Gauss could indeed sense an indescribable atmosphere enveloping the entire Graystone Town.
But he couldn’t quite pinpoint what was different.
Sorrow? It didn’t seem to be.
Repression?
It was there, but not much of it.
Maybe it was more of a sense of witnessing the wheels of history rolling forward, witnessing the end of an era, while also feeling a confused unease about the unknown.
Speaking of which, in his memory, there were some fragmented memories about Sword Saint Roland as well.
In his impression, he seemed to be the core of an elite squad that slew the demon king, a legendary Sword Saint, the strongest human hero, who created a century of peace as a great hero.
But for the original Gauss, as well as the vast majority of ordinary people, Sword Saint Roland was more like a character that only appeared in stories, a name that lived in far-off legends.
The era when Roland truly roamed the continent was more than a hundred years ago.
At that time, not to mention Gauss, even his grandfather, or perhaps his great-grandfather had probably not been born.
It’s quite normal not to be clear about such a distant era.
"Everyone will die... even the strongest human of the past." Gauss felt as if he had come to a realization.
Humans naturally have short lifespans, and in this era, few ordinary humans live beyond a hundred years due to natural aging, whereas races like elves and dwarfs generally live for several hundred years or more.
Not to mention Giant Dragons and other long-lived demons, the strongest of them might have lived longer than the existence of the kingdom.
Even human strongmen who reach the legendary domain, if they don’t use special means, have lifespans only between 200-300 years, which is still quite a gap.
The only advantage is that humans can always rely on their vast numbers to continue producing a new batch of strongmen.
Of course, at this stage, for the nineteen-year-old Gauss, talking about the limits of lifespan was still a bit premature.
He was merely touched by the news of a legendary hero’s death.
Besides, he possessed the Adventurer’s Handbook, and in the future, he might find ways to prolong his life.
This thought quietly took root in his mind.
"Let’s go submit the task first." He pulled his thoughts back to reality.
Adventurer’s Guild base.
The first floor hall was still bustling with people, yet beneath the noise, there seemed to be a touch of restless distraction.
Levin, with Night Owl Squad’s Medvedeva, Daphne, Oliver, and Doyle, came to the mission wall to find a suitable task.
"Sword Saint Roland has passed away?"
Doyle suddenly spoke.
"What’s that got to do with us?" Medvedeva responded blandly, her gaze still scanning the parchment on the wall.
"How can it not be related." Doyle immediately retorted, his face flushed with excitement. "Now adventurers from all over the world are gathering in the imperial capital."
"Don’t you know? The Emperor issued an ’Imperial Edict for All Adventurers’, saying whoever draws the Holy Sword can inherit the mantle of the Sword Saint and become the next Sword Saint!"
Doyle’s voice involuntarily rose, flushed with excitement.
As a swordsman himself, Doyle felt a strong sense of involvement.
It was as if he could already see himself pulling out that legendary Holy Sword, making his name known across the continent, with even the mischievous children on village paths singing the praises of "Sword Saint Doyle".
"Heh..." Medvedeva let out a puzzling light laugh and shook her head.
"Doyle." Archer Oliver spoke with a smile but quickly brought him back to reality. "Want to go to the imperial capital Odition? Think about how you’re going to get through the entire Carlos Kingdom on your own, and then cross most of the empire too. Do you think, with just us..."
He didn’t finish the sentence, but the meaning was clear enough.
From a remote place like Graystone Town to the center of the human world, the golden holy city of Odition, to bottom adventurers, it was a chasm.
"Um... there must be a way, right? Like... some sort of ultra-long-distance teleportation spell..." Doyle’s voice grew lower as he spoke, lacking confidence. He actually knew that these advanced spells and teleportation arrays had nothing to do with bottom adventurers like them.
Several mocking glances fell on him, and Doyle finally deflated, his shoulders slumping.
"Sigh... Can’t I even think about it... Really envious of those guys born in the imperial capital!" he mumbled, trying to change the subject. "Speaking of, what’s up with that kid Gauss? Feels like we haven’t seen him for a long time."
His words stirred up the thoughts of the Night Owl Squad members.
"Maybe he’s about to get a profession upgrade; maybe we haven’t seen him around because he’s preparing for the profession upgrade?" Levin’s tone carried an unmistakable sense of envy.
Just then, the crowd at the hall entrance suddenly parted like a tide, making way for a passage.
Such a scene typically meant that a professional-level adventurer had arrived.
The members of the Night Owl Squad instinctively looked in the direction of the collective gaze.
For bottom adventurers, familiarizing themselves with the appearances of professional-level adventurers frequenting the town was essential; otherwise, they might unwittingly offend an "expert" who seemed unremarkable in town.
Two figures confidently strode into the hall.
The gazes of Levin and the others instantly froze.
The man walking on the left was tall and straight, with handsome features. Beneath his neatly cropped black hair, his clear emerald eyes were particularly striking.
The more they looked, the more familiar that face seemed.
Because the person seemed familiar?
It was none other than Gauss, who had teamed up with them for a month or two before leaving the team!
"Is that... is that Gauss?" Doyle’s voice was dry as he swallowed, his body instinctively retreating a bit.
The Gauss before him was already different from the image in his memory.