Pale Sentinel, Alvis

The smell was a mix of rusty blood and the sour stench of rot, even more pungent than moldy cheese.

Though everyone covered their noses and even discreetly stuck their heads outside the carriage for fresh air, no one dared utter a single complaint.

After all, anyone who could end up in such a state from killing monsters commanded a certain degree of respect. No one wanted to provoke them at a time like this.

Lance paid it no mind. Taking advantage of the break, he quietly observed the convoy.

The number of wounded being evacuated this time was somewhat beyond expectations.

There were more than a dozen people crammed into this convoy alone.

Fortunately, the guild physicians traveling with them were providing emergency treatment. Most of them had only suffered external injuries to their limbs and were not in mortal danger.

"How are there so many wounded being sent back directly?"

Lance turned his head and asked a young adventurer beside him whose arm was wrapped in thick bandages.

The man seemed flattered that Lance had spoken to him and quickly explained,

"I heard it was the guild master's order."

"Anyone who suffers obvious external injuries in battle and has their combat capability assessed as having dropped by more than thirty percent must return to Grayrock Town with the transport convoy for treatment."

As he said this, a trace of emotion appeared on the young man's face.

"Besides, the guild is covering all treatment expenses this time."

Lance raised an eyebrow at that.

In his impression, that guild master was such a miser that he wished he could split a copper coin in half before spending it.

Large-scale publicly funded treatment like this was practically the sun rising in the west.

But upon further thought, Lance understood the reasoning behind it.

Rather than let injured adventurers stubbornly hold out in the forest until they ended up as names on a compensation list, it was better to spend some money healing them and get them back on the battlefield to create value as soon as possible.

That was a capitalist's accounting logic.

But for Lance, it was tremendous news.

Since the guild was pursuing cost-effectiveness, his improved Hemostatic Ointment—with effects comparable to Troll's Blood but extremely low production costs and a far more affordable price—would definitely become the top choice on that enormous procurement list for trauma medicine.

At only around seventy percent of the price, it could achieve the hemostatic effects of high-end potions.

That shrewd old man would surely know what to choose, so long as water had not gotten into his brain.

This deal was in the bag.

Thinking of that, Lance's mood brightened, and even the stench on his body seemed less unbearable.

After confirming that the convoy had entered a relatively safe stretch of plains, Lance sank his consciousness back into the system and opened the profession information that had flashed by earlier.

[Profession: Pale Sentinel (Great Deed)]

[Race Restriction: Human]

[Prerequisites for Advancement:]

[1. Base Attributes: Constitution 12, Spirit 10, Perception 10]

[2. Skill Requirements: Three weapon combat skills at LV5 (Expert), any one unarmed combat skill at LV5, and any one breathing combat art at LV5]

[3. Trial Requirement: On the night of a full moon, engage in high-intensity combat against monsters alone for over one hour. The number of monsters must exceed 50, and you must remain in a "Guarding" state until dawn or until the protection succeeds]

[4. Great Deed Requirement: Complete the great deed "I Successfully Defied Death" (Completed)]

Looking at the dense text, Lance could not help drawing in a sharp breath.

These conditions were outrageously harsh.

Compared to this, the [Swordsman] profession Damian had dreamed of was practically charity-level easy to qualify for.

Just from the attribute template, he could tell that this profession was definitely an all-round warrior who could take hits and deal damage, possessed exceptional survivability, and had keen instincts for danger.

Not to mention that he had to train five different combat skills to Expert level.

Lance had practiced swordsmanship as if he had cheats enabled, yet he had only just reached the threshold of the Proficient level.

"No wonder it's called a Great Deed Profession..."

Lance clicked his tongue inwardly.

For ordinary people, merely gathering all these prerequisites was itself an almost impossible great deed.

But Lance was not intimidated. Instead, he began calculating its feasibility in his mind.

The skills were manageable enough.

The [Castro Swordsmanship] and [Levin Archery] he currently specialized in already counted as two weapon skills.

He just needed to find an opportunity to learn a polearm or heavy weapon skill, along with a martial art and a breathing technique.

With his cheat-like infinite stamina, reaching Expert level, LV5, was only a matter of time.

The truly troublesome part was the trial.

Alone, on a full-moon night, for one hour, against more than fifty monsters.

In a battle of that intensity, an ordinary person could die from sheer exhaustion once their stamina ran out.

Not to mention the requirement to "guard."

Those two words were the most infuriating restriction.

They meant he could not kite enemies around. He had to stay rooted in place like a nail and protect some target from being killed by monsters.

It was forcing the applicant into a head-on brawl.

"But... it doesn't seem completely impossible."

Lance stroked his chin.

If Hvergelmir's Boiling Surge provided infinite endurance, then a war of attrition like this would actually fall within his advantage.

As long as he could withstand it without being instantly killed, he could keep fighting indefinitely.

Could anyone really qualify for this profession?

Lance could not help voicing his doubt.

He truly did not know who in this world could accomplish such a feat before even advancing into a profession.

"But... since this profession exists, that means someone must have succeeded in history."

Looking at the [I Defied Death] great deed entry, Lance recalled an ancient legend.

It was the story of the second hero, Alvis.

He had neither a powerful physique nor an indestructible blade.

He was merely an ordinary man with a frail body, yet he had relied on unparalleled wisdom to navigate between savage monsters and arrogant gods.

Yet mortal wisdom could ultimately not escape fate's harvest.

On the day his lifespan neared its end, the shadow of death arrived as promised and brought him to the bank of that gray river separating life and death.

The ferryman extended a withered hand, demanding the fare to cross the river: every memory he had possessed in life.

The aged Alvis looked at the black boat leading toward eternal silence and said,

"Great ferryman, I am willing to offer you my soul, but before that, I wish to make a wager with you."

"I wager that there is a road in this world with no end."

"If I can prove its existence, then as long as I continue walking that road, you cannot take me away. If I stop or reach its end, my soul will be yours to dispose of."

The ferryman, bored to the point of madness through the long eternity, agreed to this wager that seemed utterly foolish to him.

Alvis then bent down and drew a somewhat uneven circle in the black sand with his finger.

He stepped onto it and began to walk.

One step, then another, moving forward endlessly along that circular path.

When he completed a full circle and returned to the starting point, the ferryman raised his scythe and let out a mocking laugh.