Chapter 381 - 366: Source Core

Chapter 381: Chapter 366: Source Core

"His Majesty Morne..."

Seeing the old King approach, Roland instinctively tried to rise and bow.

But before he could move, Morne’s broad palm had already gently pressed down on his shoulder.

"Listen to your two little girlfriends. What you need right now is a good rest, kid..."

"His Majesty Morne!"

Before he could finish, Avril was on her feet, her face flushed and a hint of shyness in her eyes.

Teresa didn’t say a word, but a blush visibly spread across her fair cheeks.

She lifted a hand to fan herself, trying to hide her embarrassment.

"You’re really..."

Watching this scene, Roland shook his head helplessly. He ignored the old King’s good-natured teasing and asked directly.

"How long was I unconscious?"

"About half a day."

Morne said, sending Avril and Teresa away to prepare some food before sitting down beside Roland. His gaze drifted toward the distant silhouette of Golden Ears City.

"Those scumbags who invaded from the Otherworld have all vanished. The war... is over."

"Is that so..."

Hearing this, Roland recalled the scene of the Demons and Devils dissipating right before he lost consciousness. He finally let out a long sigh, his tense nerves gradually relaxing.

He followed Morne’s gaze and was shocked by what he saw.

In the distance, the once-towering Golden Ears City was now nothing but a few ruined sections of wall, barely proving that this place had once been the capital of the Golden Valley Kingdom.

And within the walls...

There was nothing.

The entire city seemed to have been wiped from the face of the earth by an invisible giant hand, leaving behind only a stretch of scorched land.

Witnessing this, Roland’s pupils constricted, and he subconsciously asked in a low voice.

"What... what exactly happened?"

"The Space-Time node collapsed."

Before Morne could answer, Galvis, who had just been shooed away by Avril, returned to Roland’s side.

The Minstrel waved the quill in his hand, sketching Roland’s current appearance as he began to explain.

"According to ancient records, Otherworld planes like the Abyss and the Nine Prisons are constrained by the Laws of the world. They shouldn’t be able to establish a physical connection with our Prime Material Plane, let alone open a channel between the two worlds, so..."

Galvis put down his final stroke, admiring the lifelike portrait on the paper with satisfaction.

"When the Law Guardian of the world discovered this situation, it forcibly closed the channel. However..."

He turned to look at the empty shell of Golden Ears City and raised a slight eyebrow.

"To close it so slowly, and with such crude methods... It seems the Power of this Guardian has been weakened for some unknown reason."

’The Laws of the world...’

Although he had never read any related records in the ancient books Bronson carried, Roland, relying on the memories of his two lives, quickly grasped the meaning behind Galvis’s words.

’But...’

"A Guardian?"

He recalled the pale, vertical pupil he had seen before losing consciousness and couldn’t help but frown and press the question.

"This so-called Law Guardian, could it be some kind of... non-human entity? For example... a dragon?"

"That, I do not know."

Galvis spread his hands.

"In fact, even in the long historical records of the Elf Race, there has never been a specific description of the Law Guardians. The descriptions of them are more like a kind of..."

The Minstrel frowned in thought for a moment before slowly finding the right words.

"’A physical manifestation of a concept,’ of sorts."

"I understand."

Roland nodded lightly, his thoughts drifting back to that hazy, dreamlike experience, and he fell silent.

Seeing this, Morne reached out and patted his shoulder, changing the subject.

"Kid, what are your plans now?"

As he spoke, the old King’s gaze shifted to the side.

Gloria was there, directing soldiers in the post-war settlement efforts.

"This little daughter of mine has always had high standards, and she’s especially picky when it comes to people... But she holds you in particularly high esteem."

He paused, turning his head to look at Roland, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

"Privately, she not only told me that she wants to recruit you with the positions of a High Noble and Kingdom Advisor, but even..."

The old King deliberately dragged out his words, his smile growing wider.

"She even said that if you were willing, she would enter into a marriage contract with you."

Morne let out a hearty laugh and clapped Roland firmly on the shoulder.

"Good kid, you’ve really got a way with women."

"My daughter has always been the most opinionated. I’ve never seen her value anyone so highly... To think she’d proactively offer to marry down to you. Even I, her father, was surprised."

Hearing Morne’s words, Roland felt no ripples in his heart.

Setting aside his luck with women, based on his interactions with Gloria these past few days, he knew better than anyone.

The marriage contract proposed by the Princess likely contained little in the way of romantic affection; it was driven more by practical and political considerations.

Thinking Morne was here to act as a matchmaker for his daughter, he was just about to open his mouth to politely decline the offer.

However, the old King’s next words made his expression freeze.

"But, kid..."

Morne’s hand was still on his shoulder, but his gaze had grown deep once more.

"Take a piece of advice from me: don’t accept her invitation."

Roland was taken aback, all the words he had prepared getting stuck in his throat.

He looked at Morne.

He saw a complex expression in the eyes of the usually forthright King—one he had never seen before.

He gazed into the distance, his voice lowering a few notches.

"When I was young, the same Flame burned in my eyes as it does in yours... a thirst for Power, a longing for freedom."

Morne withdrew his gaze and looked at Roland.

"Since that’s the case, don’t let too many bonds and trivial matters tie you down. Otherwise..."

He shook his head gently, a bitter smile on his face.

"You’ll just end up like me, stuck in an awkward position, unable to advance or retreat."

These words struck a chord with Roland, and he deeply agreed.

But seeing the rare loneliness in the eyes of the usually bold King, Roland couldn’t help but offer some words of comfort.

"His Majesty Morne, you are too modest. Your strength has long stood at the pinnacle of Extraordinary Professionals. That is a fact known to all."

"The pinnacle?"

Morne repeated the word under his breath, a complex, somewhat self-deprecating look on his face.

Seeing that Morne seemed to dismiss his own strength, Roland took the opportunity to change the subject.

"His Majesty Morne, there is something I’d like to ask. As far as I know, the practice of the Knight’s Breathing Technique is about tapping into one’s own potential. As one gets older, their strength usually declines. How have you managed to maintain such immense Power in your later years?"

"Heh, kid, you’ve hit the nail on the head."

Morne seemed to have expected this question from Roland, and a meaningful smile appeared on his rugged face.

"When a Knight’s Breathing Technique is cultivated to its absolute limit, breaking through mortal shackles, it will condense something inside the body... hmm, something shaped like a second heart."

He gestured over his own chest.

"Our predecessors gave this thing many names, such as ’Power Source Core,’ ’Life Heart Seed,’ or an even older term... ’Rhythm Core.’"

Roland held his breath, concentrating. This was a secret he had never seen in Bronson’s collection of books or notes, nor heard from the lips of any other Extraordinary Professional.

"As long as you successfully condense this ’Source Core’..."

Morne continued, his tone tinged with nostalgia.

"The Breathing Technique will no longer just squeeze potential from your own flesh and blood. Instead, like breathing itself, it will naturally draw Energy from the outside world to replenish yourself, slow your aging, and maintain your Power."

"And what’s needed to condense it isn’t complicated, really. Nothing more than some talent, and... enough time."

The old King’s gaze fell upon Roland, filled with undisguised admiration.

"And you, kid, you have that talent. The only thing you lack is time."

Roland digested this stunning information. After some calm reflection, he slowly asked.

"So, as long as one continuously practices a Breathing Technique, given enough time—say... until one is over a hundred years old like you—there’s a chance to condense a ’Source Core’?"

"Over a hundred?"

Hearing this number, Morne was stunned for a moment, then began to chuckle softly as if he’d heard a very amusing joke.

He even narcissistically raised a hand to stroke his stubbled, weather-beaten, yet still resolute face and retorted playfully.

"Little one, in your eyes, do I look... that young?"

At these words, a chill shot through Roland’s heart.

’Young?’

’What does he mean by that?’

’Could it be that his real age is far more than just a hundred-odd years?’

As this speculation arose in his mind, Roland quickly dismissed it.

’That’s impossible.’

Even for Extraordinary Professionals, there are few records of lifespans exceeding three hundred years.

Besides, if Morne had really lived for such a long time, would the people around him—his children, the nobles of the Kingdom—have never noticed anything unusual?

Seeming to see through the turbulent waves crashing in the young man’s mind, Morne leaned forward slightly, lowered his voice to a near-whisper, and spoke softly into Roland’s ear with a hint of teasing, as if sharing a secret.

"Speaking of which, this isn’t the first time this old man has dealt with these Devil whelps and Demon scumbags crawling out of the Otherworld..."

This casual sentence struck Roland’s mind like a clap of thunder.

He suddenly remembered that both Galvis and Avril had mentioned it before.

The last recorded invasion of the Prime Material Plane by Demons and Devils on such a scale dated back a thousand years, to the "Crystal Era" that had long since been buried in the dust of history.

’A thousand years!’

’Could it be that the Morne before him had already lived for over a thousand years?’