My inventory is full of monster materials.

Three days later, at the adventurer's camp.

Brady brandished his finely forged longsword, creating a whistling sound as he slashed it down hard towards Orion's face.

Orion remained calm in the face of danger and raised his kite-shaped wooden shield to block.

Bang! Bang!

The longsword struck the wooden shield, causing it to tremble slightly, but Orion remained as steadfast as a rock.

A hint of arrogance flashed in Brady's eyes. His skin flushed red, his arm muscles bulged, and he continued to strike fiercely, muttering sarcastic remarks.

"Too slow! Too slow! How can you make a living with a sword that slow?!"

Faced with the relentless onslaught and incessant taunts, Orion remained calm, flicking his wrist to launch a counterattack with his armored sword, the tip pointing directly at Brady's ribs.

Brady used offense as defense, slashing upwards with his longsword to deflect the attack.

Immediately afterward, the two began a new round of offensive and defensive practice.

Henry sat on a wooden stake nearby, a smug look on his face, a glass of bubbly ale in his hand, a smile playing on his lips, and said with satisfaction.

"Brady is growing faster and faster. To be honest, his drive is even stronger than mine was when I was young."

Clyde simply took a sip of his drink and said nothing.

Henry's gaze fell on Orion's steady figure, and a hint of approval appeared in his eyes as well.

"Your Orion is no less impressive; he's composed, resilient, and has the makings of a leader."

Suddenly, Clyde stared at Brady, his expression becoming more serious.

"Brady's current state should be 'Blood Rage,' a hallmark characteristic of the 'Savage' pathway."

Henry paused slightly in his hand holding the wine glass, and a few drops of wine trembled.

"'Tyranny'? What's the definition?"

"Of course."

Clyde put down his glass and said in a serious tone.

"Grenush, the 'God of Bloodskull' who represents rage and slaughter, is the racial god of the orcs, and he controls this path."

"The most typical class is the 'Berserker,' whose characteristic is that the more injured they are, the more ferocious they become."

"If Brady goes down this path, he'll most likely become a 'Berserker,' and his temper will become increasingly volatile."

Upon hearing this, the smile on Henry's face gradually faded, and a trace of worry appeared in his eyes.

"Is there any way?"

Clyde shook his head.

"I have no idea."

"Sigh, we can only take it one step at a time."

Henry sighed and deliberately changed the subject.

"What are you planning to do this time?"

Clyde paused, a look of confusion in his eyes.

"What? What should we do?"

"You know what I'm talking about."

Henry stared at Clyde's face, as if trying to see into the deepest thoughts in the other's heart.

"..."

Clyde remained silent for a moment, staring at the malt liquor swirling in his glass. After a long while, he slowly raised his head, his voice carrying a hint of determination.

"Since the divine oracle of 'wisdom' cannot be fulfilled this time, I should not turn back to the Church of War and the Church of Dawn, because they will not tolerate me."

"I plan to go to the Silver Moon Empire in the Eastern Continent. I heard that the 'Moon' pathway there has a high compatibility with the 'Wisdom' pathway."

The topic grew increasingly heavy, and Henry, seeing Clyde's dejected expression, was at a loss for how to comfort him, so he changed the subject again.

"By the way, Emily just brought food to Mark. He's been staying in his room for days; he might have some surprises for us."

"..."

……

……

A cabin on the edge of the camp.

Emily brought the vegetable and bacon soup to the door, with Vera, the fennec fox, following closely behind, occasionally nuzzling her trouser leg with her little head.

The young pastor looked at the untouched oat cakes and grilled cheese on the steps outside the cabin, a hint of helplessness flashing in his eyes. He raised his hand and gently knocked on the wooden door.

dong dong!

"Mr. Mark, it's time for lunch!"

Emily spoke gently, her voice tinged with concern.

"Just leave it at the door."

Mark's voice came from inside the room, deep and hoarse, filled with exhaustion.

Emily could only sigh, gently place the wooden tray on the doorstep, and pick up the oat biscuits and cheese, preparing to turn and leave.

Just then, the little fox at her feet started whimpering and tugging at her skirt, its little eyes fixed on the oat cakes in the wooden tray.

Emily crouched down, patted the little fox's head, and earnestly admonished it.

"Miss Vera, you've just had lunch. If you eat any more, you'll gain weight."

"Eek~ Eek~"

The little fox cried in frustration, rubbing its head against her palm repeatedly, determined not to give up until it got what it wanted.

Emily finally gave in to its insistence, picked out an oat cookie, placed it on the ground, and left.

Seeing this, the little fox happily pounced on it, nibbling on the oat cake in small bites, its tail wagging rapidly.

Boom!

Suddenly, a soft knocking sound came from the window of the cabin.

The little fox tucked its ears in, raised its head warily, and stared at the movement at the window.

After looking for a long time, the window was empty, with nothing in sight. It tilted its head in confusion, and after confirming that there was nothing wrong, it lowered its head again and continued to bury itself in its oat cake.

However, this was out of the little fox's sight.

Around the wooden house, more than thirty blue shadow totems were densely packed together, with an eye floating at the top of each totem.

All eyes were fixed on the little fox's every move.

Sunlight streamed through the window, barely illuminating a corner of the room.

Various monster limb specimens were displayed on shelves and on the floor, and a pungent smell of preservatives filled the air.

Mark sat back in his chair, his body thin and his eyes sunken. He stared at his palm, and with a thought, a blue, illusory rune stone appeared in his hand.

Without even looking, Mark casually tossed the runestone out the window. The runestone hit the window frame with a soft "thud".

Just then, a phantom light screen suddenly popped up in front of me.

[“Eye of Surveillance” upgraded to Max, base attribute “Intelligence” +2.]

After staring at the prompt for a few seconds, Mark finally breathed a sigh of relief.

"Phew—this spell is finally at its maximum level."

For the past few days, Mark has been locked in his room honing his spells. When he lacks magic power, he drinks Clyde's magic potions, and when he lacks mental energy, he drinks "bitter tea seeds" or sleeps.

This finally allowed me to upgrade the spells "Frozen Ray" and "Eye of Surveillance" to their maximum level, while also gaining a total of "Base Intelligence +3" benefit.

The only downside is that, unlike specializations, these skills don't display upgrade requirements after reaching the maximum level.

Mark already has a plan, and to ensure it goes perfectly, he needs to maximize his intelligence.

He carefully examined the panel and found that his other special skills could not be upgraded to the maximum level in a short period of time, thus preventing him from gaining more attribute points.

But when Mark's gaze fell on the talent "Frostblood I", a glint of inspiration flashed in his eyes.

It's time for a ten-pull.

Mark looked at the mahogany wardrobe in the room—underneath the wardrobe were ten items wrapped tightly in oilcloth, which were the third batch of "Frost Goblin Shaman Corpses".