Translator: CinderTL
Following the increasingly faint pull of the [Red String of Fate], Roland completely cast aside the noise and chaos of the battlefield behind him.
His feet moved as swiftly as the wind, a single thought screaming in his mind.
Faster, I must go faster!
He could clearly "feel" the aura connecting him to Galvis on the other end, flickering like a candle in the wind, teetering on the brink of being extinguished. The thought sent a wave of dread through him.
Taking a deep breath, he channeled power through his body, his already astonishing speed surging to an even greater degree. His figure blurred into an elusive, indistinct afterimage in the dim forest, sprinting toward the direction indicated by the [Red String of Fate].
To his slight surprise, the direction the [Red String of Fate] pointed wasn't toward the deeper core of the [Eversong Forest], but rather toward its fringe area.
Just as he was fully focused on his journey, a subtle but malevolent magical fluctuation from the dense bushes beside him was instantly detected by his keen senses.
Thud!
A muffled impact accompanied by a sudden burst of magical light.
It was a twisted shadow arrow.
Without even turning his head, Roland drew the Radiant Moon longsword at his waist. The blade slashed through the air in a cold, arc, striking the spell's core node with precision.
The next moment, the seemingly lethal shadow arrow popped like a burst bubble, emitting a soft pop as it instantly dissipated into disordered energy particles, vanishing into the air.
Before he could rest, several acid projectiles and searing rays of heat came hurtling toward him from different directions.
Seeing this, Roland moved like a ghost, performing several minute sidesteps. His Radiant Moon blade parried and deflected the incoming spells with flashing arcs of light.
Unwilling to be entangled, Roland seized the gap between the latest wave of attacks. Channeling some of his strength, he projected his voice clearly toward the forest ahead.
"It's me, Roland!"
The effect was immediate.
The magic fluctuations that had been gathering and building in the forest abruptly vanished, plunging the woods into a momentary, deathly silence.
A rustling sound came from the shadows, and several drow warriors clad in dark armor emerged awkwardly from behind the trees and rocks where they had been hiding.
The leader, upon recognizing Roland's face, immediately placed a hand over his chest and bowed deeply, his voice tinged with apology.
"Our deepest apologies, Lord Roland! The dim light of the forest prevented us from identifying you sooner. We mistook you for fleeing surface elves. Please forgive our offense!"
As the apology faded, the drow leader's gaze shifted to Roland, his eyes now filled with unconcealed shock and profound reverence.
True, compared to their cousins who had completely lost their magical abilities, the drow had indeed rekindled the spark of magic.
Yet this power was still in its infancy. Most of their people could only wield low-level spells ranging from first to second circle.
Even so, the potency of these spells should never be underestimated.
Especially in combat, the coordinated attacks of several spellcasters could often achieve an effect greater than the sum of their individual powers, more than compensating for the limitations of individual spell power.
The drow had previously believed that their combined spellcasting was the ultimate weapon, capable of overwhelming even the most formidable surface elf transcendents who had fallen under their coordinated assault.
Yet the scene before them shattered their preconceptions.
They recalled Roland's effortless composure.
No incantations, no lengthy preparations, not even a glance in their direction.
With mere basic strikes and dodges—movements so precise, economical, and efficient they flowed as naturally as breathing—he had nullified their vaunted combined spell offensive into nothingness.
This wasn't a brute-force crushing of their power, but an absolute mastery of combat rhythm, a deep-seated control over the flow of battle, and a profound understanding of the essence of energy.
In that moment, the drow's superficial obedience to Elder Durden's command quietly transformed into genuine awe and reverence for Roland's absolute strength.
This human's power... likely far exceeds our previous estimations, the lead drow thought to himself.
The subtle sense of superiority they had previously felt due to their racial advantage had now vanished completely.
Roland paid no attention to the drow's gazes, which mingled awe and curiosity. He simply raised his hand in a gesture of dismissal.
He was burning with urgency and had no time to linger here.
The drow captain, a keen observer, sensed his haste. He stepped forward and asked respectfully, "Lord Roland, is there anything we can do to assist you?"
Roland had initially intended to wave him away, but then he remembered Galvis's faint breath, flickering like a candle in the wind. His mind changed instantly.
His gaze swept across the party members, and he asked, his voice slightly faster, "Does anyone here know healing spells?"
"Yes," the captain replied immediately. He turned and gently pulled a drow woman with a softer face from the rear of the party. "Felice. She is highly skilled in healing magic."
The drow woman named Felice bowed slightly, her crimson eyes tinged with nervousness.
Seeing this, Roland nodded to her.
"Please come with me. The situation is urgent, and we need to hurry."
With that, he said no more. After nodding to the captain, he gestured for Felice to follow and turned away, once again transforming into a blurred afterimage as he continued forward.
Felice didn't dare delay. She immediately adjusted her stance, struggling to keep up with Roland's astonishing speed.
The two figures raced toward the most conspicuous structure in the area: a towering elven spire.
Its elegant lines stood in stark contrast to the surrounding lower buildings, maintaining an aloof dignity even amidst the turmoil.
The pull of the Red String of Fate here was overwhelmingly strong.
Roland pushed open the unlocked, heavy wooden door without hesitation.
The scene inside was like a world apart from the chaos outside.
Crystal lamps hanging from the vaulted ceiling cast a soft glow, and a faint, cool fragrance filled the air. The walls were draped with silk tapestries, and exquisite furniture was arranged with meticulous care.
Everything silently spoke of the owner's extraordinary status and refined taste.
Roland paid no attention to his surroundings, his gaze instantly locking onto a grand spiral staircase winding down on the side of the hall.
Without hesitation, he hurried down, followed closely by Felice.
At the bottom of the stairs was a short corridor, and a heavy oak door stood ajar, a faint light seeping through the gap.
"Here," Roland said, his voice low and certain. He gently pushed open the door, and the sight within the secret chamber instantly seized his attention.
First, his eyes fell upon rows of wooden statues lining both sides of the room.
They had once been exquisitely crafted, lifelike in their detail, but now they presented a grotesque spectacle.
Each statue was covered in a dense, spiderweb-like network of deep cracks, as if some force had erupted from within, only to be forcibly contained within the form, leaving only these horrifying remnants.
A residual, restless energy still hummed faintly in the air.
Roland's gaze swept rapidly across this bizarre scene before settling on the far end of the room.
In the dim, amber light cast by a silver lamp, he saw Galvis curled on the floor.
Seeing this, Roland hurried forward and knelt on one knee, carefully cradling Galvis in his arms.
When he saw the wrinkled, aged face of the man in his embrace, his heart couldn't help but tremble.
If not for the Red String of Fate clearly pointing to this person, he would have almost been unable to believe this was the once vibrant and spirited bard.
He quickly suppressed his chaotic thoughts, signaling to Phyllis to examine Galvis while softly calling his name.
"Galvis? Galvis!"
After a moment, the bard slowly opened his eyes, a faint smile struggling to form on his lips.
"Roland... I knew you'd come."
He coughed weakly.
"You bastard... you never abandon your friends."
Seeing that Galvis was still conscious and able to speak, Roland's tense heartstrings relaxed slightly. He then turned to Phyllis, who was casting a healing spell.
"How is he?"
Phyllis withdrew her probing magical aura and shook her head gently.
"I'm sorry, Mr. Roland, this... elf has no physical injuries. His weakness stems from his lifespan having reached its end."
"That's impossible."
Roland immediately dismissed the drow's answer. As a half-elf, Galvis's lifespan should never have been so short. Moreover, when they last parted, the bard had been full of spirit and vitality.
Just as Roland gripped Felice's shoulder, intending to press her about other possible methods, Galvis softly interrupted him.
"Cool, Roland, you actually made friends with a drow!"
With trembling hands, he retrieved a thick notebook from his chest and handed it to Roland.
"Don't trouble her. I've already recorded all your adventures. For your future journeys, remember to find someone with a good writing style to continue this."
Hearing these words, which sounded almost like a farewell, Roland felt his eyes grow slightly moist. He gently pushed the notebook away and, with trembling arms, tucked it back into Galvis's chest, his voice hoarse.
"An adventure story written by someone else will never be as vivid as yours."
Galvis gave a weak chuckle, his voice faint. "This seems to be the first time you've ever praised me."
He gasped for breath before continuing.
"Roland, Tula is a madman. He wants to steal the divine favor, condense a godhead, and obtain supreme power."
"You're no match for him yet. You must leave here immediately!"
These words sent a chill down Roland's spine.
Though he had long suspected this, hearing Galvis confirm this insane plan with his own voice still sent a shiver down his spine.
Just as he was about to respond, his keen senses suddenly let out a silent scream.
"Watch out!"
Roland shouted, pulling Felice and Galvis into his arms and rolling sideways.
In the next instant, the secret chamber erupted in chaos.
Boom! Boom! Boom!
A series of deafening explosions shook the room.
The wooden idols, already riddled with cracks, seemed to be torn apart from within by an invisible force, shattering violently.
Countless wooden splinters flew like shrapnel, sharp fragments whistling past their ears.
The entire chamber was instantly engulfed in a cloud of wood dust.
Almost simultaneously, a vast and terrifying aura swept through the room like a tsunami.
Though still distant, the bone-chilling pressure reached them clearly.
And the unfamiliar connection within the Red String of Fate suddenly pulsed violently, as if resonating with this terrifying force.
(End of the Chapter)
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