Chapter 595 - 516: The Bell Tolls, the Gathering Begins

Chapter 595: Chapter 516: The Bell Tolls, the Gathering Begins

"Holland..."

Roland glanced at the young Mage behind him, whose face was still flushed with anger, and lowered his voice in resignation.

Even in his current state of mind, he felt a subtle sense of embarrassment as he recalled Holland’s outlandish speech from moments ago.

"I had no idea our... ’Dawn Embers’... had become so ’influential’ around here."

His tone carried a hint of teasing and a warning.

"Aren’t you afraid he’ll leave in a rage once he finds out the truth? Or worse, hold a grudge for the humiliation and wait for a chance to get revenge?"

He had originally thought Holland’s unpredictable personality was somewhat similar to Galvis’s—both were the type who could liven up the mood with their animated chatter.

But now...

’At least that Minstrel, for all his exaggeration, didn’t seem adept at—or even inclined toward—this sort of borderline swindling.’

"Ha! Rudolph!"

Holland waved his hand dismissively, the smug look on his face unwavering, his brown eyes glinting with cunning.

"With you around, it’s only a matter of time before our Adventurer Group becomes famous, right? I’m just... cashing in on a little of our future prestige in advance!"

He paused, glancing back quickly at Ellis, who stood with his head bowed, lost in thought. A knowing, mocking smile touched Holland’s lips.

"As for revenge? Heh!"

He scoffed, his voice dropping even lower, laced with the certainty of someone who had spent years navigating the underbelly of society and learning to read people.

"Back in my days with the Church, at all those pompous banquets and so-called ’high society’ events, I saw plenty of young faces just like his—born into a good family, convinced of their own nobility."

"They treat things like ’promise,’ ’honor,’ and ’dignity’ as if they’re more important than life itself. All you have to do is back them into a corner with words, pin the label of ’moral obligation’ on them, and then offer a seemingly ’dignified’ way to repay their debt..."

He jutted his chin in Ellis’s direction, his tone light.

"Once this guy nods his head today and agrees to ’work for the group’ to pay off his debt, he’ll be shackled for good."

"Later on, no matter how aggrieved or regretful he feels, as long as he still sees himself as a ’man of his word,’ a ’dignified person,’ he won’t have the gall to go back on it. And don’t even mention backstabbing us—that would be a fate worse than death for him."

"So, relax, my friend. He’s boarded this ship, and he’s not getting off easily!"

Roland fell silent for a moment, watching the Priest before him, who looked quite pleased with himself for having manipulated the situation so masterfully.

For the first time, a thought—audacious, almost blasphemous—surfaced in his mind with stark clarity.

’Lodestar, the deity renowned for Holy Light, wisdom, and Order, has chosen countless "Holy Light Walkers" to act as his will across the endless ages...’

’...so by what judgment did he bestow Divine Favor upon someone like Holland...’

’...a character like him?’

"Forget it..."

Glancing again at the silent, brown-haired young man behind him, who seemed to still be processing everything that had just happened, Roland sighed softly and pushed his feeling of helplessness back down.

The conversation between the other two had moved so quickly that he’d barely had a chance to interject.

When Ellis finally gave a stiff nod, almost in self-abandonment, and agreed to Holland’s "join to repay the debt" spiel, Roland had indeed stepped forward to intervene, telling him it was just Holland’s joke and a rhetorical trick, not to be taken seriously.

However, just as Holland had predicted, the young Mage named Ellis possessed a stubbornness that bordered on pedantic.

His face was pale, and his gray-blue eyes flickered with wounded pride and a strange, self-convincing "principled stand," insisting that since an "agreement" had been reached, it had to be honored.

It was as if this was the only way he could preserve the last shred of dignity he had left—his so-called "credibility."

After several failed attempts to persuade him, Roland could only give up.

"I told you not to worry, Rudolph."

Seeing this, Holland clapped Roland on the shoulder, thoroughly pleased with himself and evidently proud of his "maneuvering."

He changed the subject, his brown eyes refocusing on the matter at hand.

"Now that we’ve found the person and have a general idea where the item came from... even if it seems you didn’t get the answer you were hoping for, what’s next? What’s your plan? How about we..."

He paused, his tone gradually taking on a familiar, hopeful excitement.

"Let’s go check out ’Gray Rock City’! It’s not too far from Lin Ye Town, but it’s the real ’core’ of this lawless land, the place that truly matters!"

"The Adventurer Association there is on a whole different level than this backwater black market. High Tier quests and rare intel circulate quickly! We can take on a few decent missions to get the team in sync and make a name for our ’Dawn Embers’! What do you say?"

Hearing "Gray Rock City" and "Adventurer Association," Roland’s interest was piqued.

It wasn’t that he cared about "making a name for themselves," as Holland put it, but that other possibilities came to mind.

A larger, better-informed hub would undoubtedly offer a better chance of finding clues about Avril and the others’ whereabouts, and maybe even...

...he might come across rumors or records related to the "time disruption."

That was far better than fumbling around blindly in this small town.

"Alright."

Roland mused for a moment, then nodded.

"Going to Gray Rock City is a good idea, but before that..."

Roland looked around at the surrounding stalls, piled high with all sorts of goods amidst the interplay of light and shadow, and spoke.

"Since we’re relatively well-off right now, we should probably stock up on some necessary supplies and equipment."

Although his mastery of [Body as Martial] allowed Roland to turn anything into a blade, even using his own body as a weapon, the power he could unleash with it could hardly compare to a finely crafted weapon truly forged for battle.

Here in the black market, he might have a chance to find a suitable weapon.

With this thought in mind, Roland and the others began to weave through the crowded stalls, searching.

However, after searching the entire noisy, chaotic trading area, Roland still couldn’t find a weapon that truly satisfied him.

It wasn’t that the goods here were shoddy.

There was a dazzling array of swords, daggers, and Long Spears, all gleaming faintly with simple Enchantments.

Holland, for his part, had unceremoniously swapped out his tattered Leather Armor and Nail Head Hammer, and was now smugly adjusting the strap of his new bracer.

But he couldn’t find a single weapon that could compare to "Bright Moon," not even one that was just a notch below it.

When Roland discreetly channeled a trace of Fighting Spirit into the other seemingly sharp or sturdy weapons to test them, the feedback he got on their resilience was disappointing.

They would likely shatter after just a few intense clashes at his level of combat.

’If I can’t find anything...’

Roland thought to himself as he placed a pricey Longsword, inlaid with a crude Flame Rune, back on the stall.

’Perhaps I’ll have to buy some raw materials, find a usable forge, and craft one myself.’

’But suitable materials...’

His gaze swept over the Metal Bars labeled "Refined Iron" and "Black Steel," and his brow furrowed slightly.

High Tier Magic-Guiding Metals like Mithril seemed to be just as rare and expensive in this era, and they were nowhere to be found in this outer section of the black market.

Just as he was frowning to himself about this, Holland’s boastful, raised voice sounded from beside him.

"Hey, kid! Don’t just stand there!"

Holland patted the new sheathed Dagger at his waist, then proudly showed off the bracer on his arm, which bore a simple reinforcement Rune, and spoke to Ellis, who still looked sullen.

"Aren’t you going to pick out some gear? Don’t worry, you won’t have to empty that deflated coin purse of yours. Our generous leader will cover it! It’s a team benefit!"

"Hmph!"

Ellis let out a short, sharp scoff, his gray-blue eyes filled with unconcealed detachment and disdain.

Despite being forced to agree to the absurd notion of "joining the group to pay his debt," his opinion of the former Priest Holland had clearly hit rock bottom.

"The armaments a Caster requires are completely different from those needed by crude individuals like you who rely on blades of steel."

He lifted his chin slightly, his tone carrying a deliberately maintained coldness and superiority.

"We rely on knowledge, on the precise control of Magic Power, and... on a resonance medium."

"And a proper resonance medium—what you would call a ’Magic Staff’—involves materials science, Rune inscription, Elemental Guidance, and Spiritual Harmony in its creation. It’s hardly comparable to a piece of iron hammered out in some roadside Blacksmith Shop."

He glanced at the surrounding stalls piled high with weapons, the disdain in his eyes growing more pronounced, as if he were looking at a heap of worthless scrap metal.

"As for the things sold here? They probably can’t even guarantee the most basic stability for guiding magic. They’re all for show."

"Oh! I get it!"

Holland drew out the words, his brown eyes dancing with mischief. He stepped closer and deliberately lowered his voice, yet made sure the others could still hear him.

"So... our esteemed Master Mage here lost the pretty little stick the academy gave him, and now he can’t even find a replacement, leaving him empty-handed and helpless, is that it?"

"You!"

Ellis’s pale face instantly flushed red, like a cat whose tail had been stepped on.

"That was the ’Cyan Oath’! It was an outstanding, standard-issue Magic Staff, forged through thirteen processes and embedded with the ’Calm Lake’ rune set!"

"Its value... its craftsmanship... can’t be measured by vulgar currency! And it’s not something you can just ’buy’ off the street!"

His voice cracked with agitation, a clear sign that Holland’s taunt had struck a nerve.

Roland didn’t turn around to bother with the childish, powder-keg argument that had once again erupted behind him.

His gaze swept one last time over the weapons on the stalls before him, all glinting with various faint lights but none of them worthy of his attention. Finally, he shook his head in resignation.

It seemed this trip would yield no gains in the weapons department.

He was just about to call everyone to leave the foul-smelling mine pit black market and regroup on the surface to plan their next move when...

DONG!

A clear, melodious chime, as if coming from the deepest part of the mine yet also ringing directly in his mind, washed over them without warning.

The sound wasn’t loud, but it possessed a strange, penetrating quality that instantly silenced all the noise and clamor of the market.

Immediately after, a cold, indifferent voice of indeterminate gender or origin resounded clearly in the ears of everyone in the black market.

"The time of the Dark Moon has come. The uninvited, please depart immediately. Those who bear the mark may follow the light."

With this announcement, the ordinary light sources in the mine—some steady, others flickering—were extinguished as if doused by an unseen force, dimming rapidly.

Only a few specific areas and tunnel entrances, drawn with special markings, suddenly lit up with a pale, ghostly glow like moonlight, serving as pallid signposts in the gloom.

The atmosphere in the market changed in an instant.

Most of the stall owners began packing up their goods with astonishing speed.

The browsing customers also sobered up, moving quickly and orderly toward the mine exit, their hushed whispers merging into a tense current.

At the same time, other figures—fewer in number, but with distinctly more focused or clandestine auras—emerged from various corners and silently converged on the entrances that now shone with a pale halo.

Within the span of a few dozen breaths, the entire abandoned mine black market had undergone a silent sorting and division.

A secretive atmosphere, carried on the ghostly light, quietly began to spread.