The bard fantasized again.

Chapter 25 Specialty: Vigilance

As a nation ruled by spellcasters, the Terran Empire is familiar to all its inhabitants, including kobolds.

But those low-intelligence creatures that only squeak and howl underground, whose scales are used as materials by mages...

It's incredible that individuals can evolve to specialize in magic.
It always feels as if the mage's material bag has developed its own consciousness and turned around to cast a fireball spell on its owner—it's all so bizarre.

"I've always had a question: what exactly are the responsibilities of a bard during an adventure?"
Is it hiding in a corner singing battle songs to cheer on the team during a fight?

Even after someone dies in battle, will someone go and sing a dirge to collect their body?
My personal experience tells me it's the latter.

After all, how can handing over the jackal's corpse to the Ochre Frozen Monster to digest not be considered collecting the body?

The corpse won't decompose in nature, and the mud monster will get a good meal from it. I imagine any environmentally conscious druid would award me a medal.

"First, use action scenes to build up the sense of crisis, and then use self-deprecating humor to defuse the tension... It really sounds like a novel."

She could hardly distinguish between fiction and reality.

Until she saw a key word—

[The Art of Making Friends].

"How could that be? My mentor has lived for 120 years and still hasn't been able to decipher the magic contained within music..."

Goya coughed twice, almost losing her voice.

Compared to mages who study the magic network outwards and compile formulas to cast spells, this method is more effective.

Bards, much like sorcerers, often look inward to explore their own unique power, whether from their bloodline or their innate talent.

The methods that helped poets experience the magic of music have long been lost with the decline of academies.

If the author of this blog post is telling the truth, then his very existence is equivalent to an immortal treasure.

The log descriptions were quite detailed and serious.

The stone tablet, as the 'graveyard of the world,' has historically represented 'historical facts' itself.

There was no room for Goya to deny anything:
"Do 'real' bards actually exist in this world?"

Could it be that he didn't come from a poets' academy?

Instead, he is a free poet who has inherited the mantle of a legendary poet of the past and is now traveling across the mainland.

It should be.

The author of the logbook possessed an exceptionally keen sense of danger, discovering clues in the footprints, demonstrating a level of insight far exceeding that of ordinary people.

At least, she is far superior to someone like her who only knows how to write manuscripts and sing poems.

But she longed to be such a poet.

She longs to remain independent even after shedding her outward appearance.

Goya became increasingly curious about the author's experiences—

[...When I realized that this kobold might be the most intelligent person in the group, I suddenly realized that humanity seemed to be on the verge of extinction.]

However, I've seen through its plan, and even with some coincidences and unexpected events, compared to other options, perhaps there's still hope?

Wait, why am I so seriously comparing sizes with a dog?

I'm hopeless.

"Can you please stop acting silly when people are about to admire you?!"

That newly formed hope was shattered in an instant.

Goya could no longer bear it, and then she saw some even more offensive and obscene words—

A talking kobold is certainly valuable, but if that's all it is, the level of excitement it brings me is roughly equivalent to doing some handicrafts early in the morning.

But then, I gleaned more information from its fragments, realizing that there might be things in this world more exciting than crafting—

For example, what if a giant dragon was discovered?

"But--"

As they got down to business, Goya couldn't help but exclaim in surprise.
"They've long since disappeared!"

The traces of dragons have long since disappeared from this continent.

The only evidence that they once existed is an independent city called Dragongold City, under the lord alliance on the eastern coast of the continent.

It is precisely because this city stands amidst the bones of a dragon that people who have forgotten history believe that the dragon is not a fabricated legend.

The traces of their usurping of the nest are by no means simple.

I tried to get more information from Kuru, but the clever dog-headed man seemed to realize that I had ulterior motives towards the 'ancestor' he served, so he stopped sharing anything with me.

Its vigilance was justified. If I were to discover that suspected 'dragon egg,' I would definitely try to snatch it and then secretly hide it away.

Considering I'm no match for this kobold—which is a bit embarrassing to admit.

Perhaps I should set off for Dragon Gold City to see if there are any long-lived immortals there, or if I know anything about those ruins.

This poet actually stopped near Longjincheng!?

Is this a coincidence?
That was a dragon! A legendary creature that all their poets had sung about ever since they entered the academy!

They grew up listening to stories of dragons.

Legend has it that the earliest romantic poet even forged an inextricable bond with them, to the point that the race known as the 'Dragonborn' came into being...

This was, of course, made up by a bard to glorify himself.

This precisely proves the importance of dragons in the hearts of poets.

Goya suppressed her pounding heart, her breathing becoming rapid:

"If I could also master magic, I could also explore ruins, and I could also see the true face of a dragon..."

Damn it, she realized she was fantasizing again.

Of course, I'm not fantasizing about becoming a blogger—

"I will never condone those risqué and vulgar remarks in the article!"

So I have to try to leave this town, even though I've only just met a nice kid—

Ambi, my first little fan.

She promised to treat me to the first cup of wine she brewed when the harvest festival arrived.

Because she hopes that in the future, when she thinks of fine wine, her taste buds will always be filled with the feeling of harvest and joy.

But perhaps life is always full of things that don't go as planned.

Regret is more unforgettable than happiness.

It was as if she had already tasted the first glass of wine in her life—

She will remember this 'lesson' for the rest of her life.

"..."

The log is coming to an end.

Goya, who was initially full of complaints, suddenly realized that she had nothing to say.

She admitted that her voice had been a bit loud just now.

How can you write a story that resonates with the reader without being overly sentimental?

Then let's add some tense and exciting scenes.

How can we alleviate the fatigue brought on by crisis and oppression?
Then add some bawdy jokes and self-deprecating humor as a buffer.

How can you make silly jokes and banter without sounding overly frivolous or cheesy?

Then add some heartfelt content and inject genuine emotions.

The author of the log is clearly well-versed in this.

His article perfectly closed the loop between these three elements...

Goya took a deep breath and sadly realized that her approval or disapproval was utterly meaningless.

The author of the diary may be someone they themselves, or even poets with formal training, who can never reach such heights.

Only the real can move people's hearts.

"If I just copy down the log and keep it for myself, without sharing it, I probably won't be punished, right?"

Goya tried to convince herself,

"I wasn't impressed by his writing; I was just trying to learn from his strengths to improve myself!"

Thinking of this, she looked around and found that apart from the two construct guards, no one else had passed by.

She quickly took out her notebook.

The pen tip touched the paper, and the delicate handwriting flowed smoothly until the page was full.

……

A keen ability to perceive danger in advance, and the decisiveness to never put oneself in danger.

Should one be a perceptive poet or a dashing knight-errant?

You actually chose to have them all.

You have acquired the 'Expertise: Alertness':
When you are awake, you are alert to the danger that is about to come.

Remarks:

A stun shot! Failed. A backstab! Failed. Ambush! Failed. Damn it, how many eyes does this guy have?!

Tang Qi looked at his newly acquired reward...

But that's not all.

(End of this chapter)