Four Split Personalities

Walking in the silent troop, Raymond felt a bit nervous. Although his companions around him were all eager to fight, and even though he deeply knew he was carrying a glorious and sacred mission, his hands were still uncontrollably trembling.

"If that guy knew what I was doing, he would probably be happy..."

He rubbed his nose uncomfortably, recalling the old geezer who always loved to stare at a rusty old sword, whose voice and snores were shockingly loud, one of the culprits who hindered him from becoming a great musician.

If it were not for the other two culprits being his left and right hands, Raymond felt that his resentment towards his father would have been even greater back then.

The old man had been an adventurer for most of his life and had retired without any troubles. He still looked forward to his only son becoming an adventurer one day. For this, he even forced a bunch of muddled knowledge down his son’s throat every day, arranged nonsensical torture sessions called ’training,’ without ever considering the feelings of the involved party.

After all, as a young man with his own ideas, Raymond had no choice but to accept those chaotic physical training sessions rather than defying his old man’s will, getting beaten half to death first, and then being forced to train until he was almost dead...

Honestly, having never seen his mother, Raymond had more than once doubted during his youth that he was not his father’s biological child. If he didn’t have at least an eighty percent resemblance to the old man, this doubt might have persisted until now.

"You’re a born adventurer, kid, you’re destined to take up your father’s longsword!"

The old man always started with this phrase, while having him identify poisonous mushrooms, trying to start a fire with dry leaves and his hands, finding a water source in a certain wilderness, or swinging a great sword to chop at a dummy, all the while asserting confidently, "Trust me, exceptional alertness might not help you find the right melody, but it can keep you alive for half a second longer in battle, and immense strength won’t elevate noise to an art form, but at least it can smash any artist’s nose!"

Raymond would always retort, "I don’t want to fight, nor do I want to smash anyone’s nose!"

Then he got beaten up.

Eventually, this young man, who was very passionate about music but was greatly resisted by music itself, never became a musician despite putting in much more effort into music than dealing with his father...

While distinguishing harmful plants, he recited music scores in his mind.

When doing combat training with dummies, he swung his weapon in rhythm with the music in his mind.

Every day, forced to run with weight, he nurtured his passion for creation beside the rural paths and by the streams.

One day, he secretly registered for the entrance exam at the ’Silver Harp’ Academy of Disk Tree City, and after the examiner called him ’a cow playing the piano,’ he knocked the examiner to the ground and beat him up.

From that moment, Raymond finally realized that the path of art was indeed not really suitable for him, and that his father’s previous training actually did come in handy at critical moments, such as when he was pursued by the academy’s security guards all over the city.

That night, Raymond thought for a long time and finally decided to talk seriously with his father the next day, to carefully explore the feasibility of the path of an adventurer.

"Maybe this is not the path you want to take, but one day you will realize how fortunate it is to have a goal you can fight for without hesitation, and to have a group of partners you can rely on to watch your back."

However, the next day, Raymond’s father did not celebrate with joy at finally achieving his goal. Instead, after a long silence, he sighed deeply, "Forgive me, child, I am a selfish father, hence I imposed those things that I lost but couldn’t let go of... no, imposed them on you."

After hearing this, Raymond just stayed silent and did not express any opinions.

Half a year later, one day, the old man fell asleep clutching his longsword at the doorstep, never to wake up again.

...

"Old swindler!" Raymond, walking head down in the troop, squeezed the rusty sword in his hand tightly, shook his head to dispel the not-so-handsome face from his mind, and muttered softly, "If it weren’t for that blunt examiner running out of the academy to return me those two gold coins you bribed him with, I really would have been duped by you."

"Enemies will arrive at the battlefield in thirty seconds, first combat sequence, prepare for battle."

The gentle yet steady voice came from the front of the troop. The young priest, who always felt incredibly familiar, stopped, turned around, and showed everyone a very clean smile, "Although at this moment I should tell you all that the goddess is with you, she truly might be too busy to come over. However, I can at least guarantee that I will fight side-by-side with you."

"Yes, Lord Black Fan!"

Including Raymond, a total of six hundred and three people from the first combat sequence roared in response.

"Thank you."

The priest from the Church of the Dawn, Black Vatican Priest, smiled gently. The Commander, who single-handedly established the Misha County joint forces, prophetically eliminated hidden dangers in the Northern Territory, cleared the majority of mutants in the central areas within five days, led everyone to firmly establish themselves in the hellish Southern Territory despite being at a significant disadvantage, and indirectly saved countless lives, gently nodded, "Then I entrust my life to all of you."