Father and Son

"Father!"

Hearing the footsteps gradually fade away, Darko finally lost his restraint. Frowning, he asked, "Why did you only give Roland one month to study?"

"You know perfectly well how difficult Momentum Slash is to learn! Forget one month—even if he had a year or two, Roland might still not master it!"

Baron Foslin did not immediately respond to his son's questioning.

He picked up the porcelain cup and took a small sip of black tea. Only after slowly exhaling a breath of warmth did he speak calmly.

"Darko, what is your status?"

"Father, why are you suddenly asking me this—"

Darko froze.

"Answer me!"

The gentle smile vanished from Baron Foslin's face, and his voice suddenly turned stern.

Seeing his father's grim expression, Darko involuntarily lowered his head and answered honestly.

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

"I asked about your status! Your status!"

Baron Foslin heavily tapped his finger against the table. The crisp, rapid knocks made Darko's entire body tremble.

"Nobility! I'm a noble!"

He hurriedly corrected himself.

"Hmph!"

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

He turned sideways and fixed Darko with a sharp gaze.

"Then what is that youth named Roland's status?"

"A—a commoner?"

Darko replied hesitantly.

"That's right."

Baron Foslin nodded slightly, then pointed at the chair beside him, signaling for his son to sit.

"But besides that, you should add a few qualifiers."

Rubbing the armrest of the chair, Baron Foslin spoke slowly, his gaze profound.

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

"Do you know? Three months ago, he couldn't even perform the most basic hammering movements properly. He was so frail that the other apprentices bullied him every day. But now..."

The Baron paused, his voice carrying a hint of astonishment.

"His forging skills have left even Mister Hawk clicking his tongue in amazement. As for martial ability, he fought his way out of a goblin-infested forest while carrying you, that burden, and moreover—"

"Father."

Darko tugged at the corner of his clothes and defended himself softly, "I'm not a burden. I was just careless that time."

"Silence!"

Looking at his son's hopeless appearance, Baron Foslin could not help rubbing his forehead with a sigh.

"Darko, you're already eighteen. Going to the Knight Academy for further study is only a matter of time. I can understand you beginning to build your own knightly retinue now, but..."

The Baron's gaze was as sharp as a torch as he spoke earnestly.

"Do you really think a genius like Roland would be content to serve as your military blacksmith?"

"B—but we're good friends who went through life and death together!"

Darko hurriedly defended himself.

"I don't have to make him a blacksmith. He could be my Knight Squire instead—"

"Friends?"

Baron Foslin let out a cold laugh.

"Darko, remember this: in this world, aside from familial affection connected by blood, no relationship untouched by mutual interests can be relied upon. Do you understand?"

"I—I understand."

Darko lowered his head, but an unwilling glint still flickered in his eyes.

Seeing his son like this, Baron Foslin tiredly massaged his temples.

"Forget it. In any case, first of all..."

He straightened his expression.

"When dealing with a talent like Roland, you may try to win him over, but you absolutely must not bully him with your noble status as you would other commoners."

"How could I possibly do that?"

Darko suddenly raised his head, his eyes wide.

"Roland is different from other commoners. He's my best friend!"

At the words "best friend," the corner of Baron Foslin's mouth visibly twitched.

He forcefully suppressed his emotions and changed the subject directly.

"Secondly!"

He bent a finger and struck the tabletop heavily, the crisp tapping accompanying his stern reprimand.

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

"When dealing with commoners, you may bestow alms or rewards, but absolutely..."

The Baron enunciated every word.

"Do not make promises lightly!"

"Using the family's inherited battle technique as a bargaining chip and promising it casually without my consent—I do not want to see that happen a second time. Do you understand?"

Baron Foslin's voice suddenly became severe.

"But..."

Darko muttered quietly, "Father, didn't you still give Roland the battle technique to study?"

"Darko!"

Baron Foslin abruptly rose and slammed the table. His sharp gaze locked onto his son like a hawk's.

"What is the Collins Family's ancestral maxim?"

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

"Keep your word!"

"Very good!"

Seeing his son answer without hesitation, the Baron nodded slightly.

Then he suddenly pointed toward the door and barked, "Now, immediately, this instant—take that broken crutch of yours and get out! You are not to set foot outside the estate for half a year. Is that clear?"

"Yes."

Darko drooped his head and answered dejectedly, like a defeated rooster.

Roland naturally knew nothing about what had happened in the reception hall.

Following the servant's directions, he had just walked out the front door when a man and a woman approached him.

After seeing Roland, the two hurried forward and bowed slightly. The man spoke first.

"Greetings, Mister Roland. I'm Matthew, a servant, and this is..."

Matthew pointed to the girl beside him.

"Mary, a maid."

"Master Darko instructed her to take care of your meals and daily needs. As for me, whenever you require it, I will help pass messages to Master Darko."

"Darko certainly thought things through."

Roland rubbed his chin and looked the two over.

Matthew keenly noticed Roland's assessing gaze and immediately bowed slightly, wearing a perfectly measured smile.

Mary kept her head lowered the entire time. Her fair cheeks flushed in the morning light, and her slender fingers nervously twisted the hem of her skirt.

"Taking care of my meals and daily needs? Put plainly, isn't that just serving me in bed?"

Roland understood Darko's goodwill.

It was not that he had no interest in women. It was simply that the signs of Magical Essence revival were growing increasingly obvious, and troubled times were approaching.

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

Thinking this, he waved his hand.

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

Ignoring Mary's disappointed gaze, he dismissed her with a few simple words before turning to Matthew.

"Do you know Mister Bronson?"

"Of course."

Matthew nodded lightly.

"Mister Bronson is highly learned. There should be no one in the entire estate who doesn't know him."

Hearing this, Roland raised his eyebrows.

He had previously heard the estate's servants disparaging Mister Bronson behind his back more than once.

"This fellow is quite good at reading the situation."

After clearing his throat, Roland continued, "Mister Bronson went out earlier and still hasn't returned."

"So I'd like to ask you for a favor. If he returns to the estate, notify me immediately. Can you do that?"

"Of course, Mister Roland."

Matthew bowed slightly.

"It would be my honor."

After exchanging a few more words, Roland followed Matthew back to the outskirts of the estate.

However, he did not return directly to the dormitory. Instead, he went to the Blacksmith shop first.

Although he was filled with longing for the Momentum Slash scroll, Roland knew perfectly well that in this strictly hierarchical world, strength and status had to complement each other.

The Profession Panel could continuously increase his strength.

But as a commoner, becoming a blacksmith was currently the best way for him to improve his social status.

He could not disrupt his original plans simply because of his desire for power.

After entering the Blacksmith shop and explaining yesterday's events to Mister Hawk, Roland immediately devoted himself to the forging work.

The clanging of hammer strikes continued without pause. Finally, before lunch, he completed the work Mister Hawk had assigned him.

After hurriedly eating lunch, Roland returned to the dormitory. Unable to wait any longer, he spread the heavy scroll across the wooden table and studied it with complete concentration.

Time slipped quietly by. Only when the afterglow of the setting sun streamed through the window and spilled into the room did he raise his head from the scroll and rub his sore eyes.

"This battle technique called Momentum Slash..."

Roland pressed his fingers against his throbbing temples, carefully savoring what he had just read.

"Rather than a combat technique, it would be more accurate to call it a unique method of exerting force."

Looking at the sky outside, which had not yet completely darkened, Roland felt an urge to try it immediately.

He swiftly picked up the iron sword resting nearby and strode out of the room.

Thanks to his friendship with John, he entered the Training Ground without trouble.

Standing before a thick wooden post that one person could only barely encircle with both arms, Roland took a deep breath, gripped the iron sword tightly with both hands, and recalled the method of exerting force described in the scroll.

"It doesn't rely solely on the strength of the arms. I have to make every muscle in my body move like a wave, beginning at the soles of my feet and advancing layer by layer along the spine, finally gathering all the strength at the blade."

As he silently repeated this in his mind, he suddenly stepped forward. The iron sword traced an arc and smashed heavily into the wooden post.

Bang!

The post trembled and wood chips flew, but Roland frowned.

The force of this strike was indeed somewhat greater than usual, but it was nowhere near the effect described in the scroll.

He felt that his exertion of force was still scattered, as though he were forcibly piecing together several different kinds of strength instead of combining them into one seamless whole.

"Again!"

He adjusted his breathing and tried once more.

This time, he deliberately slowed his movements, attempting to sense the flow of power.

But the more deliberately he controlled himself, the stiffer his movements became. When the blade chopped into the wooden post, the recoil even made his wrist ache faintly.

The third time, the fourth time...

The afterglow of the setting sun gradually faded, leaving only Roland's heavy panting in the Training Ground.

Fine beads of sweat appeared on his forehead, and his sword-wielding palm grew slightly numb from the repeated impacts.

Yet with every attempt, either the force failed to transmit completely or his movements became distorted. He still could not achieve the smooth, flowing exertion described in the scroll.

"The difficulty lies in coordinating the entire body."

Roland wiped the sweat from his forehead.

The essence of Momentum Slash lay in allowing force to flow naturally like water, but the human body was not a machine.

The contraction of the muscles, the rotation of the joints, the rhythm of breathing—any slight deviation could cause the force to collapse midway.

"No wonder Darko said this battle technique was difficult to master..."

"Even those veteran soldiers who had experienced many battles and possessed rich experience would probably need to spend a considerable amount of time learning it before they could barely grasp the basics."

With that thought, Roland slowly exhaled a breath of stale air, planted the iron sword in the ground, and closed his eyes to reflect.

"The transmission of force isn't smooth enough."

"My wrist is too stiff, and my waist is exerting force too late."

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

In an instant, it was as though the world had been separated by a transparent membrane. The sounds around him grew distant and indistinct, leaving only the wooden stake before him and the iron sword in his hand.

His thoughts became clearer than ever before. The state of every muscle and the rhythm of every breath were precisely reflected in his mind, and he consciously controlled them.

He raised his sword again.

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

It flowed through his calves, thighs, waist, and back, surging forward layer by layer like a wave.

The contraction and relaxation of his muscles gradually fell into harmony under his control. Even the subtle angle at which his wrist turned was just right.

"Whoosh!"

"Bang!"

The sharp sound of the blade slicing through the air and the dull thud of the wooden stake rang out almost simultaneously.

A deep crack appeared on the stake's surface, deeper than any of his previous attempts.

Roland could feel that at least seventy percent of the force behind this strike had been transferred perfectly.

Although it still had not reached the effect described on the scroll, compared to just moments ago, it was a qualitative leap.

Without pausing, he immediately swung his sword again.

While in [Focus], every failure provided the most precise feedback, allowing him to constantly adjust the details of how he applied his strength.

Sweat soaked through his clothes, and his temples began to throb. It was a sign that his Spirit Power was being rapidly depleted, but he did not dare stop.

This wondrous state could vanish in the blink of an eye. He had to seize every second.

Finally, on his twelfth attempt.

"Crack!"

A flash of silver streaked past, and the blade actually cut straight through the middle of the wooden stake.

After a dull thud, the upper and lower halves of the stake separated, the cut astonishingly smooth.

Perfectly applying his strength seemed to have given the iron sword an additional sharpness!

"So this is the true... Momentum Slash?"

Before joy could even well up in his heart, a violent wave of dizziness swept over him the next second.

Because his Spirit Power had been depleted too severely, the [Focus] state was forcibly dispelled.

Roland staggered and collapsed to the ground, his vision going black.

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

Even bending his fingers, an action as simple as breathing, had become incredibly difficult.

Yet the corners of his mouth curved upward.

Thanks for the six monthly votes from "Waiting for the Wind and Rain to Come"!

Thanks for the four monthly votes from Spider Zi ZZZ!

Thanks for the one monthly vote from book friend 20240713682642!

Thanks to my three adoptive fathers for your support. May the stars shine brightly upon you, and may happiness and prosperity abound!

P.S. It's still a 4,000-word chapter. Please follow and add it to your collection! My thanks to all my adoptive fathers!