016 Comrade-in-Arms

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The baron had specially dispatched a large carriage and a squad of knights to wait at the foot of the mountain.

Not far from the carriage, beneath a towering ancient tree, sat a giant clad in full silver armor.

Those who knew their craft could tell at a glance that the armor was forged by elves—more precisely, by the high elves.

But high elves would never craft armor for outsiders, at least not for loathsome trolls!

Moreover, this “troll” stood over three meters tall, considerably larger than an ordinary troll.

The silver giant sat on the enormous root of the ancient tree, a root taller than a man, yet his feet still touched the ground... regardless of the armor he wore, it seemed unlikely he had any real connection to the elves.

A strong scent of blood clung to him, and his hands were stained from wiping a bloodied longsword.

Even the horses, blindfolded so they couldn’t see the giant, appeared restless.

The twelve knights, however, clearly were not blindfolded; they could see the silver-armored giant.

Yet they remained unusually calm, engaging the “troll” in conversation using a very old and sacred ritual.

If someone from the ancient elven sanctuaries or the human cathedral of the Holy See were present, they would recognize the identities of both the troll and the knights from that ritual.

These twelve knights not only knew the protocol of the Holy Knights but also understood the ancient language of the “troll.”

Their communication flowed smoothly.

From their conversation, it was clear that last night the troll, named Nal, had accompanied Miss Catherine to the witch market. However, they parted ways on the return journey—Nal did not come back with Catherine but went elsewhere midway to slay a cyclops.

Nal had delivered the cyclops’s head to Valeria Castle.

After receiving the cyclops’s head, the baron ordered it to be hung high on the castle walls.

He also had a public notice posted in the town, declaring that the recent disappearances were due to the cyclops, with battlefield guards having found many remains and belongings of the victims in the cyclops’s lair.

This incident cleared the “cat witch” of any blame.

It seemed neither Anna nor Nal had ever consumed human flesh, but the townsfolk refused to believe it.

Roland certainly would not believe it either—after all, Anna had visited him last night.

Soon, Catherine arrived with Roland and joined the group.

Rumors about this witch were as numerous as those about the troll. Recently, some visiting minstrels had even composed a ballad about the “cat witch,” filled with insinuations and widely spread.

Despite this, the knights did not fear the witch, though people maintained a certain distance. This distance seemed innate—they were naturally close to Nal but instinctively wary of witches.

Even knowing Catherine would be their comrade, they still held a prejudice against witches like her.

Catherine whispered to Roland, “Roland, do you know these knights?”

Roland shook his head, puzzled.

Having grown up in Valeria Castle, Roland knew everyone there, but he had no knowledge of these knights.

Catherine nodded, confirming her suspicion. She thought silently, ‘So it really is that group.’

“Master, aren’t they the baron’s men?”

Since cultivating the Dawnfire, Roland had become sensitive to sacred auras and sensed a faint divine presence surrounding these knights. Reflecting carefully, Nal seemed to share a similar aura.

Catherine said, “They are Baron Hall’s future comrades—get in the carriage.”

“Future comrades?”

Roland frowned, unsure if he had heard correctly.

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In fact, these knights were angels. If Baron Hall were to pass away and ascend to the heavens in the future, they would naturally become comrades.

But Roland could never have guessed such a thing. Catherine certainly would not tell him that angels had to be involved this time to handle the situation.

So Roland remained in the dark, assuming he had misheard, thinking to himself, ‘Maybe the master meant comrades from the past... the baron did fight on battlefields before.’

Putting the matter aside for the moment, Roland followed his master into the carriage.

“Master, are we going to the castle now?”

Their destination was the Tawny Fern Forest, far from the castle, but Catherine knew that if she told Roland now, he might try to escape out the window.

So she said nothing, deliberately ignoring his question and quietly leafing through a magic tome.

Roland’s head filled with question marks. Seeing his master unwilling to respond, he took out the two new books she had given him.

‘If you won’t tell me, that’s fine. I’ll find out soon enough.’

‘I’m feeling a bit uneasy... better study some magic to improve my proficiency.’

Roland first opened “A Brief Treatise on Psionic Magic.”

The book explained in detail how to deconstruct psionic magic and reconstruct its models within the spiritual realm. Through repeated deconstruction and reconstruction, the caster could deepen their understanding and mastery of magic.

In other words, if Roland calmly studied the “Psionic Blast” spell as instructed, he could increase his proficiency.

Roland tried deconstructing the “Psionic Blast” and reconstructing its models several times.

[Psionic Blast proficiency +1]

[Current: Psionic Blast I (2/100)]

Reflecting quietly, Roland thought, “This book truly enhances my understanding of Psionic Blast.”

The book not only taught how to cultivate psionic magic but also how to strengthen one’s mental power.

His master had once said psionic magic was a double-edged sword, for constant use of fear or mind control spells could damage the caster’s own spirit. But this book’s content could reduce such harm and even improve Roland’s resistance to mental attacks.

Roland’s mental resilience was already high, granting him strong resistance to spiritual assaults. If he practiced this book thoroughly, his abilities would improve significantly.

Upon finishing, Roland admired silently, “The author must be a master of psionic magic... and surely a master of dark magic as well.”

The book mentioned hell multiple times, showing profound knowledge of the underworld.

‘What a remarkable book!’

Roland suspected the author might be the academy’s head or an even higher-ranking archmage.

There was no author’s signature in the book; it was a handwritten manuscript.

Moreover... the handwriting resembled his master’s.

He speculated, “Could this book be a copy from my master’s family collection?”

He glanced secretly at Catherine sitting across, reading, and thought, ‘Could she be the author?’

Regardless of who wrote it, the author was undoubtedly a genius.

“Psionic Blast” originated from the lower realms, with logic and models vastly different from normal magic.

Yet the book’s principles still applied perfectly to Psionic Blast, implying the author had reached an extremely high level, possessing a unified understanding of both the surface and lower worlds.

Legend had it that the Alexandra family had a remarkable ancestor. Before her, the family was merely an ordinary noble wizard family.

But after her appearance, the family rose to the ranks of great noble houses, even renaming the entire lineage after this witch.

Her name was Alexandra.

“The Witch of Alexandra,” “The Witch of the Abyss,” “The Black Queen of the Eastern Lands,” “The Countess of Hell”... three centuries ago, she blazed across the world like a supernova, leaving one legend after another.

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Yet, like a supernova, she vanished as swiftly as she appeared.

She had died two centuries ago, and rumor had it her soul fell into hell... unless she crawled out and was reborn, no such witch would appear again in the Eastern Lands.

Roland believed this book likely originated from her hand—a work she wrote in her youth.

“Impressive, impressive,” Roland couldn’t help but praise the author of “A Brief Treatise on Psionic Magic,” muttering, “No wonder the Alexandra ancestor was so formidable even when young.”

The words “ancestor” and “when young” made Catherine frown deeply.

She instinctively touched her smooth, jade-like cheek, feeling quite displeased.

That Alexandra witch was born five hundred years ago and died over two centuries ago, living over two hundred years.

Reaching such a level at two hundred years old was truly remarkably young.

So the witch was a very youthful sorceress; even at death, she looked like a woman in her thirties.

A woman in her thirties... actually quite good, but women are sensitive about their age.

If a certain miss were to live life anew and now be only twenty, she would hate being reminded of “ancestors” or “when she was young.”

What do you mean “when I was young”? Am I old?

Both my past and present are still very young!

“Look at the other book. You won’t make a breakthrough in psionic magic anytime soon,” Catherine said without looking up, setting a tough challenge: “Study that arcane tome well. If before we reach the next destination you still can’t master Chain Lightning... well.”

Her words gave Roland a sinking feeling.

He didn’t understand why his master suddenly seemed so displeased with him.

Nor did he know what the consequences would be if he failed, but he earnestly began reading “Arcane: The Second and Third Interpretations of Chain Lightning.”

If other apprentices saw this, they would surely find it strange.

Chain Lightning was a formal spell, not a mere cantrip like “Glow.”

Ordinary low-level apprentices needed a week of lessons to learn a single cantrip. Learning Chain Lightning by reading a book? Absurd!

It would take at least three months for anyone to master such magic.

The Tawny Fern Forest was only two hours away, so the master had given him just two hours.

If other apprentices knew Catherine’s demands, they would surely mourn Roland for a few minutes—this was clearly a deliberate hardship!

The funniest part was that Roland took it seriously and soon showed an expression of sudden understanding—how ridiculous!

Catherine sneered silently. She didn’t believe this boy could grasp anything in such a short time.

This reckless brat—when I learned this spell, it took me two hours as well.

But... I won’t be harsh. Since it took me two hours, I’ll give you two hours too.

In two hours, we’ll reach the Tawny Fern Forest. If you fail, just see how I deal with you!

“Roland, how about a bet?” Catherine said with a teasing smile. “Don’t you dislike that wallet so much? If you can learn the spell in the book before we arrive, I’ll take the wallet away.”

Roland looked up. “And what’s your wager?”

Catherine was momentarily stunned; she hadn’t expected him to bring up a bet. She frowned, caught in indecision.

What stake should she offer him?