Chapter 385 - 369: Farewell (Part 2)

Chapter 385: Chapter 369: Farewell (Part 2)

Roland refused politely but firmly, without a hint of hesitation.

A look of disappointment and astonishment, even more obvious than last time, flashed through Gloria’s eyes.

These feelings spread and brewed within her heart until, finally...

"S-Sir Roland, you are being far too arrogant!"

The Princess panted slightly, her slender shoulders trembling with emotion as a faint blush colored her delicate face.

"Please don’t think you can be so... so condescending just because of your own talent and abilities. I... I must remind you..."

Gloria took a deep breath, and though a faint tremor still lingered in her voice, she forced herself to regain the regal composure expected of the Royal Family.

"The marriage proposal... was made purely out of consideration for the Kingdom’s interests. It is a political alliance to stabilize the situation, with no... no personal feelings involved."

Before the words had even left her lips, she spun around and practically fled from the tent.

The cool night air outside rushed to meet her, bringing a welcome chill to her slightly flushed cheeks.

The cold breeze also seemed to clear her chaotic thoughts.

Remembering her unseemly outburst, Gloria felt the heat in her cheeks intensify rather than subside.

’What on earth was I saying...?’

She muttered to herself, her fingertips unconsciously twisting the hem of her dress.

She had sounded just like a little girl throwing a tantrum after being rejected, completely lacking the dignity and rationality expected of a Princess.

Inside the tent, Roland gazed at the still-swaying flap, recalling the Princess’s recent behavior. It had felt less like a declaration and more like a fit of pique. He could only shake his head helplessly.

He could, of course, tell that her words were emotionally charged, so he didn’t take them to heart, let alone get angry.

After all, he was about to sail for the Aiselon Continent. They would be worlds apart, and their paths would likely never cross again.

At this thought, a sense of peace washed over him. He closed his eyes once more and soon drifted off to sleep.

Roland awoke right on time the next morning as the sky began to lighten.

Just as he finished packing his simple travel gear, the tent flap was thrown open. Morne’s tall figure strode in and handed him a thick stack of handwritten papers.

"Take this, kid."

The old King’s voice carried a barely noticeable weariness, yet it remained as hearty as ever.

"I got some paper and a pen from that friend of yours last night. I’ve written down some of my thoughts on condensing a Source Core, and the methods for channeling its power."

Roland accepted the stack of papers, which still smelled of fresh ink. When he looked up, he saw that Morne’s eyes were bloodshot.

Looking at the fresh script on the pages, with ink that was still wet in some places, he instantly understood.

The old King must have stayed up all night, pouring his priceless experience onto these pages.

Roland knew all too well how valuable these notes were.

Of all the Knights he knew, apart from Morne himself, not even a powerhouse like Graham had managed to successfully condense a Source Core.

A warmth flooded Roland’s chest at this gesture of holding nothing back. His throat tightened, and he was about to offer his solemn thanks.

"Enough of that..."

As if reading his mind, Morne waved a large hand, unceremoniously cutting him off as if it were a trivial matter not worth mentioning.

"You saved my Kingdom!"

"If Golden Ears City hadn’t been annihilated in the Space-Time turbulence, taking my treasury along with it, I would never use such a meager gift to repay such a profound debt of gratitude."

He laughed heartily, slinging an arm over Roland’s shoulder and leading him toward the tent’s entrance.

"So... wipe that look off your face. Come on, everyone’s ready. We can’t let our departing hero leave without a proper send-off."

The moment the tent flap was pulled aside, the cool morning breeze rushed in, followed by a torrent of fervent gazes.

At some point, a dense crowd had gathered in the clearing at the center of the camp.

From soldiers in battered armor to the wounded wrapped in blood-stained bandages, everyone stood in silence.

The moment Roland appeared, countless eyes instantly focused on him.

There was no grand procession, no fluttering banners. In the aftermath of the battle, everything was crude and impromptu.

But every gaze fixed upon Roland burned with an undisguised, fiery intensity.

It was the relief of having survived, the reverence for the strong, and most of all, a deep and heartfelt gratitude.

It is not known who was the first to raise his sword.

SHING!

The clear ring of a Longsword being unsheathed shattered the silence.

It was followed by a second, then a third...

Hundreds, then thousands of weapons were raised high, catching the morning sun in a dazzling glare.

"Roland!"

"Roland the Hero!"

What began as scattered shouts soon swelled into a unified roar that shook the morning air.

Soldiers pounded their breastplates. Wounded Warriors struggled to lift their heads from stretchers. In everyone’s eyes shone a light of near-worship.

They remembered it clearly: it was the young man before them who had stepped forward in their most desperate hour. With a blood-soaked right arm, he had unleashed a Dragon’s Breath that tore through the Darkness, utterly vanquishing the seemingly invincible Abyssal Demon.

Morne stood beside Roland, his broad hand still resting on the young man’s shoulder. He gazed at the fervent scene, his eyes filled with pride and emotion.

He leaned his head closer and, amid the thunderous cheers, spoke in a voice only the two of them could hear.

"Look, kid. This is the respect you’ve earned."

Roland stood at the center of this tidal wave of steel and shouting, feeling the ground tremble beneath his feet as he looked out at the faces flushed with excitement.

In that moment, he truly understood what it meant to be the center of everyone’s attention.

In this crude yet heartfelt farewell, he was not just the hero who had slain the Demon, but a banner of hope in the hearts of these Warriors.

’That guy, Roland...’

Amid the roaring crowd, Sean watched the figure at the center of everyone’s attention. He raised a brawny arm and awkwardly wiped at his reddening eyes.

’I knew it... You were always destined for more than an ordinary life.’

He whispered, his voice choked with emotion.

Before he could finish, a friendly arm wrapped around his shoulders.

"Who was it that called me a sissy earlier?"

Dalko wore a teasing grin, though he furrowed his brow with mock seriousness.

"Look at the state of you now. Tsk, tsk..."

"I’ll get emotional if I want to! What’s it to you?"

Sean retorted gruffly, but he didn’t push the young nobleman’s arm away.

Dalko patted his shoulder guard knowingly. His gaze also shifted to Roland in the distance, a gentle smile playing on his lips.

"We can’t fall too far behind, either. We can’t let Roland leave us completely in the dust."

He paused, then lowered his voice.

"Speaking of which, have you finished the tasks Her Highness Princess Gloria assigned to you?"

"I don’t need you to remind me!"

Sean huffed, annoyed.

"Watch your tone, Sean."

Dalko straightened his back, feigning a serious expression.

"As of now... I am your superior, after all."

As the two friends bantered, in a less crowded corner not far away, the lady-in-waiting Mel sighed softly as she looked at the Princess beside her. Gloria’s face was weary, but she was forcing herself to keep up appearances.

"Your Highness, if I recall correctly, didn’t you say last night... that you would not be attending this morning’s farewell ceremony?"

Gloria’s gaze flickered over the figure at the center of the distant crowd before she composed herself and answered in her usual cool tone.

"As the Princess of the Golden Valley Kingdom, it would be a slight to the Royal Family’s honor to be absent on such an occasion."

She lifted her chin slightly, trying to maintain her innate pride, but she could not fool Mel’s keen eyes.

Seeing this, Mel said no more, but her gaze fell involuntarily to the slightly worn bandage on Gloria’s arm.

"Your Highness, that wound... by all rights, it should have healed long ago, shouldn’t it?"

As she spoke, she reached out as if to unwrap the bandage and inspect it.

"Don’t!"

Gloria sidestepped almost instinctively, hiding her arm behind her back. A hint of panic crept into her voice.

"It... it hasn’t completely healed yet."

Watching her transparent attempt to hide the truth, Mel sighed softly.

The lady-in-waiting remembered clearly: that scar was from a battle against an Assassin sent by Anno in a dense forest six months ago.

With the Princess’s constitution and the meticulous care of her physicians, it was impossible for such a superficial wound to have not healed by now.

The only reason the bandage was still wrapped around her arm was, perhaps...

At this thought, Mel’s gaze drifted to the black-haired young man surrounded by soldiers in the distance, and a knowing, yet helpless, smile touched her lips.

...because that seemingly ordinary strip of cloth had been wrapped around her arm by that same young man’s own hands, back in the gloom of the dense forest.