Translator: CinderTL
"Mr. Roland? Mr. Roland? Are you alright?"
The slightly urgent calls grew closer, accompanied by light, swift footsteps that shattered the deathly silence of the camp.
Before the voice even faded, a lean and agile figure appeared at the edge of Roland's vision. It was the Drow Scout who had led him here.
His pale red eyes, adapted to the dim environment, scanned the blood-soaked area with a hint of barely perceptible anxiety.
"I'm here," Roland replied calmly.
His voice wasn't loud, yet it reached the scout's ears with perfect clarity.
Hearing the response, the Drow Scout immediately hurried toward the sound.
Only when he saw Roland completely unharmed—his breathing as steady as before—did his tense shoulders relax almost imperceptibly, and he let out a soft breath of relief.
However, before he could even finish exhaling, his gaze involuntarily swept across the surroundings.
The next moment, his entire body froze.
Although he had already witnessed the human's strength far surpass any ordinary person during their brutal battle with the surface elves, what he saw now still defied his imagination.
The once-boisterous and chaotic troglodyte camp had been utterly transformed into a domain of death.
Dozens of troglodyte corpses lay strewn across the ground in haphazard poses, yet every single one was lifeless. Their hideous faces were mostly frozen in the bewildered expressions of their final moments, or the terror that had failed to fully register before they fell.
A terrifying silence blanketed the camp. Only the faint glow of bioluminescent fungi on the rock walls cast eerie, flickering shadows over the bodies.
While individually weak, troglodytes were a formidable force when swarming in the dozens or hundreds, relying on simple coordination and sheer numbers to wreak havoc. Even a well-trained Drow warrior unit of equal size would need to engage them with caution, likely resulting in a protracted struggle and potential casualties.
But this human...
The Drow Scout's gaze returned to Roland, his astonishment impossible to conceal.
The man was completely unscathed. Not a single drop of blood or speck of grime marred his simple clothing. He looked as though he had just returned from a leisurely stroll, not a bloody massacre.
The Scout's respect and wariness surged to a new peak.
Utterly silent...
The scout muttered to himself, his keen Drow instincts immediately drawing his attention to further details.
There were no signs of fierce combat within the camp—no scratches from clashing weapons, no scorch marks from explosive spells. Most of the troglodytes appeared to have been slain instantly while completely defenseless, leaving behind no evidence of even a struggle.
What method did Mr. Roland use to kill them?
The question coiled around his mind like a venomous snake.
Was it a ghostly stealth assassination? A wide-range yet pinpoint-accurate death spell? Or swordsmanship so extreme it surpassed his comprehension?
Whichever the answer, it proved that this seemingly peaceful human possessed terrifyingly efficient methods.
Roland took in the Drow Scout's reaction but offered no explanation, simply stating, "The trouble here has been resolved. Let's go back."
Hearing this, the scout immediately composed himself and bowed respectfully. "Yes, Mr. Roland."
He cast one last glance at the deathly silent camp, searing the scene into his memory, then turned in silence to lead the way for Roland.
The return journey was smooth and without incident.
As his strength gradually returned to its peak, Roland felt a rare sense of relaxation wash over him.
As for the battle with the troglodytes...
Though they had been numerous, their individual strength was far too meager. For the current Roland, this one-sided slaughter offered no value for review.
His only slight regret was that after personally ending the troglodytes' lives, the [Plunder] trait within his body activated immediately, yet yielded no valuable spoils.
All he saw were the crude bone clubs and stone axes the troglodytes had wielded, along with the piles of moldy skeletal remains and miscellaneous debris scattered throughout the camp—all useless junk.
Clearly, the "depths of the souls" of these ignorant creatures held nothing that could be considered "precious" or "exceptionally valuable."
Therefore, clearing out this troglodyte pack had brought Roland no material gain, other than fulfilling the necessary requirement to advance to the [Rogue] class.
However, his primary objective for this trip had already been achieved.
Feeling the [Shadow Dance Form] trait from his new class and the strange buffs generated by the resonance of multiple classes flowing through his body, Roland felt no disappointment.
"Right..."
As his thoughts wandered, Roland recalled the moment he had defeated Corellon's avatar.
Corellon, the avatar of the Great God of the Elves, had undoubtedly been defeated by him in a direct confrontation. According to the description of the [Plunder] trait, there should have been a corresponding loot drop.
Yet...
Roland frowned slightly, carefully retracing his memories of the battle.
Though he had been left utterly exhausted after the fight, the scene remained vividly etched in his mind. When Corellon's avatar dissipated, it didn't leave behind a corpse or any relics like a normal creature. Instead, it vanished silently, like snow melting in the spring, leaving no physical trace whatsoever.
The only change he had experienced at the time was...
With a thought, Roland maintained a casual conversation with the Drow Scout leading the way while silently summoning his Job Panel.
His gaze swept past his basic attributes and class information, finally moving downward to settle on a section he had previously ignored, but which now appeared different.
[Faith: Self]
[Faith Resonance: 34%]
The change in this value was quite intriguing.
Previously, after successfully condensing the [Primal Core], his strength had taken a leap forward, yet his [Faith Resonance] had only risen from the single digits to a mere twelve percent.
However, after defeating Corellon's avatar, this value had suddenly surged upward.
Even more puzzling was that during his subsequent months of quiet recuperation, the resonance degree had continued to grow steadily and consistently, only gradually slowing its ascent a few days ago before finally settling at the current thirty-four percent.
Perhaps the [Plunder] trait didn't fail to take effect, Roland mused. It's just that... it has already worked.
It's just that the form of its spoils has exceeded conventional understanding.
At this thought, a daring hypothesis took root in Roland's mind.
What was Corellon's most precious asset?
Was it His authority as a deity?
Was it His vast divine power?
Or was it the "Divine Origin" that sustained the faith of the elven race?
Roland stared at the "34%" value, his gaze deepening.
What if what was "plundered" upon defeating Corellon's avatar wasn't a physical object at all, but something more abstract and fundamental...
Like a portion of the faith concepts, divine fragments, or even the authority to interfere with the world's rules that originally belonged to—or were "represented" by—Corellon?
This power had been forcibly stripped and captured by the [Plunder] trait. Due to its incorporeal nature, it ultimately merged into the most compatible domain—the [Faith: Self] system.
This had caused the resonance degree to skyrocket abnormally.
The resonance degree, which had been slowly growing during his recuperation, was perhaps the manifestation of this plundered "Divine Sustenance" being gradually digested and absorbed by his own self-belief.
So, it's not that there was no loot?
Roland slowly furrowed his brows.
But rather, the form of the loot itself is the increase in "Faith Resonance Degree." Corellon's "treasure" is a part of his Divine Origin and the foundation of his faith.
If this hypothesis held true, then the power and uniqueness of the [Plunder] trait had undoubtedly exceeded his expectations once again.
It could not only seize tangible treasures but even reach into the intangible and weightless domain of divinity.
He wondered what changes would occur when this "Faith Resonance" degree reached a higher level, or even hit one hundred percent.
Would he become a god?
Burying this discovery and conjecture deep in his mind for the time being, Roland looked up. His gaze swept across the eternally unchanging stone vault of the Underdark as he followed the silent and reverent drow figure ahead, steadily heading back toward the camp.
Just as he stepped through the entrance to the Drow Camp—a structure woven from colossal fungi and stone—a coarse, raspy shout, amplified by the underpass's unique echo, reached Roland's ears.
"Hey! Rudolph! Where the hell have you been?"
Before the words had even faded, a pungent, overwhelming stench of alcohol wafted forward, shattering the camp's relatively cool air.
Following the sound, Roland saw Durga stumbling toward him. His signature thick-braided beard swayed with every step, and his dark face was flushed with a drunken glow.
The Gray Dwarf Leader was clutching a black ceramic wine skin that was nearly empty, muttering complaints all the while.
"...This swill the drow brew tastes like watered-down moss juice! Bland as a bone! It doesn't even burn the throat. What a waste!"
Roland stopped in his tracks and gave a slight nod to the Drow Scout who had been escorting him, signaling his dismissal. The scout understood, bowed respectfully, and then vanished soundlessly into the camp's shadows.
"Just getting some exercise," Roland replied, turning to the Gray Dwarf with a calm, simple explanation for his absence.
Hearing this, Durga's eyes—still sharp even through his drunken haze—scanned Roland up and down before he grinned broadly.
"Ha! Looks like you've recovered well!"
He clapped Roland on the shoulder with a force that would have sent an ordinary person stumbling.
"So, what's your plan? Staying here?"
Without waiting for an answer, he gave his wineskin a vigorous shake and spoke, his voice laced with alcohol and a hint of earnestness.
"Don't worry. You might not remember the past, but that old man Duerden is absolutely one of our own. If you decide to stay, he'll take care of you—and I mean really take care of you."
At these words, Roland fell silent for a moment before gently shaking his head.
(End of the Chapter)
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