Translator: CinderTL
Ember of Original Sin
When you unleash an attack with flame, what rises from your palm is no longer ordinary elemental fire, but the Flame of Judgment, capable of reflecting the true nature of sin. This flame actively senses the deepest sins within the target's soul and transforms into a corresponding form.
If the target is consumed by pride, the flame will solidify into a pale crown, its crushing weight breaking the beam of their arrogance. If greed dominates their heart, the flame will morph into a frigid, azure vortex, draining warmth and vitality, forcing them to experience the terror of deprivation while burning. If rage controls them, the flame will harden into obsidian-like silence, devouring all frenzy and reducing their fury to lifeless stillness. Other sins manifest in countless ways.
However, this power of judgment is not absolute. Its potency depends on the balance between the intensity of the flame you unleash and the target's spiritual resistance.
A faint spark can only evoke faint whispers of sin, while a raging inferno can forge a complete Judgment Form, channeling a torrent of sin into the depths of the target's consciousness.
Only when your flame's strength completely overwhelms the opponent's mental defenses can you force them to confront the truth they've been evading. In the depths of their soul, they will endure a judgment far more brutal than mere physical incineration, suffering a fundamental annihilation that strikes at their very essence.
"Ember of Original Sin?"
Roland stared at the words floating before him, his chest rising and falling slightly.
Even with his two lifetimes of experience and composure, he struggled to suppress the turmoil within him.
This Ember of Original Sin...
It was far more than a simple elemental enhancement or power amplification.
It touched upon the very rules of existence, striking directly at the essence of being.
Ordinary flames, no matter how scorching or vast, could only incinerate matter, bringing about the external end of life.
But this Fire of Judgment burned sin itself, a blade aimed at the soul.
It transformed intangible moral shackles into tangible punishment, igniting the darkest depths of the heart and turning them into fuel for self-destruction.
The arrogant were crushed by their own weight, the greedy lost everything in their insatiable desires, the wrathful were consumed by their own rage...
This punishment, delivered with cruel precision and irony, was far more despair-inducing than simple annihilation.
More crucially, its method of execution was utterly unique.
It bypassed conventional physical defenses, directly targeting the target's spirit and guilt.
This meant that an enemy with a fragile mind but impenetrable armor could be utterly vulnerable to this flame.
This opened up entirely new strategic dimensions for his future battles.
Especially when facing enemies who appeared formidable but harbored deep inner vulnerabilities, it was akin to wielding a key that could unlock their fatal flaws.
"Spiritual combat..."
Roland murmured, mentally chewing on this key concept.
This implied that as he amplified the flame's intensity, the power of this ability would have virtually no upper limit.
This was no longer mere slaughter, but the execution of...
A form of divine retribution.
"However..."
Roland took a deep breath, quickly calming his surging emotions. His brow furrowed as he sank into contemplation.
Currently, the only flame-based attack he possessed was the Fire Arrow.
Although the Furnace Heart amplified its power far beyond that of ordinary spellcasters' Fire Arrows, the spell remained fundamentally a mere trick.
Against ordinary people, it might suffice, but against true transcendents—even those with mediocre innate talent—it could barely inflict meaningful damage.
This lack of potency undoubtedly hindered the full potential of the Ember of Original Sin, his powerful trait.
With this in mind, Roland extended his palm, his thoughts stirring slightly. A wisp of flame leaped from his fingertip, seemingly from thin air.
This flame was nothing more than a pure aggregation of fire element, lacking the constraints and guidance of spell runes. Its power was no greater than that of an ordinary candle flame—gentle and feeble.
Gazing at the flickering light, Roland calmly analyzed his current situation.
His physical strength, continuously nourished by his dragon bloodline, had long surpassed human limits. His desperate struggle against the demon Malcolm served as the best proof of this.
In combat skills, thanks to the A Knight Never Dies Empty-Handed trait, his mastery of various weapons had reached a state of flawless proficiency.
Looking ahead, the path to enhancing his strength seemed to be clarifying.
Beyond seeking to trigger more class advancements to acquire new traits and job resonance, he should perhaps focus on deepening and expanding his existing combat techniques and spell system.
While Dragon Breath possessed unparalleled destructive power, the backlash from forcing its use with his current physical capabilities remained too severe, limiting it to a last-resort trump card rather than a frequently usable tactic.
In contrast, the combat technique Charge consumed minimal energy yet proved remarkably effective in battle, making it highly practical.
If I could systematically learn more spells...
The thought spontaneously arose in Roland's mind.
By addressing his spellcasting deficiencies and constructing a comprehensive combat system that balanced physical attacks with magical strikes, he would gain greater tactical flexibility and maneuverability against any type of enemy, achieving true offensive and defensive mastery and securing an invincible position.
With this realization, Roland's fingertip twitched slightly, and the flickering flame silently extinguished.
He leaned back, sinking into the soft mattress, his thoughts still churning.
He recalled his various experiences since arriving on this continent.
Though he had once encountered a wizard from the High Tower and faced formidable spellcasters like the Lich of Demon Capital Gilles and the demon Malcolm, he had rarely encountered authentic transcendent professionals who could consistently cast spells.
Even the Golden Valley Kingdom, a powerful nation that prided itself on its transcendent ranks, lacked any spellcasters among its elite.
This was no coincidence.
It clearly revealed a fundamental truth:
This artificially created "New Land" suffered from a severe deficiency in magical knowledge and theoretical traditions.
This was why he had yet to find a reliable path to systematically learn spells.
"Perhaps Aetheron will be different..."
That ancient land, existing since time immemorial, harbored countless lost ruins and severed lineages.
There, a more complete system of power might still exist, perhaps holding the very opportunity he sought.
Not just spells, but also deeper secrets about this world.
With this faint hope, Roland closed his eyes, letting fatigue drag his consciousness into a deep, silent sleep.
The next morning, as dawn's first light touched the horizon, Roland and his companions had already packed their belongings and set out on their northward journey.
With Roland present, Tracy noticeably restrained herself, allowing Hoby and the others to finally get a restful night's sleep and appear much more refreshed.
Except for...
Roland glanced down at the noticeably heavy pouch at his waist.
Squirrel Joe had been sleeping soundly since his gluttonous feast the night before. If it weren't for the occasional soft snore amidst his steady breathing, Roland would have worried that his "little" companion had suffered some ill effect from overeating.
Shaking his head helplessly, Roland gently covered the furry ball with a thin blanket, carefully closed the pouch, and then stepped forward to begin their journey.
The road was uneventful.
They soon reached Anvil Gate, a fortress on the border controlled by the dwarves.
Built into the mountainside, this imposing stronghold was constructed entirely from giant stones. The gate tower was carved with a massive anvil emblem, exuding the characteristic ruggedness and solidity of the dwarven race.
Thanks to the Stone Kingdom's friendly relations with neighboring nations, the guards waved Roland through after a brief explanation of his purpose and a routine inspection.
However, the moment he stepped through the massive arched gate, Roland immediately sensed that the atmosphere within the fortress was far more oppressive than Hoby had described.
An inexplicable heaviness hung in the air.
The wide stone-paved streets were sparsely populated, and many dwarves moved with sluggish steps. Their skin had an unnatural grayish-white pallor, and their eyes stared blankly at the ground or walls, showing little reaction to their surroundings.
Even more unsettling was their deliberate avoidance of the braziers burning with warm flames in the street's center and the still-steaming forge workshops. It was as if the very heat that once symbolized life and glory now repelled and discomforted them.
The entire fortress was eerily quiet, lacking the usual clamor and vitality of a dwarf town.
These dwarves afflicted by Stone-Tongue Syndrome seemed to be gradually losing the characteristic passion and resilience of the Children of the Mountains, instead becoming infected with a rock-like coldness and isolation.
(End of the Chapter)
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