Translator: CinderTL
Roland's gaze fell upon the parchment scroll, which shimmered with a faint silver light. A deep sense of bewilderment flickered in his eyes.
He couldn't understand.
Why would this wizard extend an olive branch to him?
Under the strict concealment of the Veil of Shadows, the mental power fluctuations he currently projected were only slightly stronger than those of an ordinary person—barely meeting the minimum standard for an extraordinary individual.
This disguise had even fooled Graham and the others, who lived with him daily and possessed considerable strength, leaving them completely unaware of any flaws.
How could a wizard he had only met once so easily penetrate the Veil of Shadows and discern his deliberately concealed true strength?
What troubled him even more was Bronson's earlier description of the High Tower's entry requirements, which were so stringent they bordered on draconian.
To even qualify for admission, one needed keen magical perception, willpower far exceeding that of ordinary people, and an innate aptitude for understanding secret arts—all three were indispensable.
And individuals like Bronson, who had managed to enter the High Tower by sheer luck but ultimately failed the assessment and never earned the right to wear an apprentice's robe, represented the vast majority.
Yet the strength Roland currently displayed under the Veil of Shadows clearly fell short of these standards.
Could it be that the High Tower urgently needs to expand its ranks due to the resurgence of magic elements?
Shaking off this somewhat absurd thought, Roland gazed at Irwin, who stood before him with unwavering confidence, as if certain Roland would accept the scroll. He slowly shook his head.
"I apologize, sir, but I have no intention of becoming a wizard."
This was, of course, a lie.
With his Job Panel, Roland would never refuse any extraordinary profession. Wizardry was no exception.
However, his current plans did not include obtaining wizardly power through the High Tower.
The reason was simple.
According to Bronson's description, the High Tower wasn't an academy united by shared ideals and dedicated to imparting knowledge.
It was more like a nest occupied by powerful wizards—a dangerous place where strength converged, yet each faction operated independently.
Its residents, the so-called "wizards," were far from benevolent mentors.
They were beings who wielded arcane power, each harboring hidden agendas. Their relationships were fraught with calculation, competition, and even darker schemes.
What truly alarmed Roland was the magical environment itself.
Magic inherently carried unpredictable risks.
In a place teeming with powerful spellcasters, where their magical fields clashed and interfered with one another, and where secret research and forbidden experiments might be conducted right next door, the air was likely thick with more than just mana. It would also be permeated by invisible curses, uncontrolled magical effects, and malicious traps born of jealousy or greed.
One wrong step could mean vanishing without a trace, leaving not even ashes behind.
For Roland, this wasn't a hall of knowledge but a labyrinth filled with deadly traps at every turn.
He needed strength, but even more, he needed control—control over how he acquired that strength, control over his own secrets, and control over his own destiny.
The High Tower might offer a shortcut to power, but the price could be losing his freedom, sinking into a mire of dependence, becoming a pawn on some ancient monster's chessboard, or being reduced to ashes in a dangerous magical experiment.
Therefore, rather than venturing into that wizard's lair filled with unknown dangers, he preferred to rely on his Job Panel and methodically improve his strength.
The demonic beasts in the wilderness were dangerous, but their intentions were straightforward.
The minds of the wizards in the High Tower, however, were likely more inscrutable than those of the most cunning abyssal creatures.
The moment Roland finished speaking, the air seemed to freeze.
Irwin's eyes, deeply sunken in his wrinkled face, flickered with genuine surprise for the first time.
It wasn't anger or disappointment, but rather the shock of seeing an apple, which should have fallen according to the laws of physics, suddenly hover in mid-air.
It was pure astonishment at the disruption of an expected trajectory.
This astonishment rippled through his deep, dark pupils like a pebble dropped into a deep pool, creating imperceptible ripples that vanished almost instantly, so quickly one might have mistaken them for an illusion.
A dry, rustling chuckle, like the rustle of withered leaves, escaped from deep within his throat, carrying an indescribable weight.
"Refusal?"
He repeated the word, his voice still low and resonant, but now with a peculiar cadence, as if savoring a foreign and intriguing term.
His hawk-like gaze, far from becoming aggressive at Roland's refusal, deepened instead, as if trying to penetrate every thought beneath Roland's calm exterior.
"This is a response I hadn't anticipated."
His withered, branch-like fingers slowly retracted the scroll.
Irwin showed no sign of offense or anger, nor did he attempt to persuade or threaten.
"Young man," he said, his voice returning to its original raspy calmness. "The path to strength is not always a smooth road. For many, the threshold of the High Tower remains an unattainable dream, a straw they would willingly grasp at any cost."
"And you... you see it as a cage?"
His voice rose slightly at the end.
"An interesting choice."
Irwin turned his gaze away from Roland, lifting his chin slightly as if his eyes were piercing through the low roofs lining the street, focusing on some distant, invisible point. He seemed to be listening to whispers carried on the wind, whispers only he could decipher.
"Time will prove everything."
His final words, like a sigh and a prophecy combined, drifted lightly across the empty street.
"Remember your choice today. I hope when true strength finally knocks on your door, you won't regret this... caution."
As the words faded, Irwin's figure began to blur and fade, dissolving into the air like ink dispersing in water.
There was no dazzling light, no violent spatial distortion. He simply vanished silently into the air, leaving behind only a faint, dry herbal scent and that enigmatic phrase echoing in Roland's ears.
The street returned to its emptiness, as if the gaunt figure and their strange confrontation had never occurred.
After scanning his surroundings to confirm Irwin's presence had completely vanished, Roland straightened up and exhaled deeply.
Yet he felt little lingering tension.
Given his current strength, a single Charge would have instantly closed the distance between him and the mysterious wizard.
Even if his initial strike failed, a clash between them would never be decided in an instant.
Once locked in close combat, his identity would undoubtedly earn the trust of the River Domain Nations' authorities far more easily than the wizard's enigmatic origins.
The only concern...
was the potential exposure of his deliberately concealed strength.
With a slight shake of his head, Roland released his grip on the sword hilt and turned to continue his journey home. He finally arrived at his familiar courtyard just as the sun dipped below the horizon.
After informing his companions of the arrangements to depart for the Golden Valley Kingdom in seven days for his scholarly exchange, Theresa, who had already decided to accompany Roland, simply nodded calmly.
As for Galvis...
"Stop that damn music!"
Roland sighed in exasperation, his voice carrying a hint of helplessness. Only when the heroic, battle-ready melody abruptly ceased did he begin to explain his earlier deductions in detail to Bronson, the scholar standing beside him.
Just as he was urging Bronson to temporarily leave the royal capital to avoid trouble, a mournful sigh echoed through the air.
"Roland, if you're all leaving... what will I do?"
"Don't worry, Avril..." Roland said, trying to reassure the elf girl who was slumped over the table, her brow furrowed in complaint. "If everything goes smoothly, we'll be back soon. At most... it won't take more than three months."
"Three months!" Avril shot upright, holding up three slender fingers with exaggerated emphasis. "A whole three months! I won't get to eat delicious, free meals the entire time..."
Seeing her dramatic display, Roland's lips curved into a slight smile as he slowly stood up.
"Then let's make sure you eat your fill today."
Before he finished speaking, he had already turned and walked into the kitchen.
Soon, an enticing aroma—a rich blend of oil, spices, and ingredients—began to permeate the courtyard.
In no time at all, Roland had laid out a lavish feast on the dining table.
Just as he was plating the final dish, a line of clear golden text suddenly appeared before his eyes:
Detected: Eligible to take the basic class Chef.
Requirements: Strength 1, Agility 1, Any Lv. 3 cooking-related skill.
Take class?
Roland scanned the text and silently affirmed, "Take the Chef class."
(End of the Chapter)
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