Father and Son

"Father!"

Listening to the receding footsteps, Darko finally couldn't hold back, frowning and asking.

"Why only give Roland one month for his studies?"

"You know how difficult Momentum Slash is to learn! Let alone one month, even one year, two years, Roland might not even master it!"

Baron Foslin didn't immediately respond to his son's questioning.

He picked up his porcelain cup, took a sip of Black Tea, slowly exhaled a breath of hot air, and then spoke faintly.

"Darko, what is your identity?"

"Father, why are you suddenly asking this..."

Darko was stunned.

"Answer me!"

The gentle smile on Baron Foslin's face suddenly disappeared, and his voice became stern.

Seeing his father's stern expression, Darko couldn't help but lower his head and answer obediently.

"I am the eldest son of the Collins Family, Darko Collins..."

"I'm asking about your identity! Identity!"

Baron Foslin tapped the table heavily with his fingers, the crisp, rapid tapping making Darko tremble.

"A Noble! I am a Noble!"

He quickly corrected himself.

"Hmph!"

Baron Foslin snorted coldly, and only then did his expression ease slightly.

He turned sideways, his gaze sharply fixed on Darko.

"Then, what is the identity of that boy named Roland?"

"A... a commoner?"

Darko hesitated.

"Correct."

Baron Foslin nodded slightly, then reached out and tapped the chair beside him, signaling his son to sit down.

"But besides that, you should add some prefixes to him."

Baron Foslin stroked the armrest of the chair, his gaze deep, and spoke slowly.

"He is a commoner with astonishing forging talent and considerable swordsmanship skill."

"Do you know? Three months ago, he couldn't even do the most basic forging movements. He was so thin that he was bullied by other apprentice boys every day, but now..."

The Baron paused, his voice laced with a hint of amazement.

"His forging skills have even made Mister Hawk marvel, and in terms of martial arts, he even led you, a burden, out of a jungle filled with Goblins, and..."

"Father."

Darko tugged at the hem of his clothes, quietly defending himself.

"I wasn't a burden, I was just careless at the time."

"Silence!"

Seeing his son's disappointing demeanor, Baron Foslin couldn't help but cover his forehead and sigh.

"Darko, you are already eighteen years old. It's only a matter of time before you go to the Knight Academy for advanced studies. It's understandable that you're starting to build your own Knight squad now, but..."

The Baron's gaze was piercing, and he spoke earnestly.

"Do you really think a genius like Roland would be content to be your accompanying Blacksmith?"

"But... but we are sworn friends who have faced life and death together!"

Darko argued anxiously.

"I can not let him be a blacksmith, I can let him be my Knight Squire too..."

"Friends?"

Baron Foslin sneered.

"Darko, remember this, in this world, besides the kinship of blood, any relationship that is not intertwined with mutual benefit is unreliable, understand?"

"I... I understand."

Darko lowered his head, but a stubborn glint still flickered in his eyes.

Seeing his son like this, Baron Foslin wearily rubbed his temples.

"Forget it, anyway, first of all..."

He said seriously.

"When dealing with talent like Roland, you can try to win him over, but you absolutely cannot bully him like you would other commoners, relying on your noble status."

"How could I possibly do that?"

Darko's head shot up, his eyes wide open.

"Roland isn't like other commoners; he's my best friend!"

Upon hearing the word "friend," Baron Foslin's lips twitched noticeably.

He suppressed his emotions and directly changed the subject.

"Secondly!"

He tapped the table heavily with his fingers, the crisp sound accompanied by a stern lecture.

"You must firmly remember, no matter how outstanding Roland's talent is, his status is ultimately just a commoner, while you are a noble!"

"Towards commoners, you can show charity, you can bestow gifts, but absolutely—"

The Baron said, word by word.

"—you must not make promises lightly!"

"I don't want to see you casually promising our family's combat skills as bargaining chips without my consent ever again, understand?"

Baron Foslin's voice suddenly turned severe.

"But..."

Darko mumbled softly.

"Father, didn't you still give your combat skills to Roland for him to study?"

"Darko!"

Baron Foslin slammed the table and stood up abruptly, his sharp gaze locking onto his son like a hawk's.

"What is the ancestral motto of the Collins Family?"

This question, which he had been repeatedly tested on since childhood, made Darko reflexively straighten his back and puff out his chest.

"Our word is our bond!"

"Very good!"

Seeing his son's immediate answer, the Baron nodded slightly.

Then, he suddenly pointed to the door and said sternly.

"Now, immediately, right away, take your broken crutch and get out! You are not allowed to leave the estate for half a year, do you hear me?"

"Yes..."

Darko's head drooped, and he responded dejectedly like a defeated rooster.

Roland, of course, was unaware of what had happened in the reception hall.

Following the servant's guidance, he had just walked out of the main gate when a man and a woman approached him.

Upon seeing Roland, the two hurried forward. After bowing slightly, the man spoke first.

"Hello, Mister Roland. I am Matthew, a servant. This is..."

Matthew gestured to the girl beside him.

"Mary, a maid."

"Young Master Darko instructed her to take care of your daily needs. As for me, I am here to help you relay messages to Young Master Darko when needed."

"Darko is quite thoughtful."

Roland rubbed his chin, looking the two over.

Matthew keenly noticed Roland's scrutinizing gaze and immediately bowed slightly, a perfectly fitting smile on his face.

Mary, on the other hand, kept her head down, her fair cheeks flushed in the morning light, her slender fingers nervously twisting the hem of her skirt.

"Taking care of my daily needs? Isn't that just a euphemism for serving me in bed?"

Roland understood Darko's good intentions.

It wasn't that he was averse to women, but the signs of the Magical Essence's revival were becoming increasingly apparent. The world was heading towards chaos.

Before he possessed enough strength to protect himself, he would never let such romantic affairs distract him.

With this thought, he waved his hand.

"There's no need to take care of my daily needs."

Ignoring Mary's disappointed gaze and dismissing her with a few simple words, Roland turned to Matthew.

"Do you know Mister Bronson?"

"Of course."

Matthew nodded gently.

"Mister Bronson is incredibly knowledgeable. There's probably no one in the entire estate who doesn't know him."

Roland raised an eyebrow at his words.

He had heard the servants in the manor often speak ill of Bronson behind his back before.

"This fellow is quite good at reading people."

After a light cough, Roland continued speaking.

"Mister Bronson went out earlier and hasn't returned yet."

"So I'd like to ask for your help. If he returns to the manor, please notify me immediately, alright?"

"Of course, Mister Roland,"

Matthew bowed slightly.

"It's my honor."

After a brief exchange, Roland followed Matthew back to the outskirts of the manor.

However, he didn't return to his dormitory directly. Instead, he went to the blacksmith shop first.

Although his heart yearned for the Momentum Slash scroll, Roland knew very well that in this world of strict hierarchy, strength and status had to go hand in hand.

His Profession Panel allowed him to continuously improve his strength.

But as a commoner, becoming a blacksmith was currently the best choice if he wanted to improve his social status.

He couldn't let his desire for power disrupt his original plan.

Entering the blacksmith shop, Roland explained yesterday's events to Hawk before immediately diving into the forging task.

The clanging sounds of hammering continued incessantly until, before lunch, he had perfectly completed the work Hawk had assigned.

After a hurried lunch, Roland returned to his dormitory and impatiently unrolled the heavy scroll on the wooden table, studying it with complete concentration.

Time flowed by quietly. It wasn't until the afterglow of the sunset streamed through the window into the room that he finally looked up from the scroll, rubbing his sore eyes.

"This combat skill called Momentum Slash..."

Roland pressed his fingers against his throbbing temples, carefully recalling the content he had just studied.

"It's less of a combat technique and more of a unique way of generating force."

Looking at the sky outside, which hadn't completely darkened yet, Roland felt a surge of eagerness to try it out.

He nimbly picked up the iron sword placed beside him and strode out of the room.

Thanks to his friendship with John, he was able to enter the training grounds smoothly.

Standing in front of a thick wooden stake that required one person to barely embrace, Roland took a deep breath, gripped the iron sword with both hands, and recalled the method of generating force described in the scroll.

"It's not about relying solely on arm strength, but about making all the muscles in your body ripple like waves, starting from your feet, moving up your spine layer by layer, and finally converging all the power onto the blade."

As he silently recited this in his mind, he suddenly stepped forward, and the iron sword drew an arc, striking the wooden stake heavily.

"Bang!"

The wooden stake trembled, and wood chips flew, but Roland frowned.

The power of this strike was indeed a bit greater than usual, but it was far from the effect described in the scroll.

He felt his force generation was still scattered, like forcibly piecing together several different forces, rather than being a unified whole.

"Again!"

He adjusted his breathing and tried again.

This time, he deliberately slowed down his movements, trying to feel the flow of power.

But the more he deliberately controlled it, the stiffer his movements became, and as the blade cut into the wooden stake, his wrist even throbbed with pain from the recoil.

Third time, fourth time...

The afterglow of the sunset gradually disappeared, and only Roland's heavy breaths could be heard in the training ground.

Fine beads of sweat appeared on his forehead, and his palms, which held the sword, felt slightly numb from the repeated impacts.

Yet, with every attempt, either the power couldn't be fully transmitted, or his movements became distorted, and he was always unable to achieve the fluid force generation described in the scroll.

"The difficulty lies in the coordination of the entire body."

Roland wiped the sweat from his forehead.

The essence of Momentum Slash was to let the force transmit naturally like flowing water, but the human body is not a machine.

Muscle contraction, joint rotation, breathing rhythm – any slight deviation would cause the force to dissipate midway.

"No wonder Darko said this combat skill is difficult to master..."

"Its difficulty is so high that even veteran soldiers who have been through countless battles and possess rich experience would likely need a considerable amount of time to barely get started."

Thinking of this, Roland slowly exhaled a breath of turbid air, stuck the iron sword into the ground, and closed his eyes to recall.

"Insufficient force transmission continuity."

"Wrist too stiff, waist force applied too late."

As the details of each failure echoed in his mind, Roland summarized and categorized them. When he opened his eyes again, the [Focus] trait had been activated.

In an instant, the world seemed to be separated by a transparent film, the surrounding sounds becoming distant and muffled, and his vision focused solely on the wooden stake before him and the iron sword in his hand.

His mind became clearer than ever before. The state of every muscle, the rhythm of every breath, was precisely reflected in his mind and intentionally controlled by him.

He raised his sword again.

This time, he could clearly sense the power slowly rising from the soles of his feet.

It surged through his calves, thighs, and waist, advancing layer by layer like a tidal wave.

The contraction and relaxation of his muscles gradually coordinated under his control, even the subtle angle of his wrist's rotation was just right.

"Swish!"

"Thwack!"

The sharp sound of the blade cutting through the air and the dull thud of the wooden stake exploded almost simultaneously.

A deep crack appeared on the surface of the wooden stake, more profound than any before.

Roland could feel that at least seventy percent of the power from this strike had been perfectly transmitted.

Although it still hadn't reached the effect described on the scroll, it was a qualitative leap compared to before.

Without pausing, he immediately swung his sword again.

Under the [Focus] state, every failure provided the most precise feedback, allowing him to continuously adjust the details of his power application.

Sweat soaked through his clothes, and his temples began to throb. This was a sign of rapid mental energy depletion, but he dared not stop.

This mysterious state was fleeting; he had to seize every minute and second.

Finally, on the twelfth attempt.

"Ching!"

A silver light flashed, and the blade actually sliced through the middle of the wooden stake.

After a dull thud, the wooden stake separated into two halves, the cut surface incredibly smooth.

The perfect exertion of force seemed to grant the iron sword extra sharpness!

"Is this the true Momentum Slash?"

Before joy could surge in his heart, the next second, a violent wave of dizziness washed over him.

Due to the severe depletion of mental energy, the [Focus] state was forcibly dispelled.

Roland stumbled and collapsed onto the ground, his vision darkening.

Sweat dripped onto the ground, and the arm holding the sword trembled uncontrollably, as if all the strength in his body had been completely drained with that single slash.

Even simple actions like bending his fingers, as natural as breathing, became incredibly difficult at this moment.

But the corners of his mouth curved into a slight smile.

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