“Underwater Breathing Solution.” An alchemical recipe popped into his mind. This was an extremely basic alchemical potion, which could be made simply by grinding and mixing a few herbs.

Of course, in the game, Rowland did it this way, but whether it would work here, he wasn’t sure.

“Zhiniao, is alchemy useful?” He had to confirm this—this breathing solution was the key to whether he could retrieve the treasure chest.

“In alchemy, the simulation degree of basic alchemy without mysterious magic is close to 100%. The simulation degree of magic-assisted alchemy is unknown.”

It seemed that Earth’s elites still hadn’t figured out the mages and arcane arts of this world, but the first point was already enough, because the breathing solution didn’t require any magic at all, just some simple techniques.

Rowland was a warrior, but his specialty was alchemy, and he had already reached the master level. Such a simple potion was no challenge for him.

The materials needed for the underwater breathing solution were not many, just two: salmon algae and sponge.

Both of these things were abundant in the sea. Rowland didn’t even need to dive for them himself. When the fishermen by the sea cast their nets, they often failed to catch fish but ended up with nets full of seaweed. All he had to do was pick some up at the fishermen’s doorsteps. No one cared about a bit of seaweed, since it was useless except for feeding pigs.

After wandering around the fishermen’s houses near the port, Rowland took advantage of no one paying attention and quietly collected the two materials—not much, just under half a pound of each.

Once he had the materials, Rowland returned to the shelter, ready to get to work and make the breathing solution as soon as possible.

“Rowland, you’re back.” The old man who spoke to him before greeted him.

His name was Arlo, a pitiful man. He used to be a fisherman and had a son, but during a fishing trip, they encountered a storm. His son, just eighteen, was swept into the sea, and Arlo himself had his leg broken by debris from the fishing boat while struggling with the waves. After the injury healed, his leg was crippled, and he could never fish again.

After that, he moved into the shelter, living off the church’s charity and begging. Since Rowland arrived, he would occasionally share some food with him, so the two were fairly familiar.

“Mm.” Rowland responded, feeling a bit strange. At this time, shouldn’t the old man be out begging on the street?

“Your foster father left something for you,” Arlo added.

“Oh? And what is it?” Rowland asked, uninterested. He didn’t expect the old drunkard to have left him anything good.

The old man stood up from the damp pile of straw, hobbled over to the corner, reached into a rat hole and fumbled for a while, then pulled out a short, pitch-black stick… no, it should be called a filthy, grimy leather scroll.

“This is what your foster father told me before he died. He said he owed you, and had nothing to leave you except this scroll.”

Arlo handed over the scroll. Rowland reached out to take it. The thing was greasy and black, with the corners chewed by rats. If thrown on the ground, it would be indistinguishable from trash.

Arlo continued, “Your foster father also said this scroll can bring a person power, but at the same time, it brings disaster. Whoever uses it will suffer misfortune, just like he did. If you don’t want it, don’t use it—just throw it away.”

As he spoke, Rowland was trying to open the scroll. Hearing this, his hand trembled, and he almost flung the wretched thing away. That old guy, even in death, left him such a cursed item.

But Rowland was also very curious. What kind of scroll was this, that it could bring someone power?

Power—this was exactly what he lacked most right now. Because he didn’t have much time left, only one year!

“Thank you, Arlo. I’ll use it carefully.” Rowland continued to open the scroll. He believed that even if the scroll had some kind of curse, it couldn’t be very powerful. If it were, it wouldn’t have been hidden in a rat hole.

“Heh, your foster father was right. He said you would definitely choose the path of power, just like he did when he was young. He hoped you wouldn’t regret it in the future… Well, it’s getting late. I have to go get my relief porridge today.”

Arlo had already come to terms with life. His expression was always calm. After speaking, he hobbled away, leaving Rowland alone in the shelter.

Rowland untied the dirty, blackened cotton string loop by loop, then slowly unrolled the scroll. The contents gradually appeared: the surface was covered with numerous characters, patterns, and lines, all forming a mysterious and profound sword.

This ‘sword’ radiated a sharp aura. Rowland only stared at it for a few seconds before his eyes began to sting like being pricked by needles, forcing him to look away.

“So this is all it is—a basic weapon scroll.” Rowland let out a sigh of relief. Arlo’s last words had sounded so mysterious and intimidating, making him think it was some kind of evil soul scroll for contacting demons or something.

A weapon scroll—a scroll commonly used by warriors. After use, it can enhance a weapon’s attack power, usually becoming ineffective after the effect is triggered ten times.