Translator: CinderTL
Hearing the familiar voice inside the door, thick with despair, Roland couldn't help but smile slightly. He raised his hand and gently knocked on the wooden door.
Before the sound of the knock had faded, the despairing voice inside instantly transformed into a furious roar.
"I told you, we don't need any 'special services'!"
The irritation in the voice made it clear that the speaker had been tormented by repeated interruptions.
Roland chuckled softly and spoke calmly through the crack in the door.
"Hoby, it's me."
The room fell silent instantly.
A moment later, the door was yanked open.
There stood the pitiful halfling, his hair a tangled mess, his apron stained with suspicious sauces, and his face etched with exhaustion and frustration.
But when he recognized Roland standing outside, his wide eyes lit up with sudden joy.
"Ro... Mr. Roland?"
Hoby's voice trembled with excitement, his delight tinged with obvious grievance and relief.
"You... you're finally here!"
Seeing Hoby's disheveled state, a flicker of amusement crossed Roland's eyes.
But knowing this was no time to tease the diligent "housekeeper," Roland gently patted Hoby's shoulder and spoke in a soothing tone.
"You've worked hard, Hoby."
With that, he draped an arm around Hoby's shoulders and led him into the room.
Though the commotion outside had prepared him somewhat, the scene inside still exceeded his expectations.
Several chairs lay scattered haphazardly across the room, one with a wine-stained coat draped over its back.
Breadcrumbs and open books littered the floor, an empty wine glass lying on the rug before the fireplace.
The table near the window was piled high with parchment scrolls and open ancient texts, an ink bottle teetering precariously, and a quill stuck crookedly into a half-eaten apple.
The air hung thick with a peculiar mix of ale, ink, and food odors.
This was no hostel room; it looked more like a grocery store that had just been ransacked.
Roland leaned down and patted Freddy, who lay passed out drunk in the corner. When the man showed no reaction, Roland shook his head in resignation.
His gaze then shifted to Mr. Bronson, who was seated at the dining table, engrossed in a book while eating.
"Mr. Bronson, it's been a while."
The scholar slowly raised his head, a few crumbs clinging to his beard.
"Ah... it's you, Roland..."
He murmured as if waking from a dream, his eyes gradually clearing. He abruptly stood up, his voice brimming with excitement.
"Roland! You're finally here!"
He eagerly stepped forward, nearly tripping over scattered debris on the floor, and quickly steadied himself against the table edge.
"My research has made a major breakthrough! I've found crucial documentary evidence supporting my theories on the ancient magic tide and elemental resonance!"
He waved the parchment in his hand with fervor.
"Just give me a little more time to organize my notes, and I'll be able to discuss everything with you in detail!"
At that moment, a petite figure landed lightly on Roland's shoulder.
Pixie Tracy pouted and complained, "Roland, you're finally back! Hoby's been bossing us around all day—it's nothing like the freedom we had when you were here!"
Standing nearby, Hoby gritted his teeth, a vein twitching on his forehead.
Seeing this, Roland immediately understood that Tracy's daily mischief had pushed the good-natured halfling to the brink of collapse.
After a brief exchange of pleasantries, Roland carefully stepped around the scattered debris on the floor and noticed that the dining table had been completely cleared of dishes.
Curled up beside the empty plates was a round, plump figure.
It was Joe, the little squirrel.
Compared to his usual appearance, the little creature looked noticeably rounder.
His once fluffy fur now appeared exceptionally sleek and glossy, shimmering with an almost metallic sheen under the flickering firelight from the hearth.
Most striking was his tail, nearly twice as thick as a normal squirrel's, with fur that was particularly dense and lustrous.
From certain angles, the fur's texture seemed to display an indescribable, almost orderly arrangement.
The "little" squirrel was currently fast asleep, clutching a half-eaten nut.
Each breath came with a contented snore, completely oblivious to the surrounding commotion.
Roland surveyed the room, which looked as if it had just weathered a storm, and shook his head helplessly.
He turned to Hoby, who looked exhausted, and spoke gently, "Let's just clean up this place together first."
By the time the last item was put away and the stains on the floor were scrubbed clean, the twilight outside had completely faded into the deep night.
Roland set down the rag, sat at the table, and let out a soft sigh of relief.
Hoby promptly handed him a glass of water, then glanced at Tracy, who was now perched peacefully on Roland's shoulder, and exhaled a long breath of relief.
Wiping the fine sweat from his forehead, Hoby sat down opposite Roland, his voice regaining its usual composure.
"Mr. Roland, what are your plans now?"
Roland took the glass of water and, trusting his loyal companion completely, openly shared his plan to travel to the Aetheron Continent.
"Aetheron?" Hoby's eyes lit up instantly, his voice filled with rare excitement. "I've heard that name from my Big Brother! They say it's a land completely different from ours, where ancient ruins forgotten by history slumber, and countless lost traditions and knowledge lie buried.
"They say you can even encounter intelligent races long extinct on this continent there—like the hill giant who can speak with stone, or the featherfolk who dwell atop storm-swept peaks... That's a place truly brimming with endless legends and mysteries!"
His face was filled with longing, but a practical frown soon creased his brow.
"However, according to my Big Brother, Aetheron is separated from this continent by the vast Sea of Raging Waves, an immense distance."
"Only the sturdy ships built at the Roaring Seaport, the dwarven port on the northern coast, could withstand such a long sea voyage. And the Stone Kingdom..."
Hoby's voice unconsciously lowered, his fingers fidgeting as his expression turned grave.
"They seem to be plagued by a hidden calamity recently."
He leaned forward slightly, a hint of unease in his eyes.
"They call it 'Stone-Tongue Syndrome.'"
"It's not a cataclysmic destruction with flames and bloodshed, but rather a... slow and relentless erosion, like dampness seeping into a wall."
Roland listened quietly, his fingers tapping lightly on the table, signaling Hoby to continue.
"According to my Big Brother's latest letter..."
Hoby's pace quickened slightly, his brow still furrowed.
"It began in the deepest mines, such as the tunnels of Stone Furnace Fortress that extend into the earth's veins. Miners reported seeing an eerie, cold light seeping from the walls, its source unknown, and hearing faint whispers from within the rock itself."
He shrugged.
"At first, the dwarves didn't take it too seriously. After all, the light in the deep mine tunnels is strange, and some strange tales are common. But the situation seems to have deteriorated gradually, without anyone noticing."
Hoby shook his head, his face etched with worry.
"The dwarves who had prolonged exposure to the 'cold light' and 'whispers' began exhibiting clear abnormalities. They became withdrawn and silent, staring blankly at the rock walls for hours, their eyes hollow as if they could truly understand the language of stone."
He raised his hand, pointing to his arm and fingertips.
"Their skin gradually lost its rosy hue, turning grayish-white and rough. Slight, stone-like hardening even appeared at their fingertips. But worse..."
Hoby's voice trembled with disbelief.
"They began instinctively rejecting forging, loathing and even fearing the furnace fires. You know, Mr. Roland, for dwarves, the love of forging fire is practically etched into their souls. This change is... it's like betraying their own bloodline."
He sighed, summarizing.
"Now, it's said that several of the richest ore-bearing veins have been urgently sealed off, and the once-ceaseless furnace fires of Stone Furnace Fortress have dimmed considerably."
"This silent calamity is quietly undermining the very foundation of a race that prides itself on rock and molten fire."
(End of the Chapter)
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