Chapter 69: The Bard

Watching Lisper and Bourne happily eating, many young men and women nearby secretly felt a pang of envy. Of course, when it came to the affairs of the younger generation, most of the elders simply smiled, even seeing in them a reflection of their own youth.

Just then, elegant and gentle harp music drifted through the banquet. Everyone turned toward the source, and on the stage stood a splendidly dressed man, playing the harp. He was strikingly handsome, his features sculpted and distinct, with an angular face that exuded both charm and tenderness. The aura he projected was complex, a blend of many qualities that made him all the more magnetic—even Bourne had to admit, this man was truly handsome.

Bourne slowed his eating, glancing at Shamstin’s clan leader, Hussein, and his own grandfather. They were the very center of the banquet; only those of noble lineage or political renown could approach them.

“He’s called Victor,” Lisper explained, seeing Bourne’s attention drawn by the music. “He’s the vice leader of the Harpists’ Ensemble and also a bard. His unique harp-playing style is quite well-known among the upper echelons of Nether society.”

“A bard, huh? No wonder he’s so attractive,” Bourne replied, setting his plate aside, satisfied with the night’s experiences.

He realized that ‘Qi’ had another marvelous use, especially with food infused with high energy. It not only allowed for rapid digestion and absorption but also stored surplus nutrients for later, providing crucial replenishment and even supplementing one’s ‘Qi.’

“Handsome?” Lisper laughed behind her hand. “So our little genius finally finds himself outmatched.”

Bourne remained unmoved by the president’s teasing. A phrase from his previous life’s memories suddenly came to him. The corners of his lips curled as he looked toward the stage and murmured, “Beautiful faces are commonplace, but interesting souls are one in a million.”

As expected, the president was stunned by these words. Bourne turned, his gaze fixed on Lisper. “And interesting, talented souls are rarer still.”

Faced with Bourne’s bold stare, Lisper’s cheeks flushed bright red, and she seemed somewhat at a loss. “I—I have some friends over there I should greet…” She hastily found an excuse and hurried away, heading straight for the exit. Bourne watched her retreating figure, his smile gradually fading, and then stood quietly, expressionless, observing the bard’s performance on stage.

Victor’s fingers were slender, more beautiful than those of most women. The bard’s music carried a special magic; as his fingers gently strummed the strings, faint magical ripples spread outward with the notes. If not for some chip’s warning, even Bourne might not have noticed it immediately.

Many bards had been orphans or wanderers as children, their good looks and talents leading bardic mentors to take them as apprentices. The races most commonly becoming bards were humans, gnomes, elves, and half-elves.

Humans could endure hardship and adapt quickly to a life of wandering. Gnomes, with their inherent small stature and harmless appearance, their sharp wit and humor, found it easy to walk the bard’s path. Elves, gifted in both longevity and music or magic, could easily moonlight or take up bardic duties. Aside from humans, half-elves were the most numerous among bards; as mixed-bloods, they were seldom welcome among either humans or elves, making the bard’s nomadic life particularly suited to them.

Other races could become bards, though less frequently—except for half-orcs, who simply couldn’t. Among dwarves and halflings, bards were rare unless a bard was willing to train them; only then might they have a chance.

In Bourne’s eyes, bards were the otherworldly equivalent of celebrities—faces of the party. In games, bard’s charisma requirements were extremely high; even spellcasting demanded a certain level of charisma, or spells couldn’t be cast at all!

Bards were the quintessential jack-of-all-trades. If a party lacked a wizard or cleric, they relied on the bard’s magic; if they needed a rogue, the bard’s skills sufficed. The bard could temporarily fill the gaps left by injured warriors, mages, or rogues. Thus, in most adventuring teams, the bard played a supporting role.

Their stealth couldn’t match that of rangers, their speed was no better than a third-rate rogue, and their spellcasting was unimpressive—among spellcasters, bards weren’t really recognized as such. Most clerics and mages regarded bards as warriors. After all, your spellcaster is singing and dancing on the battlefield, sometimes even accidentally buffing the enemy.

Their close-combat skills couldn’t rival barbarians or fighters, but bards were still popular among adventurers. Why was that?

Besides their ability to fill in, most adventuring parties spent time undertaking tasks or traveling. Having someone attractive, who could sing and dance, was invaluable for boosting morale. A competent bard was also an excellent commander and leader in battle.

Bards lived by their words and could work well with any profession. Within a team, they made ideal mediators if conflicts arose; externally, they often served as spokespersons. With higher ‘mouth power,’ they could even gain benefits for the party.

Bard apprentices learned their skills from seasoned bards, traveling with their mentors and performing until they were ready to begin their own journeys. Bards roamed everywhere, listening to stories and thus becoming experts in local legends and rare artifacts. They doubled as journalists, gathering tales and spreading them far and wide.

Through music, bards cast spells that could move listeners to tears or joy, their magic stemming from the soul rather than spellbooks. Bards could cast only a limited number of spells, but did not need to prepare them in advance. Wizards’ and sorcerers’ spells could unleash raw power, but bardic magic emphasized charm and illusion (deception).

Beyond illusion and trickery, a bard’s music and song could inspire allies, boost morale, and uplift spirits. Yet bards lacked a strong sense of professional camaraderie—rivals among bards were fierce, and jealousy over fame was common, leading to frequent feuds and slander.

Bards encountered all kinds of people, often serving as diplomats, coordinators, messengers, scouts, or spies. (They even went on to form a famous organization—can you guess which one?) A bard’s magic came from within; a kind-hearted bard could bring hope and courage to the unfortunate, using their musical magic to counter villains’ schemes.

When confronted by corrupt local lords, virtuous bards would resist tyranny, skillfully evade capture, and uplift the spirits of the oppressed. Evil bards preferred manipulation over violence, using their skills to deceive and charm for profit.

Bards saw adventure as an opportunity for learning. They used their abilities to explore ancient tombs, seek lost melodies, decipher old texts, travel far and wide, search for rare creatures, and learn new songs and stories.

Bards loved to accompany heroes (or villains) to obtain firsthand tales. If a bard could recount wondrous stories from personal experience, they gained the respect of their peers. They constantly narrated great deeds, the scenes from these stories embedding themselves deeply, making them see themselves as heroes, too.

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