Secret Potion

The death of the Blood Scale Kobold seemed to release some kind of signal.

The kobolds, which had been gradually approaching the village entrance, suddenly scattered like startled birds.

They hissed in a language humans couldn't understand, retreating step by step, and soon disappeared into the dark jungle, leaving no trace.

In an instant, the village, previously filled with wails and the clash of weapons, fell into deathly silence.

Only the crackling of burning flames and the pained groans of surviving villagers remained.

"What in the world is going on?"

Peyton scrambled to his feet, his face pale, his eyes full of bewilderment.

Although he had dodged the Blood Scale Kobold's dying counterattack, the wounds from the previous battle had reopened. Blood soaked through his bandages, and his arm had completely lost its strength.

Roland did not answer Peyton's question.

After confirming there was no danger, he slowly stepped forward, stopping beside the charred remains of the Blood Scale Kobold. He bent down and picked up a small object embedded in the ashes.

It was a blood-red crystal, no bigger than a fingernail. Its surface was smooth as a gemstone, but inside, amber light surged, as if containing liquid flame.

"What is... this?"

As Roland frowned, examining the red crystal in his palm, the sound of stumbling footsteps suddenly came from behind him.

He quickly pocketed the crystal, turned, and looked.

John, covered in blood, was walking with a limp, leaning on a broken sword.

When he saw the young face under the firelight, the old soldier visibly froze.

"H-hello..."

John's voice was hoarse, his throat still carrying the scent of blood.

He never expected that the powerful figure who had so swiftly and decisively wounded the Blood Scale Kobold would be such a seemingly thin young man.

But remembering the sharp sword style from moments ago, he endured the sharp pain in his ribs and bowed respectfully.

"I am John, captain of the third patrol team under Baron Foslin. May I ask who you are...?"

"Captain John."

Roland chuckled lightly and reached out to support the man's trembling arm.

"Don't you remember me?"

He leaned in slightly, letting the flickering firelight illuminate his face.

"I'm Roland, the young man who was apprenticing at the manor. Before the festival, I ran an errand for Mister Hawk. You personally checked me at the manor gate then."

"It's you!"

John's eyes widened.

The delicate youth in his memory, who had seemed a bit shy, gradually overlapped with the young, sword-wielding, blood-stained figure before him.

Having recognized Roland, John's tense posture finally relaxed.

He leaned on his knees, gasping for breath, blood dripping from his cracked leather armor.

"I never expected..."

He forced a smile, his blood-stained beard trembling slightly.

"You'd have such skill..."

"You saved my life. If you ever need me for anything in the future, just ask."

As the two were talking, Peyton and Gary, supporting Tom, stumbled over.

After everyone had hastily bandaged their wounds, John wiped the blood from his face and asked, "Where are you planning to go next?"

"We're planning to take refuge at the Baron's Manor."

Gary had just spoken when John interrupted him with a shake of his head.

The old soldier pointed at Roland.

"He's been apprenticing at the manor, so perhaps it's possible for him. As for you two... don't waste your effort."

A bitter smile touched the old soldier's lips.

"The Baron never allows commoners into the manor. Last year, during the famine, even our families were blocked outside the drawbridge."

The torches crackled, illuminating the suddenly dimmed faces of everyone present.

As the joy of surviving the ordeal gradually cooled, Gary and Peyton regained their senses.

They exchanged a glance, seeing the same realization in each other's eyes.

The high and mighty Baron would never make an exception for commoners like them.

"Head north,"

Seeing their silence, John struggled to stand up from the ground.

"Lord Beckham is recruiting soldiers there to prepare for battle against the monsters in the Black Fir Forest. With a powerful knight like him in charge, it should be safe."

As he spoke, he helped Tom up and handed him over to Roland, who was standing nearby.

"You and Tom return to the manor together. With him as a witness to explain the situation, the guards will definitely let you in."

"What about you?"

Roland, supporting Tom, looked at the resolute old soldier before him.

"I need to report the situation here to the front lines."

John sheathed his iron sword with difficulty, his face grim.

"We originally set out from the manor and rushed to the area bordering Dawn Territory to stand guard. But we waited for a long time, and there was no sign of monsters. The commander at the front then sent a few of us back to deliver a message. I didn't expect this."

He looked around at the devastation in the village and sighed heavily, his eyes gradually dimming.

"How did these kobolds manage to bypass the defenses and sneak in here?"

"I've fought kobolds before, but they've never been this cunning, and certainly not capable of this."

Speaking of which, John gestured with his chin towards the remains of the Blood Scale Kobold on the ground, his voice hoarse.

"To encounter such a powerful monster..."

John shook his head slightly and waved his hand.

"Never mind that. You two should leave quickly. Who knows if those damned mongrels will come back."

With that, he turned and left.

Roland and the others exchanged glances before heading north.

Walking along the dense forest path, Roland remained vigilant.

Fortunately, the journey was safe, and they successfully reached the manor.

After Tom went in to explain the situation, he stood on the high wall and waved to Roland.

Seeing this, Roland, Peyton, and Gary exchanged a few words of farewell before entering the manor.

With Tom vouching for him, he passed through without any hindrance and soon arrived near the dormitory.

Although it was already late at night, the sky-high flames from the direction of the village made it impossible for the young apprentices to sleep.

Everyone gathered in the open space, discussing the distant firelight, completely unaware of Roland's presence.

Some were panicked, some were fearful, and others were weeping softly.

Only a few, like Marco, stood silently in place.

Their families did not live in the village to begin with.

As for Marco.

Roland recalled passing by Marco's father's blacksmith shop while fleeing.

He had intended to steal some weapons and armor, but upon entering, he found it already abandoned.

It was likely that Marco's father had evacuated immediately after receiving the news.

Roland shook his head, ignoring the youths in the open space, and walked into the dormitory, suppressing his physical fatigue.

After tidying up his belongings, Roland collapsed heavily onto the bed.

The continuous use of the [Focus] trait, coupled with the high-intensity combat, had left him physically and mentally exhausted, his mind blank.

Therefore, almost the instant he touched the pillow, he fell into a deep sleep.

As the night gradually faded, the faint light of dawn soon bathed the manor.

The entire estate was as peaceful and serene as usual, as if the bloody battle with the kobolds last night had been nothing more than a fleeting nightmare.

It wasn't until Roland's palm touched the warm red crystal in his embrace that his drowsy consciousness fully returned.

He sat on the edge of the bed and held the red crystal up to his eyes for a closer look.

However, after studying it for a long time, he couldn't discern anything. In the end, he had no choice but to temporarily set aside his doubts and get up for a simple wash.

As the cool water splashed on his face, his thoughts gradually cleared, and the scenes of last night's battle began to flash back in his mind.

"With my current strength, plus the assistance of the [Focus] trait, as long as the numbers aren't too large, dealing with low-level monsters like kobolds shouldn't be a problem. As for..."

Thinking of the Blood Scale Kobold that had suddenly burst into flames last night, Roland shook his head and sighed.

"As for that mutated kobold, its strength was too immense. Even with its slow movements, it's not something I can handle alone right now."

"Last night, even with Peyton and John assisting, I used all my strength and only managed to heavily wound it. If it were a one-on-one fight, I probably wouldn't even last a single round."

Thinking this, Roland's desire to improve his strength grew even stronger. He quickly opened his travel bag and began to inspect its contents carefully.

"Fortunately, these items weren't too damaged during the battle."

He let out a long sigh and then, following the recipe on the parchment, began grinding the required herbs into a fine powder one by one.

The mortar and pestle rubbed against each other, emitting a faint rustling sound.

A moment later, looking at the gray-black powder in the mortar, Roland couldn't help but frown.

"Can this really temper the body?"

Although he had doubts, his hands didn't stop, precisely adding the last ingredient, Silver Dust, into the mixture.

The moment the grayish-black powder came into contact with the Silver Dust, it merged silently like melting ice and snow.

At first, only tiny silver points of light flickered.

But soon, the entire mass of powder began to writhe and contract, as if being pulled by some invisible force.

The originally dry powder gradually became moist, its surface shimmering with a silver luster, flowing slowly like mercury.

Within just a few breaths, the entire mixture had completely transformed into a pool of thick, silver liquid, gently rippling in the mortar, occasionally forming subtle waves, as if it were alive.

"This is..."

Roland's Adam's apple bobbed, and he swallowed dryly.

He stared intently at the constantly shifting silver fluid in the mortar, momentarily unsure of what to do.

After a moment, he gradually calmed down and began to carefully cross-reference the contents written on the parchment.

Once he confirmed that the finished product was exactly as described, he removed his clothes and quickly smeared the viscous silver liquid all over his body.

The instant the last bit of silver liquid covered his skin, a coolness like a spring stream in early spring washed over him, loosening his tense nerves.

But this relief lasted only a moment before the muscles beneath his skin suddenly contracted.

Sharp, stinging pain surged like a tide, as if thousands of silver needles were piercing his pores simultaneously, coursing wildly through his blood vessels to every limb and extremity.