Translator: CinderTL
Arcane Enlightenment
Roland softly murmured the unfamiliar phrase, trying to decipher its meaning from the words alone.
"Arcane" naturally referred to the vast and mysterious body of magical knowledge. "Enlightenment" sounded like a systematic process of initial guidance and learning in that field, like lighting a lamp to illuminate the path ahead.
This seemed reasonable enough. Any school of spellcasting should have such a foundational stage.
But—
His gaze returned to the line of golden, faintly glowing text explaining it:
Ritual—Resonance—Influence the Path...
Roland softly repeated these keywords, his brow furrowing deeper.
This deviated drastically from his initial guess of "systematic learning."
Why would a simple knowledge transfer require emphasis on "ritual"?
Why would it involve "resonance" with some entity?
Most importantly, how could it directly influence the future development path of a class?
"If that's the case..."
Roland's expression grew solemn as a bolder, more mysterious hypothesis gradually took shape in his mind.
"...this so-called Arcane Enlightenment might be far more than I imagined—not merely a process of imparting knowledge..."
"Could it be a 'dialogue' with the very source of magic itself?"
"A 'soul-level imprint'? Or perhaps—"
"A choice to connect with an ancient arcane source, a fragment of law left behind by a fallen deity, or even an arcane concept spanning the multiverse—thus establishing the most fundamental and profound personal connection?"
"Enough—"
Roland shook his head gently, temporarily suppressing the wild yet unproven theories about Arcane Enlightenment swirling in his mind.
"Once I return to the shell ship, I'll prioritize quickly reviewing the arcane texts I brought back from the Imperial Academy. They might contain records of this ritual. For now—"
His thoughts shifted to the several class paths currently available to him.
The extraordinary profession Construct Artisan required him to forge the seemingly complex Entropic Cinder Core himself.
The advanced class Arcane Disciple, in addition to the mysterious enlightenment ritual, demanded that he independently innovate a spell model.
Neither of these tasks could be rushed. Both required extensive knowledge accumulation and the right opportunity.
"So, it seems the easiest path to pursue right now is—"
Roland's gaze slowly moved down the Job Panel, settling on the requirements for Berserker.
"The only things currently lacking for me to qualify as a berserker are two tempering techniques or body tempering techniques."
He reached into the pouch at his waist and pulled out the ancient map Duerden had gifted him. Unfolding it, he slowly moved his finger across the surface, his sharp eyes scanning the areas they would likely pass through on their way to the magic node.
"Based on Bronson's previously calibrated course and distance, it's highly probable we'll pass through here—here—and this entire region..."
His fingertip lightly tapped several marked locations and areas with distinctive terrain features.
"These places should allow us to search for the materials needed to cultivate the Hundred-Refined Tough-Skin Method, the Blood-Boiling Bone-Tempering Chapter, and the Mountain Breathing Body Tempering Art."
After memorizing these key locations, Roland carefully put the map away.
"As for the requirement to kill one hundred hostile creatures..."
Roland stood up, his gaze seeming to pierce through the warehouse walls and out into the desolate world shrouded in gray mist.
"On this perilous Lost Continent, the one thing we'll never lack is hostile monsters."
With this thought, he quickly made up his mind.
"Those two machines will take some time to produce enough water and food for everyone. We can use that time to complete the berserker's kill requirement first."
"Once we're out, we should ask Holm first where the monsters are most concentrated in the area—"
With this plan settled, Roland organized his thoughts and turned back to the room containing the two ancient machines.
The moment he stepped inside, he was met with a vibrant, lively clamor that stood in stark contrast to the deathly silence outside.
The "High-Efficiency Underground Water Purification and Extraction Unit" hummed steadily and deeply, its side outlet gushing a stream of crystal-clear water.
Like a miniature waterfall, the water cascaded into a temporary, thoroughly cleaned stone trough below, splashing fine droplets and cool mist.
Durga was barking orders at his clansmen in a booming voice.
"Quick! Fill those water skins! You, handle it carefully—don't spill a drop of this hard-won water!"
"Move with purpose! Line up and take turns!"
The burly grey dwarves bustled between the machine and the trough.
They used every container they could find—from leather skins originally used for strong liquor to thoroughly scrubbed metal helmets and even crude stone basins they'd hastily carved—greedily collecting this precious, pure water source.
Carefully, again and again, they carried the supplies toward the shell ship's docking area.
Though the environment was noisy and chaotic, even somewhat disorderly, the tension that had previously tightened the lines on every busy grey dwarf's face, a tension born from water scarcity and the arduous journey, had now smoothed away.
Sweat and water droplets glistened on their dark skin, their lips curled into involuntary smiles, and their eyes shone with near-devout joy.
Even Durga's usually stern shouts carried a tone of relieved ease.
Roland waved to Durga, who was directing the transport, and immediately walked to the "Multi-Function Food Synthesis and Packaging Machine" on the other side of the room.
Bronson stood there, frowning, his fingers tracing the patterns on the machine's casing as he muttered under his breath.
Seeing Roland approach, he looked up immediately, his voice laced with both frustration and concern.
"Roland, you're just in time! This machine's energy consumption is outrageous! How long has it been running? It's already drained three energy cores salvaged from the Rust Knight Order's wreckage!"
"The efficiency is terrible. If I were designing the power circuit, I could optimize at least thirty percent of the wasted energy—"
Roland raised his hand, gently interrupting Mr. Bronson's likely lengthy technical tirade. "We'll address the energy issue later, Mr. Bronson. I've found a recipe for the Nutrient Concentration Potion and need your help operating this machine."
Hearing this, Bronson's attention immediately shifted.
Under Roland's guidance, they successfully prepared a small batch of pure Nutrient Concentration Potion using the remaining, still viable materials.
Following that, Roland strictly adhered to the Rock Core Block recipe analyzed by his Taste Synesthesia, using the potion as the core ingredient in the machine for synthesis and encapsulation.
With a slight vibration and energy flow, several new Rock Core Blocks, darker gray and with more densely active energy points on their surfaces, slid out of the output port.
Roland picked one up, broke off a small piece, and put it in his mouth.
The texture remained as coarse as before, but after swallowing, a far stronger and purer surge of energy spread through his abdomen, instantly dispelling his hunger and fatigue.
The effect was immediate and remarkable.
"It worked," Roland breathed, relieved. He then processed the remaining materials, handing over the subsequent batch synthesis to Bronson.
He didn't linger, turning and walking out of The Granary Hall.
Outside, noon was approaching.
Though the sky remained shrouded in thick gray mist, a few stubborn rays of sunlight managed to pierce through the gloom.
These rays transformed into hazy columns of dust-laden light, slanting across the desolate, ruined land and bringing a faint but precious warmth.
Within this sparse illumination, Roland witnessed a moving scene.
The survivors, led by Holm, were no longer huddled in the ruins and shadows. Instead, they knelt devoutly before the towering, incomplete stone statue—a headless, armless figure.
Their emaciated bodies appeared minuscule in the light columns, their tattered clothes nearly blending into the earth.
They bowed their heads, hands clasped or forming ancient gestures over their chests, murmuring silent, solemn prayers.
Under the thin light, the statue's pale stone seemed infused with a divine presence, silently enduring the worship born of both despair and hope.
"Truly remarkable, isn't it?"
A melodious plucking of harp strings accompanied a sigh beside Roland.
Galvis had appeared beside him at some point, gazing at the figures devoutly kneeling before the stone statue. His voice was filled with emotion.
"In this lost age, when the gods have vanished and civilization has withered, it's still remarkable to see so many people so purely devoted to and reverent of an—unknown entity."
Roland, slightly puzzled, replied, "Isn't that... fairly common?"
"Like your elven race, and the drow—don't you both generations-long, devoutly worship Corellon and Lolth?"
"Devout? Hah!" Galvis chuckled, his laugh laced with an indescribable irony. "It's been countless ages since the gods truly displayed miracles or answered prayers. I can't speak for the drow, but in the Eversong Forest, those who still insist on worshipping Corellon are likely just a handful of old-timers who refuse to face reality."
"And even they—their so-called worship—is mostly driven by explicit requests: for strength, for protection, or for the continuation of their people's glory. It's a transactional mindset, not like these people here—"
He raised his chin, gesturing toward Holm and the survivors.
"Look at them—tattered and starving, yet their eyes hold no trace of greed or desire. Their devotion seems less like worship and more like a selfless, heartfelt reliance and steadfastness—a refuge born from inner conviction."
Hearing this, Roland couldn't help but recall the drow camp he had visited earlier.
The corner where the Lolth idol stood was thick with dust, and during his stay, he had rarely seen any drow come to pay their respects.
The decline of faith seemed to be a pervasive phenomenon of this era.
As Roland pondered this, Galvis gently plucked the strings of his lute.
"This also explains why the Corellon avatar you faced earlier was so—well, underwhelming, so easily defeated by you, my hero! Roland!"
"Without sufficient, unwavering faith to sustain them, even the greatest gods become like water without a source."
"In the end, what real difference is there between a god stripped of faith and an ordinary powerful transcendent? Merely a higher tier of strength."
"Effortlessly defeated?"
Roland couldn't help but shake his head at the overly casual description. He was about to retort that the battle had been far from simple.
Just then, Holm noticed Roland's arrival. However, the human chief didn't rush over. Instead, he maintained his solemn demeanor, completed the final passage of silent prayer, and bowed deeply to the stone statue. Only then did he slowly rise and walk steadily toward Roland.
A hint of anticipation flickered across his grimy face as he asked cautiously, "Lord Veilbreaker, have you... have you already defeated the monster in The Granary Hall?"
(End of the Chapter)
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