My inventory is full of monster materials.

After a long while, Mark finally calmed his turbulent emotions and his gaze returned to the wooden box, inside which lay two heads, one red and one purple:

[Sensitive Flame Goblin Shaman Head (White)]

Completeness: 78%

[Effect]: Perception +1, "Fire Control Lv1 (White)"

[Special]: None

[The tingling, lightning goblin shaman's head (white)]

Completeness: 64%

[Effect]: "Lightning Pull Lv3 (White)"

[Special]: None

Without any hesitation, Mark grabbed the red head.

[“Sensitive Flame Goblin Shaman Head (White)” detected. Equip/Disable?]

【equipment】

In an instant, a wealth of knowledge about the basic properties of fire, temperature control, and shape guidance flooded into Mark's mind—in a flash, he mastered the 0-level spell "Fire Control".

As for the remaining purple heads, he had no intention of discarding them.

Mark specially prepared a large amount of preservatives and bottles and jars to properly preserve these ever-increasing "equipment".

However, these can be done later.

Now, he has to go downstairs.

We can't keep our companions waiting too long.

Mark quickly tidied up the things on the table, then changed into a clean linen undershirt and went downstairs.

The heat and noise from the hotel lobby hit me in the face.

Just then, Paul, the bartender who was wiping glasses behind the counter, paused slightly and glanced towards the stairwell as if sensing something.

Seeing this, Mark didn't back down but instead went straight to the bar, sat down on a high stool, and said in a relaxed tone.

"Old Luo, bring out your 'Dragon's Breath Liquor.' Tonight, I'm going to challenge my 'weak spot.'"

Paul didn't stop wiping the cup, nor did he even lift his eyelids; he simply responded in his usual deep voice.

"Stop pretending. I've seen people like you before."

"Oh?"

Mark glanced sideways at the muscular, Mediterranean-looking man, and became somewhat interested.

"Then tell me, what kind of person am I?"

Unexpectedly, Paul stopped what he was doing and began to seriously recall distant memories.

"Back then, I had just joined the adventure party, and there was another guy in the party who was...interesting, just like you."

"There was a huge gap between our social statuses, but he didn't care at all. He even took the initiative to teach me to read and write, which made me feel like we had known each other for a long time..."

Mark silently played the role of a good listener, took out the flat iron kettle from his pocket, unscrewed the lid, and poured a big mouthful of "bitter tea seeds" into his mouth.

Bitterness blossoms on the taste buds, yet a strange clarity pervades the mind.

It turns out that in Paul's eyes, he was an interesting guy who could "teach people to read for free".

"...Later I realized that the guy didn't take anyone seriously at all, and his so-called gentle and refined manner was just a helpless way to fool idiots."

As Paul spoke, his gaze locked onto Mark as if it were a physical object, his eyes revealing anger and...complexity?

"People like you are outwardly enthusiastic, but deep down you're cold-blooded. You love to play with other people like fools."

Click—!

The glass in Paul's hand had a crack due to excessive force.

"..."

Mark had nothing to say but remain silent.

The two sides stared at each other without moving.

Just then, an even louder commotion erupted in the center of the hall.

Brady, reeking of alcohol and with a flushed face, put one foot on the table, grabbed his collar with both hands, and ripped it open with all his might.

scoff-

The boy's lean body was exposed to the light, covered with jagged scars of varying lengths. Fueled by alcohol and excitement, the scars on his skin seemed to writhe like centipedes.

This visually striking scene instantly silenced the surrounding audience, and several waitresses even screamed and covered their eyes as they ran away.

Brady didn't care at all, proudly arching his back, tensing the thin layer of muscles on his body, striking a wild "devil horn" pose.

"See these scars? These were left by that gnoll! We fought for three hundred rounds, but in the end, I was the better one and ripped his throat to shreds with one sword."

"Hahaha! Come on, little braised chicken!"

"Your flesh isn't even enough to fill a gnoll's stomach for one meal!"

"Tsk tsk, are young people these days harming themselves just to show off?"

...

The surrounding patrons snapped out of their daze, and a cacophony of laughter, hisses, and gasps of amazement filled the air.

Hearing their words, Brady became so anxious that he jumped up and down, grabbing Henry, who was engrossed in eating his steak, and shouted.

"Uncle, say something! Uncle! You were right there! Tell them what I just said is true!"

Henry knew he was bad at talking and couldn't win against these busybodies, so he stuffed his mouth full and could only make muffled "mmm" sounds.

On the other side, Emily held a glass of juice in both hands, burying half her face behind the rim of the glass, pretending to be drunk.

Upon seeing this, the patrons burst into laughter.

Bar counter.

Mark suddenly smiled calmly, raised his right hand as if to gather magic power, and a small ball of steadily rotating white cold air quickly condensed into shape in his palm.

"Old Luo, how did you know I have an affinity for ice elements?!"

Paul gave Mark a deep look before turning around and taking a bottle of wine from the shelf, its red liquid sloshing around.

However, when Paul turned around, he found that Mark had already walked into the crowd, leaving a gleaming gold coin on the bar.

The patrons watched Brady's predicament with the amusement of someone watching a monkey.

But then Mark walked slowly toward them with a smile on his face, shaking a flat iron kettle in his hand.

When everyone saw the newcomer, they felt a chill for no apparent reason. Their laughter gradually subsided, and some even took a few steps back.

Clearly, the sense of oppression Mark exerted on everyone was far greater than that of the red-haired boy.

Brady was overjoyed at the sight.

"Senior! You've arrived just in time!"

Brady grabbed Mark's arm and pulled him to the center of the crowd, pointing to the scar on his chest.

Tell them that what I just said is true!

The patrons whispered amongst themselves.

But Mark didn't try to prove anything; instead, he held up the kettle and announced in a voice that drowned out the noise of the room.

"My treat! Everyone can enjoy a glass of Paul's special ale tonight!"

"A tribute to our 'Scarred Swordsman,' Brady!"

"..."

The hall fell silent for two or three seconds.

Immediately following was a loud "boom," followed by a deafening roar that nearly lifted the roof off, and a barrage of whistles and table-pounding.

"Scarred Swordsman—!"

"Brady!"

"The Scarred Swordsman—!!"

"Brady!!"

...

Brady stared blankly at the boisterous crowd below, at the glasses that were raising their toasts to him, and an unprecedented surge of heat coursed through his body.

All previous emotions were swept away by the cheers, replaced by a burning, trembling sense of glory from the bottom of their hearts.

Amidst deafening cheers, Brady suddenly raised his arms high and roared his name at the top of his lungs.

"I am the Scarred Swordsman!!!"

Mark looked at the impetuous young man with a smile, and then took another sip of "bitter tea seeds".

Paul, standing at the bar, couldn't help but smile when he saw this.

Cheers and clinking glasses filled the hotel room.