Translator: CinderTL
Roland's refusal was no impulsive decision.
If his goal were merely to recuperate and build his strength, remaining in this Drow Camp would undoubtedly be the perfect choice.
As Durga had observed, though Roland possessed not a single memory of "Rudolph" in his mind, Elder Duerden's treatment of him was truly beyond reproach.
It was an attitude that blended respect with genuine affection, maintaining a perfect distance—close yet never fawning—as if they were truly old comrades who had fought side by side for years.
Furthermore, the world-shaking battle he had previously waged against Corellon's avatar had won the absolute submission and awe of every Drow in the camp.
During his time here, he needed not worry about conspiracies or assassins, nor did he have to keep his nerves permanently taut. Life here was far more comfortable and peaceful than his time in the River Domain Nations.
Yet, Roland knew all too well that the tranquility and harmony of this Drow settlement were but a fragile illusion.
Though he lacked a detailed understanding of the blood-soaked feud that had spanned countless ages between the Drow and the surface elves...
Yet, from their daily conversations alone—from the bone-deep hatred that seeped through every word—he could clearly sense the irreconcilable hostility churning beneath the surface of their outward calm.
He was almost certain that once Duerden deemed his kin's strength sufficiently restored, he would without hesitation lead his armies back to the surface, igniting the fires of revenge against the surface elves.
If Roland remained here, he would inevitably be swept into the vortex of this racial conflict.
Getting embroiled in a war to learn spells was a price he might have been willing to pay.
But the problem was that, according to Duerden, the mana tide had only just returned. The elements were still too dormant and unstable for him to master or teach a comprehensive system of spells—a far cry from his prime.
To wait for Duerden to recover fully and teach more advanced magic would take at least several decades.
Decades...
Though the [Primal Core] had granted him a lifespan far exceeding that of any ordinary human, Roland refused to waste such a vast amount of time in passive waiting.
For someone like him, who craved continuous breakthroughs and the ascent to the pinnacle of power, time was a precious resource.
Therefore, to enhance his strength more quickly and effectively, the clearest choice was to travel to the legendary Lost Continent of Aetheron.
Basic and high-tier classes could perhaps be attained anywhere in the world by learning the relevant skills.
But as for the other extraordinary professions that concerned the very essence of power, Roland had no clue how to reliably and steadily advance along their paths.
The Drow were indeed known for producing transcendent professionals of the Ranger and Assassin classes.
Roland had even humbly sought Duerden's guidance on the matter.
Regrettably, Duerden had explicitly stated that the advancement methods for these two extraordinary professions were not as clear-cut as the training systems and promotion ladders of human knights.
They relied heavily on the closely guarded heritages of individual families, and...
the elusive nourishment of the World Tree.
In Duerden's words, the birth of transcendent professionals among the Drow was rather "bizarre."
Daily training was the foundation, but when one could break through the barrier and advance to the transcendent realm depended heavily on achieving a mysterious resonance with the World Tree and receiving its "Call."
Even some elves who were not known for their diligent training could, in a single moment, ascend to the heavens by the World Tree's favor and gain extraordinary power.
During this time, Roland had naturally tried to connect with the World Tree and sense this so-called "Call."
But this method of advancement—completely unquantifiable, impossible to replicate, and almost entirely dependent on "fate"—clearly could not trigger his Class Initiation Panel, which activated only upon meeting specific conditions.
After several failed attempts, he could only give up in frustration.
Therefore, if he wanted to systematically and reliably initiate into more extraordinary professions and expand the boundaries of his strength, the only viable "right path" available through the channels he could access was to travel to the Aetheron Continent, a place where countless ancient legacies and unknown opportunities converged.
Moreover, setting aside the practical need to increase his strength, Roland was also deeply curious about that mysterious continent.
Seeing Roland shake his head, Durga didn't press him for reasons. Instead, he slapped his broad chest with a dull thud and declared in his gravelly voice, "Fine! Since you've made up your mind, I won't waste any more words on it."
He threw back his head, draining the last few drops of the "weak" liquor from his skin, then tossed the empty pouch aside. His tone shifted as his eyes, sparkling with intoxication, fixed on Roland with undisguised interest.
"By the way," Durga said, clicking his tongue as his beard twitched, "where exactly did you find that treasure of a friend, Bronson?"
"That old guy's head is packed with knowledge!" he continued, his voice brimming with admiration. "From mineral identification to metal smelting, from the load-bearing structures of underground buildings to the transmission principles of large-scale machinery... Hah, he's like a walking encyclopedia! He knows more—and more practical things—than any old scholar I've ever met!"
He leaned in closer, his breath thick with the smell of alcohol, his voice lowering but unable to conceal his eagerness.
"Roland, I have a proposal. Once I find the Realm of Forged Fire and rebuild the gray dwarf city-state to restore its former glory, I'll need a talent like him! Could you... 'lend' him to me for a while?"
"I promise you, I'll treat him as an honored guest and will not fail to reward him! Once things have settled down on my end and everything is on the right track, I will personally use a shell ship to send him back to you safe and sound. How about it?"
Faced with Durga's blunt request, Roland showed no surprise.
After all, he knew Mr. Bronson's vast knowledge all too well.
It was just that his previous circumstances hadn't left much room for the scholar to excel.
Therefore, after a moment of silence, he met the gray dwarf leader's expectant gaze and replied in a gentle tone.
"Durga, Mr. Bronson is my companion, not my property. He has his own will and the right to choose."
"So, the key to this matter is not whether I agree to 'lend' him, but whether Mr. Bronson himself... is willing to accept your invitation."
Hearing this, Durga immediately waved his thick hand, hurriedly saying, "Of course, of course! I was just too eager. I never meant any disrespect to Mr. Bronson."
He awkwardly stroked his braided beard, his voice dropping an octave. "It's just... the thought of him being of such great help makes my heart feel like a stoked furnace, burning with excitement."
He paused, composing himself before continuing, "In that case, I'll go have a proper chat with Mr. Bronson and see what he thinks. Oh, by the way... so you've still decided to go to Aetheron?"
Roland nodded gently, confirming his guess.
"Alright."
Durga said no more, simply clapping Roland on the shoulder. "When do we set off?"
Next, the two briefly discussed the rough departure time, necessary supplies, and other logistical details.
Afterward, Roland found Avril and Galvis and informed them of his decision to travel to Aetheron.
The elf girl showed no surprise. Instead, her eyes sparkled with anticipation for the unknown journey ahead.
Galvis, the bard who had shut himself in his room for a long time, was so thrilled by the news that he nearly jumped out of his skin. He repeatedly declared that this would be an indispensable, magnificent chapter in his "great work," showing no intention of refusing.
As for Tracy, Joe, and their old companion Black Wind, they naturally raised no objections.
And so, the itinerary was finalized.
Over the next half month, Roland's life returned to its regular routine.
Under the continuous nourishment of that mysterious warm current he had received during his inauguration, the deepest internal injuries in his body finally healed completely. His condition was adjusted to an unprecedented peak.
In the blink of an eye, the day of departure arrived.
Everyone gathered by the rift at the edge of the camp that led deeper into the Underdark.
Durga, the grey dwarf, loudly commanded his subordinates to load the last batch of supplies onto the shell ship moored nearby. Avril, Galvis, and Bronson had already boarded the vessel.
Meanwhile, Roland stood facing Duerden.
The drow elder was dressed in his usual simple, dark robes. His crimson eyes held a complex mix of emotions as he looked at Roland—the deep familiarity and concern shared only by old friends, tinged with a trace of anxiety for the unknown path ahead and the reluctance to part once more.
After a moment of silence, he finally spoke, his tone far more casual than usual.
"So, you've decided? That Lost Land is no place to be right now."
When Roland nodded, Duerden shook his head in resignation, yet a faint smile touched his lips.
"I knew I couldn't stop you."
He offered no further pleas for Roland to stay. Instead, he naturally reached into a Bag of Holding, withdrew a scroll carefully rolled in supple black bark, and handed it over.
"Take this. It might be useful on your journey. It contains the spell theories and rune models I've taught you, as well as..."
He paused, his gaze deepening as he looked at Roland.
"A few 'marks' on the Aetheron Continent known only to us old bones. If you run into trouble you can't solve, go look for them and give my name... or your own. It might just be useful."
Roland took the scroll and bowed slightly.
"Thanks, Duerden."
"Go on, get moving. Don't keep Durga waiting; he's got no patience."
Duerden waved him toward the ship, then, as if remembering something, added, "Take care, Mr. Rudolph."
After a brief farewell, Roland turned and strode steadily onto the sleek, shell-shaped vessel.
Durga was already on the bridge, barking orders at several grey dwarves. When he saw Roland arrive, he simply grinned.
With a low hum, the intricate runes on the shell ship's surface lit up one by one, emitting a faint purple glow.
Under Duerden's calm gaze from the shore, the shell ship shot into the darkness of the rift like an arrow released from a bow.
(End of the Chapter)
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