Chapter 559 - 500: The Origin of "Rudolph

Chapter 559: Chapter 500: The Origin of "Rudolph

In the "future" timeline, during his stay in the River Domain, Roland had also briefly worked as an Adventurer to take on the High Tier Profession of Apprentice Knight. As a result, he was quite familiar with the ecosystem of the Adventurer trade in that era.

Back then, most Adventurer Groups or Mercenary Corps were typically composed of ten to twenty-some people.

Among them, if a team could boast three or four "Extraordinaries," it would already be considered exceptionally powerful, a force capable of making a name for itself locally.

As for Professionals who had truly reached the ’Extraordinary’ rank... at least in his own, relatively short career as an Adventurer, he had never personally seen one in the hall of any Adventurer Guild.

In that era of dwindling resources and fragmented legacies of Power, Transcendents often held high positions. They were the pillars of a Kingdom, commanders of legions, or the backbones of secret organizations, symbolizing the pinnacle of individual martial might.

Even in the Golden Valley Kingdom, renowned for its strength, the official Transcendents in service to the country numbered just over a hundred, according to his knowledge. They were scattered across the vast territory and its borderlands, each one considered a strategic asset.

But now...

Roland’s gaze swept impassively across the bustling hall as he quickly made a mental calculation.

In this not-so-large border tavern alone, the number of people gathered who were currently exuding a distinct Extraordinary aura already exceeded fifty.

Although he couldn’t yet determine their precise strength, the unique aura that undoubtedly belonged to Extraordinary Professionals was unmistakable.

What made him feel an even stranger sense of disconnect was the attire of these Transcendents.

Aside from a few whose equipment was slightly more refined, most of them were just like him and Holland.

Wearing well-worn Leather Armor, their weapons bearing the marks of nicks and wear, looking travel-worn and dusty.

It was a far cry from the image of the revered and well-equipped Transcendents in Roland’s memory.

Recalling Holland’s earlier complaints, Roland’s brow furrowed even deeper.

’Such a large number of Transcendents, even if they’re only Low Tier... and yet in the adventuring activities of this seemingly ordinary border town, they can only barely cope? They even repeatedly encounter danger and end up in such a sorry state?’

This deduction made alarm bells ring in his mind.

’Then in this era... just how powerful are the "Demons" or "threats" that roam this land?’

Just as Roland was lost in heavy thoughts about the dangers of this era, a familiar shout that cut through the clamor drew his attention.

"Hey! Buddy! Over here! Over here!"

Following the voice, he saw Holland leaning against the heavy wooden counter, a mug of ale in one hand, the other raised high and waving vigorously at him.

Roland gathered his thoughts, his face reverting to a somewhat dazed and docile expression. He carefully squeezed past the patrons, who reeked of various odors and were deep in conversation, and made his way toward the counter.

"You’re finally down. I was starting to think you’d passed out again."

Holland grinned, pulled Roland over to an empty high stool beside him, and turned to the slightly overweight old man behind the counter who was tallying accounts. He jerked a thumb at Roland.

"Old Man Karen, this is that ’trouble’ I picked up on the edge of the Black Forest. His name’s..."

He trailed off midway, his words getting stuck. He blinked, then turned his head to Roland and asked casually.

"Right, what was your name again? Can’t just keep calling you ’buddy’ all the time."

Roland opened his mouth slightly, almost subconsciously about to say the name that had been with him for so long.

"Ro..."

However, just as the syllable "Ro" was about to be fully spoken, a sharp Perception of the space-time structure—an almost instinctual sense originating from his [Rift Walker] ability—pierced his consciousness like the cold tip of a needle.

He "sensed" that in the instant he was about to speak his true name, the "time" that had been flowing smoothly and the "space" that had been existing stably around him suddenly rippled. Like a lake into which a Giant Stone had been thrown, a violent, ominous, and invisible "ripple" spread out from him as the center.

It was not an illusion, but a crystal-clear warning.

It was as if once he spoke the full name, some vast and terrifying chain reaction would be triggered, and the calm ripples would instantly transform into a Space-Time tsunami that would devour everything.

’Is this... a causal backlash? A temporal paradox?’

A cold concept flashed through his mind.

Simply put, it was like a time traveler going back to the past to try and kill his own grandfather when he was young.

If he succeeded, he himself would never have been born, so where would the act of "killing his grandfather" have come from?

Once such a logical dead end is reached, it could very well trigger a correction or collapse of Space-Time itself.

He, Roland, a being from the "future," publicly declaring his identity at this point in the "past," had perhaps triggered a similar taboo.

In a flash, the intense warning made him force the rest of the word back down his throat. A look of deeper confusion and a hint of pain appeared on his face, perfectly timed.

He raised a hand to rub his temples, his voice tinged with apology and confusion.

"I... I can’t remember. I’m sorry, Mr. Holland..."

"You even forgot your own name? Is it that bad?"

Behind the counter, Karen looked up at his words, a look of genuine pity appearing on his plump face as he shook his head.

"Poor guy."

"Doesn’t matter."

Holland, however, waved his hand dismissively and took a gulp of ale.

"A name’s just a label. Around here, there are plenty of people who get called ’Hey’ or ’What’s-his-name’."