Chapter 447 - 423: Setting Off for Aiselon

Chapter 447: Chapter 423: Setting Off for Aiselon

Roland’s refusal was not an impulsive decision.

If his only goal was to rest and recuperate for a while, staying in this Zor Camp would have undoubtedly been the perfect choice.

As Duraga had pointed out, despite Roland having no memory of being "Rudolph," Elder Duadeng’s attitude toward him was truly impeccable.

It was an attitude that blended reverence with sincere friendship, maintaining a perfect distance—close, but not sycophantic. It was as if they truly were old partners who had fought side by side.

Furthermore, the world-shaking battle against Corellon’s avatar had left every Zor Elf in the camp utterly convinced of his strength, filling them with awe and respect.

During his time here, he didn’t have to worry about conspiracies or assassins, nor did he need to be constantly on edge. It was far more comfortable and peaceful than even his time in the River Domain.

However, Roland knew all too well that the current peace and tranquility of the Zor Elf habitat was nothing more than a fragile illusion.

He didn’t have a detailed understanding of the blood feud between the Zor Elves and the Surface Elves, a hatred that had stretched across countless ages.

But from his daily conversations with the Zor Elves, from the bone-deep hatred that seeped through their words, he could clearly sense the surging, almost irreconcilable hostility roiling beneath the calm surface.

Therefore, he was almost certain that as soon as Duadeng believed the clan’s strength had sufficiently recovered, he would not hesitate to lead them to the surface once more, igniting the flames of war and vengeance against the Surface Elves.

When that time came, if he remained here, he would almost certainly be dragged into the very center of this racial conflict.

Being drawn into a war for the chance to learn Magic was not an entirely unacceptable price for Roland.

The problem, however, was that according to Duadeng himself, the tide of Magic Power had only just returned. The Elements were not yet active or stable enough, so the system of Magic he could currently master and teach was extremely limited—a far cry from what he could do in his prime.

Waiting for Duadeng to recover to his peak—a state where he could impart more profound Magic—would likely take several decades at least.

’Decades...’

Although condensing the Primordial Core had extended his lifespan far beyond that of an ordinary human, Roland could not possibly waste such a vast amount of time waiting passively.

For someone who yearned to constantly break through his limits and climb to the pinnacle of Power, time was an equally precious resource.

Therefore, if he wanted to grow stronger more quickly and effectively, traveling to the legendary lost Aiselon Continent was his clearest path forward.

One could likely take up Basic Professions and Upper-tier Professions anywhere in the world by learning the requisite skills.

But as for the other Extraordinary Professions, which represented a fundamental leap in Power, Roland had no clue about any reliable or stable paths to advancement.

The Zor Elf Race did indeed produce a great number of Rangers and Assassins, two types of Extraordinary Professionals.

Roland had humbly inquired about this with Duadeng.

Unfortunately, Duadeng had stated clearly that the advancement methods for these two Extraordinary Professions were not like those for human Knights, which followed a clear training regimen and a structured promotional ladder.

They were heavily dependent on secretive traditions passed down within individual families, as well as...

...the elusive nourishment of the World Tree.

In Duadeng’s words, the emergence of Extraordinary Professionals among the Zor Elves was rather "strange."

Diligent daily training was the foundation, but when one could actually break through the barrier and achieve the Extraordinary realm depended largely on achieving a mysterious resonance with the World Tree and receiving its "calling."

Some Elves, not even known for their diligent training, might suddenly ascend in a single moment and gain Extraordinary Power, all thanks to the favor of the World Tree.

Roland had, of course, tried to connect with the World Tree during this time to perceive this so-called "calling."

But this method of advancement—completely unquantifiable, impossible to replicate, and almost entirely dependent on "destiny"—was clearly unable to trigger his "Profession Panel," which activated based on specific conditions.

After several fruitless attempts, he had no choice but to give up.

Therefore, if he wanted to systematically and reliably take on more Extraordinary Professions and expand the boundaries of his Power, then based on the channels currently available to him, traveling to the Aiselon Continent—a land that held countless ancient legacies and unknown opportunities—was practically the only viable "proper path."

Besides, setting aside the practical need to increase his Power, Roland was also genuinely curious about the mysterious continent.

Seeing Roland shake his head, Duraga didn’t press for a reason. He simply slapped his broad chest with a dull THUD and said in his gruff voice,

"Alright! Since you’ve made up your mind, I won’t waste any more breath."

He tilted his head back, pouring the last few "underwhelming" drops from his wineskin into his mouth before tossing the empty pouch aside. Then, his tone shifted. His eyes, gleaming even brighter from the drink, fixed on Roland with unconcealed interest.

"Right, speaking of which, that friend of yours, Bronson—where in the world did you find such a gem?"

Duraga clicked his tongue, his beard twitching with the motion. His voice was filled with admiration.

"That old chap, he’s got quite a lot packed in that head of his! From identifying minerals to smelting metals, from the load-bearing structures of underground buildings to the principles of large machinery... Heh, he’s like a walking encyclopedia! What he knows is more varied and practical than any of those old pedants I’ve ever met!"

He leaned in closer, his breath heavy with the reek of alcohol, and lowered his voice, though he couldn’t hide the eagerness in it.

"Roland, I’ve a proposal for you. Once I find the Forging Fire Realm and begin rebuilding the Gray Dwarven City-State to restore its former glory, I’ll need a man of his talents! Could you... ’lend’ him to me for a while?"

"I swear, I’ll treat him as a guest of honor and won’t short him in any way! As soon as things have stabilized on my end and everything’s on the right track, I’ll personally send him back to you safe and sound on a Shell Ship. What do you say?"

Roland’s expression didn’t show any surprise at Duraga’s straightforward request.

After all, he was well aware of the breadth of Bronson’s knowledge.

It was just that their previous circumstances hadn’t offered much opportunity for the scholar to put his skills to use.

So, after a moment of silence, he met the Gray Dwarf leader’s expectant gaze and replied in a calm tone.

"Duraga, Mr. Bronson is my partner, not my property. He has his own free will and the right to choose for himself."

"So, the crucial part isn’t whether I agree to ’lend’ him out, but whether Mr. Bronson himself... is willing to accept your invitation."

Hearing this, Duraga immediately waved a thick-fingered hand and said quickly,

"Of course, of course! I was just getting ahead of myself. I meant no disrespect to Mr. Bronson."

He awkwardly stroked his braided beard, his voice dropping a few notches.

"It’s just... the thought of how much he could help gets me all fired up, like a furnace in my chest."

He paused to compose himself before continuing.

"In that case, I’ll go talk to Mr. Bronson and see what he thinks. Right, so... does this mean you’ve decided to go to Aiselon after all?"

Roland nodded, confirming the Dwarf’s suspicion.

"Alright."

Duraga said no more, just gave Roland’s arm a firm pat.

"When are you setting off?"

The two then briefly discussed miscellaneous details, such as their approximate departure time and the supplies they would need.

Afterward, Roland found Avril and Galvis to inform them of his decision to go to Aiselon.

The Elf Maiden wasn’t surprised. In fact, her eyes sparkled with anticipation for the unknown journey ahead.

As for the Minstrel Galvis, who had been holed up in his room for some time, he nearly jumped for joy upon hearing the news. He declared repeatedly that this would be an indispensable and magnificent Chapter in his "great work," showing not the slightest hint of refusal.

As for Tress, Qiao, and their old friend Black Wind, they naturally had no objections either.

And so, the itinerary was set.

For the next two weeks, Roland’s life returned to its regular rhythm.

Nourished by the continuous flow of magical warmth he’d received when taking up his Profession, the deepest of his hidden injuries finally healed completely. He adjusted his condition to an unprecedented peak.

Before he knew it, the day of their departure had arrived.

Everyone gathered at the edge of the camp, beside the fissure leading into the deeper parts of the Dark Nether Realm.

The Gray Dwarf Duraga loudly directed his subordinates as they loaded the last of the supplies onto the moored Shell Ship. Avril, Galvis, and Bronson had already boarded.

Roland, meanwhile, stood facing Duadeng.

The Zor Elf Elder was dressed in his usual simple, dark robes. He looked at Roland, his crimson eyes filled with a complex mix of emotions.

It was the familiarity and concern that only old friends, weathered by time, could share, mingled with a hint of worry for the unknown path ahead and the sorrow of yet another farewell.

He remained silent for a moment before finally speaking in a far more casual tone than usual.

"You’ve decided, then? That lost land isn’t exactly peaceful these days."

When Roland nodded, Duadeng shook his head with a sigh, though a faint smile played on his lips.

"I knew I wouldn’t be able to stop you."

He didn’t press him to stay. Instead, he casually retrieved a Scroll, carefully rolled in pliable black bark, from a Dimensional Bag and handed it over.

"Take this. You might have a use for it on the road. It contains the magical theories and Rune models I taught you, as well as..."

He paused, his gaze turning profound as he looked at Roland.

"...a few ’markers’ on the Aiselon Continent that only a handful of us old-timers know about. If you run into trouble you can’t solve, go check them out. Mention my name... or your own. It might just help."

Roland accepted the Scroll and bowed slightly.

"Thanks, Duadeng."

"Go on, now. Don’t keep that hothead Duraga waiting."

Duadeng waved his hand, gesturing for him to board the ship. Then, as if remembering something, he added,

"Take care, Mr. Rudolph."

After the simple farewell, Roland turned and boarded the streamlined Shell Ship with steady steps.

Duraga was already on the bridge, barking orders at a few Gray Dwarves. When he saw Roland come aboard, he just shot him a wide grin.

With a low hum, the intricate Runes on the Shell Ship’s surface lit up one by one, casting a deep violet glow.

Under Duadeng’s calm gaze from the shore, the Shell Ship shot forward like an arrow loosed from a bow, vanishing into the Darkness of the fissure.