In the Golden Valley Kingdom, the literacy rate among commoners wasn't very high. Most people were considered fortunate if they could even write their own names.
People like Roland and Sean, who had attended a Church-funded school for free as children, were already considered rare "intellectuals."
But even so, after poring over the parchment for a long time, the two of them still couldn't decipher its contents.
Roland's fingertips traced over the faded ink again and again, and tiny beads of sweat formed on his forehead.
But after a long while, he could only manage to piece together the words "Silver Leaf Grass" and "Nightshade Vine."
As for the large blocks of text that remained, he couldn't understand them at all.
This was the first time since transmigrating that Roland felt being literate was so important.
After all, the parchment's material looked ancient, and it had been deliberately sewn into the lining of the Leather Armor. No matter how he looked at it, it seemed like something valuable.
"Forget it, pal. These damn words are giving me a headache..."
Sean flopped onto the ground like a rain-soaked loaf of bread and gave a listless wave.
"You should hold onto this. If you gave it to me, I'd probably never figure out what's written on it in my entire life."
Roland didn't refuse.
The two checked their surroundings once more, and after confirming they hadn't missed anything, they turned and walked out of the woods.
The rest of the journey was uneventful, and they reached the manor smoothly before noon.
"Pal, I won't be around, so you have to keep yourself safe. If anything happens, go find my father and Uncle Peyton. I already told them before I left. Also..."
Sean rambled on for a long time, just like a nagging mother, before he finally shut his mouth.
After a reluctant wave goodbye, he continued down the road.
Watching Sean's figure recede into the distance, Roland took a deep breath and turned to step through the manor's main gate.
After expertly hiding his belongings in a concealed spot, he hurried toward the Blacksmith Shop.
The moment he stepped over the threshold, Roland immediately felt dozens of eyes lock onto him, one gaze particularly piercing.
Following the feeling, he saw Marco staring daggers at him, his freckled face twisted with fury, his teeth grinding together with a GGRRR sound.
'How is that bastard completely unharmed?'
Marco's knuckles turned white as he tightened his grip on the iron tongs.
'Did that good-for-nothing Sam take the money and not do the job?'
Roland took in the venomous look, which confirmed his suspicions.
'Heh... So it really was him who sent someone after me!'
After a cold sneer inwardly, Roland calmly surveyed his surroundings and suddenly noticed that more than half of the apprentices in the Blacksmith Shop were gone.
There was little time left before Hawke's mandated assembly time, which meant that many people, like Sean, had given up on the assessment two months from now.
'The ones who stayed are mostly the children of Blacksmiths...'
His gaze swept over the few boys whose Forging Skills were on par with Marco's and only slightly inferior to his own. Roland's heart tightened, and the relaxed feeling from his time off vanished in an instant.
"Everyone, stop what you're doing!"
The booming voice arrived before the man himself.
Hawke strode into the Blacksmith Shop with his hands behind his back, coming to a stop before the crowd.
He gave Roland a slight nod before saying in a deep voice, "I told you before the break that today I would be testing your knowledge."
The old Blacksmith brought his hands forward from behind his back and unrolled a scroll made of cheap birch bark and linen paper.
The densely packed text on it made Roland's scalp tingle.
"Now, come up one by one and read the contents of this scroll aloud!"
Time passed slowly in the oppressive atmosphere. Before they knew it, twilight had quietly fallen over the land.
Roland stood among a group of equally dejected apprentices, his head bowed and shoulders slumped.
A thunderous roar of fury echoed through the Blacksmith Shop, making everyone's eardrums tremble.
On the other side, Marco and the few others who had passed the test were snickering with their heads down, occasionally exchanging gloating glances.
Hawke's face was flushed red, veins bulging on his thick neck. The scroll in his hand rustled as he clenched it tightly.
"You blockheads! You can't even read the most basic contract terms! How are you supposed to negotiate deals with merchant caravans in the future? How will you calculate ore prices?"
He slammed the scroll down on the nearby anvil with a dull THUD.
A few apprentices flinched in fright, burying their heads even lower.
"Look at what's written here! 'If the delivered goods do not meet the standard, double the deposit must be paid as compensation.' It's such a simple sentence, yet you all stammered through it! You couldn't even fully recognize the word 'compensation'!"
He sneered, his gaze sweeping over the crowd. "At this rate, even an old woman selling vegetables on the street could cheat you out of everything you own!"
"Good-for-nothings like you want to make a name for yourselves as Blacksmiths? You might as well pack it in and go be farmers!"
The Blacksmith Shop fell silent, with only the occasional CRACKLE of the forge fire breaking the stillness.
Hawke panted heavily, his chest heaving as if he was trying to vent all his pent-up fury.
Just then, a somewhat mild voice suddenly spoke up.
"Mr. Hawke, do... do you need me to step aside for a moment?"
"No, Mr. Bronson, you've come at the perfect time..."
Hawke suppressed his anger and bellowed in a stifled voice, "Idiots! All of you, look up! This is the teacher responsible for your education, Mr. Bronson!"
Hearing this, Roland looked up.
Standing beside Hawke was a tall but exceptionally gaunt man.
He looked to be around thirty years old, with a hunched back that made his already slender frame seem even more fragile beneath his loose gray robes.
His long fingers nervously fidgeted with his messy brown hair, his gaze perpetually lowered.
Whenever Hawke raised his voice, the man would instinctively shrink into the shadows like a startled quail.
Upon seeing the newcomer's appearance, a few of the boys nearby immediately began to whisper among themselves.
"This guy is supposed to be our teacher?"
"What's wrong? Do you recognize him?"
"My uncle told me he's apparently from the Royal Capital. He was chasing after nobles like a beggar, asking for some kind of research funding, and he begged his way from the Royal Capital all the way to us..."
'Royal Capital? Research funding?'
These terms, somewhat unfamiliar in this world, reached Roland's ears.
But he didn't pay them much mind. Right now, his thoughts were consumed with how to master more words as quickly as possible.
Marco's group had already passed the knowledge test and could now focus single-mindedly on honing their Forging Skills, while he, on the other hand, had to divide his attention to learn how to read.
This brief setback could very well allow those blacksmiths' sons, who had grown up with hammers in their hands, to catch up to or even surpass his Forging Skills.
'Then there's training my Power and changing my class to Blacksmith... Tsk, the Blacksmith Apprentice assessment starts in two months. It feels like there's not enough time...'
Just as his thoughts were racing, a sudden loud noise shattered his train of thought.
"All of you, shut up!"
Hawke clapped his hands forcefully, the dull sound echoing through the Blacksmith Shop.
"I'm only giving you one month..."
The old Blacksmith's voice was as powerful and resonant as a hammer striking an anvil.
"After that, anyone who still can't pass the knowledge test will pack their bags and get out! Do you understand?"