That's right, that's what adventure is like!

Fanatics are a paradoxical species.

Unlike general believers who pray only when needed, and devout believers who generally accept the doctrines of gods, fanatics have extremely extreme beliefs.

For them, faith itself transcends everything, including freedom and life; they will unconditionally obey whatever God's will is.

However, it is precisely this extreme that leads them to sometimes distort the doctrine.

This barefoot man is a typical example.

Although the Church of the Sun adheres to the idea of ​​"burning away sins," for various reasons, it will not actually burn all the sins it sees, as that would make them enemies everywhere.

Therefore, most Sunday believers will weigh the pros and cons, think it over, and at certain times turn a blind eye.

But this one is different.

He truly regarded "burning away sins" as the ultimate goal of his life, without caring about any impact or consequences, but simply devoutly practicing God's will.

They didn't care about the consequences, the impact, or even the identity of the person being executed; they only knew one thing.

"Those whose sins are burning brightly deserve to be burned."

He would do anything for this purpose.

For example, just now, he left the blood core behind, not by negligence, but on purpose, just for testing.

He sensed the influence of the Church of Balance's baptism of Luca, but remained convinced that the fires of sin would reignite, so he offered the temptation.

Luca has taken the bait.

Without the slightest hesitation, he devoured the blood cores, drawing power from those sins, and left when Roland needed him—a sign that the flames of sin had been reignited.

At that moment, the fanatic was excited.

He cheered, he praised, he rejoiced.

Even now, Roland can still hear his whispers.

"Praise be to the sun, may all that its gaze see be sin; may all that its blade traverse be pure land."

"Praise be to the sun, which burns my fears into flames and your sins to ashes."

"Praise be to the sun, the wailing from your lips is my hymn; the terror in your eyes is the devotion in my heart."

"Praise the sun..."

Roland listened quietly. These prayers contained the ideals of the Sun Church, but most believers did not fully practice them. This man, however, did.

With a heightened sense of vigilance, he handed the letter to the other party, his tone carrying a hint of respect—the most appropriate way to deal with a madman.

"Praise be to the Sun—may I ask the servants of the great Sun, is this sin truly grave?"

The fanatic opened his eyes, and golden light swept over Roland, then over Aletta beside him, and finally settled on the black goat emblem.

He grinned.

"The sun has long watched over his sins, and the blazing golden flames are burning in the shadows, quietly awaiting the first rays of dawn."

Roland barely understood part of it, and then asked, "Will you witness the fall of sinners?"

The barefoot man simply nodded.

"The sun is about to rise, and the message group is coming."

Roland understood. He prayed respectfully again, then pulled Aletta back.

He didn't breathe a sigh of relief until he left the woods and embarked on the road back to Broken Rock Town.

He was relieved.

The fanatics' behavior was sometimes so erratic that the Sunday Church established a special agency to train, supervise, and exploit them.

—The Burning Sins Faith Group.

The sharpest sword of the Church of the Sun, whose members are all fanatical believers with extraordinary powers, is only responsible for burning the strong who have committed too many sins.

With them involved, it's basically a sure thing.

This organization is rarely mobilized because it represents the face of the Church of the Sun, but once mobilized, it must be ruthless.

That big shot wasn't that big in front of them.

Roland walked a little further, but found that Aletta remained silent, just staring quietly at the black dagger in her hand.

"What's wrong?"

Aletta looked up at him, then lowered her head again.

"That person..." she asked softly, "If I offer my faith, can I also gain that kind of power?"

Roland was silent for a moment, then said calmly, "What do you think faith is?"

Aletta thought for a moment and replied, "Rely on it."

Roland nodded, then asked, "Do you think that person was someone you could rely on?"

Aletta remained silent.

She felt... that person was a ball of fire.

When it started burning, it burned others as well as itself, burning her so much that she dared not approach it, and instead felt a deep sense of fear.

Roland did not speak again.

He simply looked towards the distant Broken Rock Town, which had just been enveloped in the dawn light, and the moonlight in the sky was gradually thinning.

From a distance, this remote town sits alone in the wilderness, without any support.

……

……

The town of Duanyan was shrouded in rising mist in the early morning.

Last night's dew dripped from the eaves, pattering onto the bluestone pavement and splashing up sparkling water droplets.

The bakery on the street had already opened, and the plump female owner was laboriously carrying the first batch of white bread out. The aroma of wheat seeped out from the cracks, causing the dog next to her to wag its tail.

The blacksmith's shop echoed with the crisp sound of hammering. An apprentice squatted on the ground, working the bellows. Sparks fell on the drunkards under the eaves, drawing their vicious curses.

Roland walked past the two shirtless adventurers, first taking Aletta back to the slave trader's shop, then thanking Ramona for the association's help.

"It has nothing to do with the association. You took care of that dog yourself." Ramona leaned against the counter and yawned lazily.

Although it sounded nice, Roland just smiled and didn't think that the whole thing was his doing.

Last night, apart from Black Sheep, he didn't encounter any other professional workers, which was almost impossible given the big shot's style.

Furthermore, Roland did not believe that a single letter could mobilize the Burning Sin Society; there must be another hidden story behind it.

The association was indeed a great help this time.

Faced with his sincere attitude, Ramona finally let slip a little bit of the information.

"Actually, you should thank the fourth seat of the Resonance Convergence, not me for this."

The fourth seat of the Resonator?

Roland hesitated for a moment before realizing that this referred to the elven ranger.

His interest was immediately piqued: "Given that person's personality, they probably wouldn't help me for nothing, right?"

He had dealt with Erwin before, but back then he was completely businesslike, even more unapproachable than Ramona.

However, when faced with his questions, Ramona refused to say anything more, only telling him to go back and continue his adventures to earn more money for the association.

Left with no other choice, Roland had to leave first, prioritizing the disposal of his spoils.

He planned to keep the Eye of Corruption potion, as it might come in handy in the future. The gems were also easy to deal with. The only troublesome thing was Hector's equipment.

The guidelines offer some assistance in this regard.

The Iron Anvil's Forge (Broken Rock Town Branch)

The finely crafted bronze signboard was inscribed with two lines of large text in both Dwarven and Common languages, with a line of smaller text at the corner.

—"We are always recruiting members for our dragon-slaying team."

Pushing open the door, instead of the usual dust and pungent smell of a blacksmith's shop, there was an unusually dry heat wave, carrying with it the metallic scent of some mineral.

Various weapons hung on the surrounding walls, gleaming coldly in the bright light. To the left was a crystal cabinet displaying rare ores, enchanting materials, and exquisite daggers.

Deep inside was a fence, with the faint glow of a furnace and busy figures, the steady and powerful clanging of hammers.

This is the "furnace of the anvil".

Unlike other forging shops, this is a chain store in several nearby countries with an extremely prestigious reputation. It is said that its headquarters is located in Iron Peak Fortress, thousands of miles away.

The creator, Iron Anvil, dedicated his life to forging a blade capable of slaying dragons, and thus constantly recruited members for his dragon-slaying team.

Of course, this has nothing to do with Roland; he's here to sell equipment.

"Welcome! Are you looking to buy ready-made items, have them custom-made, or sell your spoils?"

A young dwarf wearing a leather apron came forward to greet them. His eyes were red-rimmed, and he had a faint, pungent smell about him, indicating that he had just been drinking.

This was the custom of most dwarves, so Roland naturally didn't say anything, but simply placed the plate armor, which was bound with leather straps, on the counter.

Slightly——

The heavy armor plates collided with the crystal, producing a slight, sharp scraping sound. The dwarf youth lowered his head, noticed the pattern on the plate armor, and his pupils contracted slightly.

"Please wait a moment."

He turned and walked inside the fence, his pace quickening considerably.

Soon, another older dwarf came out.

He was half a head shorter than the apprentice from before, his white beard was tied up in tufts, he wore the shop's exclusive badge on his chest, and his apron contained all sorts of tools, each with varying degrees of wear.

Most strikingly, his body, from his wrists to his bare arms, is covered with black tattoos of various weapons: longswords, daggers, battle axes, short knives... each in varying shades, clearly tattooed in different years.

This is the glory of a dwarven blacksmith.

He walked behind the counter, lifted the armor plate to look at it, then glanced at the greatsword wrapped in cloth behind Roland, and uttered a deep, resonant voice.

"Is the black sheep dead?"

Roland nodded, took the greatsword off his shoulder, and placed it on the counter as well.

The old dwarf gently stroked the dents and cracks on his face, a complex expression flashing in his eyes, and sighed softly: "These two things were forged for him ten years ago."

Roland was slightly taken aback.

"Three years ago, this sword was reforged, and at that time he said he would never replace it again."

The old dwarf, with a hint of reminiscence, lowered his large hand and turned his gaze to Roland.

"He didn't lie to you," Roland said softly, drawing his broken sword. "Your weapon has caused me a lot of trouble."

"Of course—" the old dwarf sneered, then picked up the broken sword again and examined it closely. "The material is mediocre, the craftsmanship is rough. You're just used to it and can't bear to replace it?"

Roland secretly admired the dwarf's keen eye, and then stated his request: "I want to reforge this sword, using Hector's weapon."

The greatsword had left a very deep impression on him; its material was exceptionally hard. Since this old dwarf was its blacksmith, he might as well try to give his own longsword a new life.

He was very lucky.

"Alright," the old dwarf squinted, glanced down at the two weapons, and said calmly, "Any other requirements?"

"Sharp, the sharper the better. Inscribe runes that you deem suitable, while leaving some room for adjustment..."

Roland thought for a moment, then continued, "It would be best to add some designs to counter plate armor, so that we won't have too much trouble when we encounter an enemy like Hector next time."

The old dwarf narrowed his eyes and tapped the twisted blade with his fingers: "You want to fight plate armor with a one-handed sword?"

"Not only that," Roland said softly, "I also hope it can handle unexpected situations, such as magic shields, or certain troublesome monsters."

"hehe……"

The old dwarf scoffed, tossing the broken sword onto the counter: "Young man, do you know what you're saying?"

"To make a sword possess the triple properties of sharpness, armor penetration, and magic resistance simultaneously, there might not be five people at Iron Peak Fortress headquarters who could do it."

He gazed at Roland: "I can give it a try, but don't expect perfection; you have to let go of some things."

"What is it?"

The old dwarf didn't answer, but instead asked, "How do you usually attack with a sword?"

"Thrust and slash," Roland said slowly after a moment's thought, "not much cleaving, unless facing a fragile enemy."

The old dwarf nodded slightly.

"That means focusing on the tip and blade, while sacrificing some weight in the spine to carve out rune grooves for inscribing three runes."

Roland frowned: "It's too brittle."

"Ha...you have no choice," the old dwarf scoffed, "unless you have enough materials that are highly magical and extremely durable, like adamantite."

Fine gold is even rarer than mithril; a single gram of it can fetch hundreds of gold coins.

If we're going to use this material, the initial preparations for this sword will cost more than 10,000 gold coins.

Roland's lips twitched. "Isn't there a compromise?"

"Of course," the old dwarf leaned against the counter, took out a bottle of wine from somewhere and poured it into his mouth, "For example, if you give up one of the three requirements."

"You mean, to carry two weapons at the same time, each with different properties?" Roland understood the implication.

“That’s right,” the old dwarf squinted, watching the silver liquid slosh in the bottle. “This is the choice of most adventurers: a main weapon and a secondary weapon, with several throwing knives at their waist, to use whatever they encounter.”

Roland remained silent. He knew this principle all too well. Which adventurer didn't carry a dazzling array of items when they went out, wishing they could arm themselves into a mobile arsenal?

However, precisely because of this, countless people have lost their lives in the instant they switched weapons when faced with sudden changes.

"What if I insist on having a sword?" he asked.

"Then we'll have to compromise," the old dwarf licked the wine from his lips, stared at Roland for a few seconds, and said, "Tell me, which two do you want most?"

"Sharp," Roland said without hesitation, "and armor-piercing."

Against spellcasting enemies, he can rely on the Blazing Pulse Javelin for ranged suppression, while the longsword is mainly used to deal with attacks.

The old dwarf nodded: "Alright, then narrow the blade, increase its weight, and add another blood groove, trying to maintain its hardness while making it sharp enough."

He paused, then continued, "As for dispelling the demon, with my skills, I can at most give you a simple dispelling rune to prevent you from dying instantly."

Roland nodded: "That's enough."

"In that case, sign it," the old dwarf said, taking out a contract from under the counter and beginning to record the details of the transaction. "The deposit is Hector's plate armor; we won't take your money."

"What happens next?"

"...I don't know," the old dwarf said calmly, stroking the blade. "Perhaps I'll have some new ideas during the forging process, or use new materials... In any case, I won't make things difficult for you."

Roland nodded again.

The two signed the contract, and Roland walked towards the door, pausing suddenly as he pushed it open: "What's your name?"

The old dwarf watched his retreating figure and responded calmly.

"Bron Iron Felt".

"The one who wants to slay the dragon is my elder brother."