Translator: CinderTL
"Your Majesty Monen..."
Seeing the Old King approach, Roland instinctively tried to rise and bow.
But before he could move, Monen's broad, calloused hand gently pressed down on his shoulder.
"Listen to your two little girlfriends, boy. What you need now is proper rest."
"Your Majesty Monen!"
Before Monen could finish, Avril had already stood up, her face flushed, a hint of embarrassment flickering in her eyes.
Theresa remained silent, but her fair cheeks visibly reddened. She fanned herself lightly, trying to conceal her awkwardness.
"You're really..."
Roland shook his head helplessly at the scene, ignoring the Old King's teasing and cutting straight to the point.
"How long have I been unconscious?"
"About half a day."
Monen said, dismissing Avril and Theresa to prepare food. He then sat down beside Roland, his gaze drifting toward the distant silhouette of Golden Grain City.
"Those otherworldly scum have all vanished. The war is over."
"Is that so..."
Hearing this, Roland recalled the sight of demons and devils dissolving into nothingness before he lost consciousness. He finally let out a long sigh, his tense nerves gradually relaxing.
Following Monen's gaze, he suddenly realized the extent of the devastation.
In the distance, the once towering Golden Grain City had been reduced to a few crumbling sections of city wall, barely proving that this place had once been the capital of the Golden Valley Kingdom.
And within the city walls...
Nothing remained.
The entire city had been wiped from the earth as if by an invisible giant hand, leaving behind only scorched earth.
Witnessing this scene, Roland's pupils constricted slightly, and he unconsciously murmured, "What... what happened here?"
"The spacetime node collapsed," Galvis answered before Monen could speak. The bard, whom Avril had just driven away, had returned to Roland's side.
As he waved his quill, sketching Roland's current appearance, Galvis explained, "According to ancient texts, otherworldly planes like the Abyss and the Nine Hells are inherently restricted by world law. They cannot establish substantial connections with our Material Plane, let alone open passages between the two worlds. Therefore..."
Galvis set down his quill, admiring the lifelike portrait on the parchment.
"When the law guardian discovered this anomaly, they forcibly closed the passage. However..."
He turned to gaze at the empty shell of Golden Grain City, raising an eyebrow.
"The closure was executed so slowly and with such crude methods... It seems the guardian's strength has been weakened by some unknown cause."
"World law..."
Though Roland had never encountered any records of such a concept in the ancient texts Bronson carried, his memories from two lifetimes allowed him to quickly grasp Galvis's meaning.
But...
"Guardian?"
He recalled the pale blue vertical pupil he had seen before losing consciousness and frowned, pressing further.
"Could these so-called law guardians be some kind of... non-human entities? Like... dragons?"
"That, I can't say for sure."
Galvis shrugged.
"In fact, even the elf race's extensive historical records lack specific descriptions of law guardians. The way they're described is more like..."
The bard furrowed his brow in thought, searching for the right words.
"...a manifestation of an abstract concept."
"I understand."
Roland nodded slowly, his mind drifting back to that hazy, dreamlike experience. He fell silent.
Seeing his pensive mood, Monen clapped him on the shoulder, steering the conversation elsewhere.
"So, young man, what are your plans now?"
As he spoke, the Old King's gaze shifted to the side.
Gloria was there, directing soldiers in post-battle cleanup and reorganization.
"My youngest daughter has always been ambitious and discerning... yet she seems to hold you in particularly high regard."
He paused, turning his head to look at Roland, a mischievous glint in his eyes.
"In private, she not only told me she wanted to recruit you with a high noble title and the position of Royal Advisor, but even..."
The Old King deliberately drew out his words, his smile widening.
"...even expressed her willingness to enter into a marriage contract with you, if you agreed."
Monen let out a hearty laugh and clapped Roland forcefully on the shoulder.
"Well, lad, your way with women is truly something else!"
"My daughter has always been fiercely independent. I've never seen her value anyone so highly. For her to propose marriage herself... even I, her own father, was stunned."
Hearing Monen's words, Roland felt no particular emotion.
Whether his "way with women" was good or bad was beside the point. After spending these past few days with Gloria, he understood her better than anyone.
The Imperial Princess's marriage proposal likely contained little genuine affection, driven instead by practical and political considerations.
Assuming Monen had come to advocate for his daughter, Roland was about to politely decline the recruitment offer.
But the Old King's next words froze him in place.
"However, lad..."
Monen's hand remained firmly on Roland's shoulder, but his gaze had turned serious once more.
"Take my advice: don't accept her invitation."
Roland froze, all his carefully prepared arguments catching in his throat.
He turned to Monen.
The usually jovial king's eyes now held a complex expression Roland had never seen before.
Monen gazed into the distance, his voice deepening.
"When I was young, the same flame burned in my eyes—a thirst for strength, a yearning for freedom."
Monen shifted his gaze back to Roland.
"If that's the case, don't let excessive ties and trivial matters bind your steps. Otherwise..."
He shook his head slightly, a bitter smile crossing his lips.
"You'll end up like me, stuck in this awkward middle ground, unable to advance or retreat."
These words struck a chord with Roland, resonating deeply with his own thoughts.
Seeing the rare melancholy in the usually bold king's eyes, Roland couldn't help but offer comfort.
"Your Majesty Monen, you're being too modest. Your strength already stands at the pinnacle of transcendent professionals—a fact known to all."
"The pinnacle?"
Monen repeated the word softly, a complex expression flickering across his face, tinged with self-mockery.
Seeing that Monen seemed dismissive of his own strength, Roland smoothly shifted the conversation.
"Your Majesty Monen, I have a question. As I understand it, the Knight's Breathing Technique involves tapping into one's own potential. Yet as one ages, their strength typically declines. How have you managed to maintain such formidable power even in your later years?"
"Heh, boy, you've hit the nail on the head."
Monen seemed to have anticipated this question, a knowing smile spreading across his rugged face.
"When a Knight's Breathing Technique is cultivated to its absolute limit, breaking free from mortal constraints, it coalesces within the body into something... hmm, resembling another heart."
He gestured to his chest.
"Our predecessors have given this thing many names: 'power source core,' 'life heart seed,' or the more ancient term, 'rhythmic core.'"
Roland held his breath, his mind racing. This was a secret he had never encountered in Bronson's books or notes, nor had he ever heard it mentioned by other transcendent professionals.
"Once you successfully condense a 'source core'," Monen continued, his voice tinged with nostalgia,
"The breathing technique is no longer merely about squeezing potential from one's own flesh and blood. Instead, it allows you to naturally draw energy from the outside world, like breathing, to replenish yourself, slow aging, and maintain strength."
"And the requirements for condensing it are surprisingly simple: innate talent and... enough time."
The Old King's gaze settled on Roland, radiating undisguised admiration.
"You, boy, possess such talent. All you lack is time."
Roland processed this astonishing information, calmly considering it before slowly asking, "So, if I continue practicing the breathing technique diligently, given enough time—say, until I reach your age, over a hundred years old—I might have a chance to condense a 'source core'?"
"A hundred years old?"
Hearing that number, Monen paused briefly, then chuckled softly as if he'd heard a particularly amusing joke.
He even stroked his stubble-covered, weather-beaten yet still resolute face with a hint of vanity, playfully retorting, "Little one, do I really look... that young to you?"
Roland's heart jolted at these words.
Young?
What did that mean?
Could his actual age be far beyond a mere century?
The moment this suspicion arose, Roland swiftly dismissed it.
Impossible.
Even transcendent professionals rarely lived beyond three hundred years, according to historical records.
Moreover, if Monen had truly lived for such an extended period, wouldn't his family, his children, and the kingdom's nobles have noticed something amiss?
As if sensing the turmoil in the young man's mind, Monen leaned forward slightly, lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper, and murmured into Roland's ear with a hint of amusement, as if sharing a secret:
"Speaking of which, this isn't the first time this old man has dealt with these devil spawn and demon scum crawling out of the otherworld..."
These casual words struck Roland's mind like a thunderclap.
He suddenly recalled what Galvis and Avril had mentioned earlier.
The last recorded demonic invasion of this scale on the Material Plane dated back a millennium—to the long-forgotten Crystal Era, now buried in the dust of history.
A thousand years!
Could Monen before him have truly lived for over a thousand years?
(End of the Chapter)
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