Who Says I’m Not a Legitimate Adventurer?

“What are you worried about?”

Gideon asked tentatively with his hands behind his back.

“If it’s about safety, I’ve already specifically asked an old friend over there. He’ll arrange the most reliable people to take care of Cecilia.”

Syl bit her lip, her expression somewhat conflicted.

“Do you know about the flowering period of elves?”

“What?”

Professor Gideon froze for a moment.

As a spellcaster focused on combat shaping, he was completely ignorant of such niche physiological knowledge about demi-human races.

Syl looked toward the distant crowd and explained faintly:

“Elves aren’t like humans, who can develop reproductive desire anytime, anywhere.”“Our souls are pure and independent. Only when the soul matures completely does it bloom like a flower, producing the instinctive urge to seek a partner.”

“This also represents full physiological maturity.”

“Pure-blood elves usually reach this stage around eighty years old.”

“But half-elves, influenced by human blood, experience it much earlier—usually erupting suddenly between sixteen and twenty.”

At this point, Syl’s gaze became slightly unfocused.

“Elven love is pure, but also extreme.”

“Before the flowering period arrives, elves are like stones, incapable of understanding love. We can appreciate beauty, but we don’t develop any worldly desire for possession.”

“But once the flowering period arrives, if that flower of the soul is not picked, it will close forever.”

“From that point on, that elf is destined to live a life of solitude, never able to fall in love with anyone again.”

“But if someone enters her heart during that time, then that elf will love only that one person for life—until death.”

Hearing this secret, Gideon’s expression shifted from confusion to shock.

“You mean… Cecilia…”

Syl nodded.

“Based on her age, Cecilia should be right within this period.”

“For elves, the window usually lasts three to five years. If they fail to find a soul-compatible partner, the flowering period ends naturally.”

“But for half-elves, the flowering period is much shorter.”

“It could be a month, or even just a week.”

“That’s why it’s rare for half-elves to successfully have offspring—because the time they have to find a partner is far too short.”

Professor Gideon suddenly understood, thinking he grasped Syl’s concern.

“No wonder you’re so anxious.”

“You’re afraid Cecilia will miss her flowering period because of this internship, and end up unable to marry, causing the Rosenthal family line to die out?”

“After all, that’s a major noble family—they do value this sort of thing.”

“Not at all!”

Syl suddenly slammed her fist into her palm with a sharp “smack.”

She gritted her teeth.

“I’m worried some clueless blond brat will snatch my Cecilia away!”

“Haven’t you read those knight novels?”

“A noble young lady goes out incognito to train, meets some slick-talking, blond-haired rogue adventurer, gets completely fooled by sweet words, and ends up being whisked away to wander the world!”

“Those blond types are the worst!”

At the thought that her precious, tender cabbage might be taken by some wild boar, Syl felt her blood pressure spike, wishing she could rush over right now and throw every male creature near Cecilia into the moat.

Watching Syl on the verge of going berserk, Gideon’s mouth twitched.

So that’s what you’re worried about?

But soon, Syl seemed to comfort herself, taking a deep breath as her expression relaxed slightly.

“However… the flowering period of half-elves has extremely strict criteria when choosing a partner.”

“It must be a high level of resonance at the soul level. Not just anyone can catch their eye.”

“With Cecilia’s standards so high, she shouldn’t be easily taken away… right?”

Even as she said that, uncertainty still lingered in her tone.

Because finding a partner was so difficult, the elven race held grand “Double Moon Festivals” within their community, forcing all elves in their flowering period to participate in matchmaking, to prevent them from ending up alone.

At that moment—

Cecilia, who had already stepped onto the boarding platform of the magical transport vehicle in the distance, seemed to sense something.

She turned her head and immediately spotted her aunt still struggling with her thoughts in the corner.

Not wanting to make her elders worry, the girl broke into a radiant smile.

That smile shone brilliantly in the morning sunlight—pure, without a single trace of impurity.

She raised her hand high and waved vigorously.

Infected by Cecilia’s lively smile, the gloom in Syl’s heart instantly dissipated somewhat.

She also raised her hand and waved goodbye to her niece.

“Come back safely.”

She prayed silently in her heart.

As long as she returns safely—even if she brings back a blond…

No! Absolutely not!

If any bastard dared to lay a hand on her, she would blast him into ashes with the highest-tier explosive fireball!

……

Four days passed in the blink of an eye.

Only on the last day did Flora finally find the chance to persuade Aunt Movenna to let her accompany the porters to find Lance.

When she came to collect the final batch of specially made Hemostatic Ointment, she was startled by the scene before her.

The Lance behind the door looked like a monster that had just crawled out of a swamp.

His once neat black hair was now tangled messily, his face smeared with dark green herbal powder.

His linen shirt had long lost its original color, covered in stains of various shades from potion residues, and his entire body emitted a strong, pungent herbal sour smell.

The odor was overwhelming.

The moment Flora got close, she felt dizzy from the fumes and instinctively covered her nose.

She couldn’t comprehend how Lance had survived in this enclosed attic filled with such high concentrations of medicinal smell.

What kind of mental endurance did that require?

Seeing the worry in the girl’s eyes, Lance merely waved his hand weakly.

“I’m fine.”

His voice was hoarse, as if he had swallowed sand.

“The goods are all here. Let me sleep for a while.”

Not wanting to disturb his rest, Flora could only direct the workers to quietly move the goods away before leaving with concern.

As the door closed, Lance didn’t even have the strength to change his clothes. After simply washing his face, he collapsed onto the bed.

He slept like the world had gone dark.

It wasn’t until the sun was high the next day that he slowly opened his eyes.

Only he knew what kind of hell he had gone through over these four days.

After leaving Movenna’s potion shop that day, he rushed non-stop to the Adventurers’ Guild to complete his resignation procedures, then swept up all the raw materials available on the market.

After returning to the attic, the frantic refining began.

Originally, he had planned to work twelve hours a day, which was already the limit of ordinary mental endurance.

But he had underestimated the workload of 900 units.

To avoid breaching the contract—and even more for the silver coins he was about to earn—

Lance forcibly extended his working hours to eighteen hours.