your posture."
He walked back and unfastened his sword from his waist.
"Finally, and most challenging of all..."
Graham gripped the sword hilt tightly.
"Integrate your attack into that instantaneous burst."
"The opportunity is fleeting. You must draw your sword, swing, or thrust within that extreme speed and power."
"Strength, speed, precision, attack motion... every element must flow seamlessly together, allowing no room for error."
"Otherwise, charging right up to the enemy only to hesitate or strike with weakened force and unstable balance would be fatal flaws."
Before his words had even faded, the Knight Academy Dean had already appeared dozens of paces away.
Beside him, the wooden training dummy had inexplicably split in two, crashing to the ground and kicking up a fine cloud of dust.
Sheathing his sword and observing Roland's thoughtful expression, Dean Graham said in a deep voice, "Don't be deceived by flashy names and appearances."
"A true knight's strength comes from Battle Qi refined through breathing techniques and a physique forged by a thousand hammer blows. Combat techniques are merely tools to channel that power more efficiently and directly."
He tapped his robust arm, his voice ringing with unwavering confidence.
"Obsessing over intricate techniques and relying on seemingly powerful combat techniques that require lengthy preparation or complex conditions will only slow your combat rhythm and expose fatal weaknesses in the heat of battle."
"Strength itself is the foundation; techniques are merely tools that serve strength."
"The power of the Charge lies precisely in its purity, directness, and efficiency—it channels the core strength of the body to its absolute limit."
Graham's gaze settled on Roland, scrutinizing him.
"Remember this feeling. Start by practicing withstanding the recoil."
Following Graham's instructions, Roland stepped up to a sturdy training post. Mimicking Graham's posture, he lowered his stance and cautiously began circulating his Battle Qi, attempting to compress and channel it into his lower limbs.
Each attempt brought a burning ache in his muscles and a faint hum in his bones, giving him a visceral understanding of the raw power behind this seemingly simple combat technique.
Graham observed silently from the side, occasionally correcting Roland's posture and weight distribution.
As time passed, Roland's clothes were soaked with sweat, but his eyes burned brighter with each attempt.
Each trial brought him closer to sensing the nascent power gathering within him, ready to erupt.
Only when the setting sun painted the training ground in golden hues did Graham raise his hand to signal Roland to stop.
He retrieved a yellowed, wrinkled parchment scroll from his robe and handed it directly to the panting Roland.
"This is for you."
Roland took the scroll. It felt heavy and rough in his hand, radiating an ancient aura.
"It's a fragment of the Nameless Breathing Technique," Graham said, his voice low and steady, yet tinged with an unmistakable weakness.
"The missing part."
(End of the Chapter)
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