"Uncle Peyton, this is daylight robbery!"
"Hey, kid! Is that any way to talk to your own uncle?"
Watching the uncle and nephew bicker, Roland sighed helplessly.
He thought his stereotype of Mercenaries—that they wouldn't lift a finger without a profit—was already harsh enough. He never expected Peyton would try to charge his own nephew.
'Good thing I came prepared...'
Roland celebrated inwardly, then pulled the fuming, red-faced Sean aside and whispered a few words in his ear.
A moment later, Sean reluctantly shuffled into the back room and brought out the Iron Sword he had hidden earlier.
Roland took the Iron Sword, stepped forward, and put on a gentle smile.
"Uncle Peyton, Sean has actually been thinking about how you urgently need a weapon. Look, he specially bought this Iron Sword from Mr. Hawke at a low price..."
As he spoke, he respectfully presented the Iron Sword with both hands.
"Oh?"
Peyton's gaze was instantly drawn to the Iron Sword. After hearing Hawke's name, he eagerly snatched it.
However, after just a moment of inspection, the excitement in his eyes faded. He pursed his lips, looked up, and asked,
"An Iron Sword of this quality... was it really forged by Hawke himself?"
"Of course not."
Roland shook his head.
"It was made by his apprentice. Otherwise, there's no way Sean could have afforded it."
"Fine, seeing as the kid's heart was in the right place..."
Peyton's gaze went past Roland to Sean, who still looked indignant behind him, and he raised an eyebrow slightly.
"You two..."
He brandished the Iron Sword in his hand.
"Follow me to the clearing in the backyard."
With that, he turned and strode away, his boots making dull thuds on the wooden floor.
"That guy!"
Sean was quite resentful of his uncle at the moment.
"Roland, that Iron Sword you forged would sell for several Silver Coins at least! And he just..."
"Forget it, Sean..."
Unlike Sean, who was only worried about the lost Silver Coins, Roland had already made his calculations.
'As long as I can pass the test in two months and become a Blacksmith Apprentice, with the advantage of my Professional Panel, it's only a matter of time before I become a master Blacksmith.'
'At that point, forging Iron Swords of this quality will be no problem at all.'
Besides, to him right now, a barely passable Iron Sword was insignificant.
What truly mattered was Awakening a new Skill and activating a new Profession!
That would increase his Attributes and his ability to protect himself.
He had heard clearly just now: learning Swordsmanship at a training ground would cost ten Silver Coins a month!
Although he hadn't verified it yet, Roland believed Peyton wouldn't lie about something like that.
In comparison, getting to practice Swordsmanship in exchange for a barely passable Iron Sword was an incredible bargain.
After offering a few words of comfort, Roland pulled Sean to the clearing in the backyard.
Peyton had already found two Wooden Swords somewhere and casually tossed them to the pair.
"Since you've never learned to use weapons, we'll start with the most Basic Swordsmanship."
After speaking, he walked to the center of the clearing, his Iron Sword carving a sharp arc through the sunlight.
The moves of Basic Swordsmanship were not complicated. The core was nothing more than cleaving, hacking, and thrusting, supplemented by techniques for blocking and deflecting force.
The real difficulty lay in the way one generated Power and the corresponding footwork.
To Roland's surprise, while Peyton was a penny-pincher, he was surprisingly patient as a teacher.
"Lower your wrist a bit more."
Peyton used his Wooden Sword to gently support Roland's trembling elbow.
"Yes, just like that. Keep it steady."
Roland held his breath, the Wooden Sword tracing a somewhat clumsy arc through the air.
Sweat trickled down from his temple, but his grip on the sword was much better than when he started.
"Don't rush to put Power into it."
Peyton moved behind him and suddenly tapped his knee with the flat of his sword.
"Sink your center of gravity! What do you think you're doing, chopping firewood?"
Sean snorted with laughter from the side and immediately earned a sharp glare.
"What are you laughing at?"
Peyton said without turning his head.
"Your thrusts are as weak as wet noodles. Fifty more!"
Roland adjusted his breathing and reset his stance.
This time, he deliberately slowed his movements, feeling the Power rise from his heels, travel through his waist and back, and into his arms.
"Good!"
Peyton suddenly raised his voice, startling Roland so much he almost threw his sword away.
"That's the feeling! Remember how you're generating Power now."
"Uncle Peyton..."
Roland wiped away some sweat and hesitated before speaking.
"Why do I always feel off-balance when I withdraw my sword?"
Peyton snorted and suddenly lunged forward.
Roland scrambled to block, only to see the man just use the tip of his sword to draw a circle at his feet.
"Look at your stance. Your feet are so close together they're practically a single post!"
He then demonstrated a standard finishing stance, his boots grinding a clear semicircle into the sandy ground.
"Be like a rooted tree, not a floating leaf."
Roland nodded thoughtfully.
Under Peyton's tireless guidance, Roland gradually grasped the essentials of Basic Swordsmanship.
Before they knew it, the sun had set, and twilight began to envelop the courtyard.
Sean had long since slipped away to prepare dinner, and Peyton had found a shady spot to take a nap.
In the empty yard, only Roland remained, tirelessly swinging his Wooden Sword as if determined to wring out every last ounce of his strength.
"Cleave! Hack! Thrust!"
He muttered the names of the moves, his sweat-soaked shirt clinging to his back.
The sound of the Wooden Sword cutting through the air was especially clear in the quiet courtyard.
The moment he completed the final sword-withdrawal motion, a line of dazzling golden text suddenly appeared before his eyes.
[You have learned Basic Swordsmanship. Current Level: Level 1]
[Analysis complete. The Basic Profession of New Recruit is now available.]
[Requires: 2 Power, 1 Agility, any Level 1 combat-related Skill.]
[Do you wish to select this Profession?]
'Just as I expected...'
Roland gazed at the shimmering golden text, a weary smile touching his lips.
As the thought crossed his mind, his body, which he had been forcing to keep going, finally reached its limit. His legs gave out, and he collapsed heavily into the dusty courtyard.
'Awakening Combat Skills... really does unlock related Professions...' he thought, as sweat slowly dripped from his chin.
Although his entire body ached, the light in his eyes was brighter than ever.
Hearing the noise, Peyton, who was half-reclining nearby, cracked his eyes open and muttered,
'Did he finally give up? That kid sure has willpower...'
He wasn't optimistic about Roland's Swordsmanship practice.
It wasn't for a lack of effort, but because the boy was at a natural disadvantage with his physique.
Compared to his own sturdy nephew, Roland was like a reed that could be snapped by the wind at any moment.
His years as a mercenary had shown him too many similar sights.
No matter how exquisite the Swordsmanship, it was useless in the face of an absolute disparity in Power.
For someone with Roland's build, it would be better to... than to force himself to practice the sword.
'He's this exhausted after swinging a Wooden Sword for a day. Swinging a hammer must be even more strenuous,' Peyton grumbled to himself.
'He's got almost no chance of passing the Blacksmith Apprentice test. Tomorrow I'll have to go find that old drunk Lauren and see if his shop is still short on help...'
Although he didn't show it on the surface, Peyton knew full well.
The idea of gifting him an Iron Sword could never have come from his own fool of a nephew who only knew how to use brute force.
He might be greedy and stingy, but he had his own principles.
He wouldn't ask about the origin of the Iron Sword.
But since he had accepted the gift, he naturally had to give something in return.
He never liked being indebted to others.
Meanwhile, Roland, in the courtyard, was completely unaware of Peyton's thoughts.
He was bent over, hands on his knees, panting heavily. Once his breathing steadied, he recited silently in his mind,
"Select the Profession: New Recruit!"