Warriors will die if they charge.

Chapter 101 The Game of Smoke Mirrors

The Blood Oath is 1.2 meters long, narrow at the front and wide at the back, and is entirely silver-white. The blade also appears to be plated with a layer of mithril using a special process. Combined with the blood droplet gemstone with the size of an eyeball on the hammer, it appears mysterious and elegant.

Marcus always believed that the magical longsword obtained from the Emma's Treasury should be used by the drow; he preferred cleavers and war clubs, or even long-handled heavy halberds.

Using a longsword always feels a bit weak, but the Blood Oath sword is of excellent quality, capable of cutting through iron like mud, sharp and tough. Until a suitable alternative is found, I can only make do with it.

Lorra was quite infuriated by his thuggish words. What did he mean by "keep talking"? He just wouldn't sell. Couldn't he have listened to some hints and used the Bloodline's information as a condition?

Jenny couldn't sit still any longer. With her teacher as her backer, she wasn't going to tolerate the soldier's reckless and foul-mouthed behavior.

"Hey, Marcus, Professor Lorra is a renowned magical genius in Silver Mountain City. She could kill you with a snap of her fingers. The snake people you find difficult to deal with are nothing more than a bunch of little bugs in her eyes." Jenny pinched two fingers together, vividly describing, "Just like those little bugs."

"You little brat, you dare to go against my lead so soon after we broke up? Do I have to give you a good scolding to feel better? Damn it, your hellfire has burned my—"

"Shut up, shut up!"

Jenny's flushed face amused Lorra. The student's report said that Rye Wine had only managed to escape the bloodline thanks to the mage's wisdom.

It seems that this mediocre apprentice doesn't like to tell the truth; cleverness can be annoying.

"Alright, Marcus, before we examine these things, I'm very interested in the Navatl civilization where the bloodline disappeared, especially the feathered serpent god Kukulkan. Could you tell me about this deity?"

"Kukulkan is my godfather."

The frank and unvarnished description was shocking; Lothra's eyebrows twitched, feeling that Marcus was talking nonsense.

So the honest young warrior I tricked in the tavern was actually a lost god?

She glanced sideways at Marcus's exposed arm, where a vivid, dark blue tattoo stood out on his right arm—a mark, the brand of a strange god.

"Alright, can we talk about your father? My father is an archaeologist who has always been fascinated by the legend of the Bloodline in the Linhe Forest. I came to Linhe Town specifically to fulfill his long-cherished wish."

"I don't believe it, because women can lie, and sorcerers can lie even more. If you put them together, there's not a single truth in their mouths. Your father is definitely not some kind of archaeologist."

Lorra's eyebrows twitched again. How come this little soldier has become so shrewd in such a short time? It's all just rhetoric. Do you understand rhetoric?

Do you really want me to use charm to control you?

The mage took a few deep breaths, smiled gently, and exuded a fragrance like orchids. His dark circles became eyeshadow that accentuated the depth of his eyes, and his gentle and kind demeanor pierced Marcus's heart.

"I really want to know about Navatter, can you tell me?"

The charm spell was very effective. Marcus, who had little resistance to beautiful girls, naturally didn't want to hear the succubus's pitiful pleas. He nodded: "Navarre, huh? I don't know who they are, how they were born, how they fell in love, and how they died—oh, I do know how they died. They were infected with a plague that led to the extinction of their civilization."

Hearing the students' clues that they didn't know the details, Lorra leaned forward slightly, her hands on the bar counter: "And what else? What kind of plague is it?"

"I don't know, you'll have to ask Dr. Pedro about that."

Lorra moved a third closer: "I'll ask later, but what about their beliefs, culture, witchcraft, and rituals, besides the plague?"

"Go ask Granny Keshachi. I'm just a warrior. Even if Houqin talked a lot about the Way of the Giant Serpent and other things, how would I know more?" Marcus suddenly realized, looking at Losera who was close at hand with her eyes sparkling, and knew that he had been charmed.

He pondered for a moment, then stroked his chin and said, "Miss Lorra, you always seduce me like this, it's hard to be fond of you. It was the same at the tavern last time, you must have used a charm spell to trick me out of my cloak of intelligence."

Lorra suddenly stepped back, her tone stiff, like a child caught red-handed: "Can a mage's actions be called seduction? This is an internalized quality."

"Can someone like this be a teacher?" the soldier muttered under his breath, tapping the table to remind himself of the important matter: "Hurry up and appraise the items, I need to get back."

Lorra seemed to have a decent sense of morality, at least compared to Jenny, who complained after doing something wrong and held her status as a mage apprentice in high regard. She dispelled the charm spell and returned to her panda-eyed, suddenly-dead appearance.

She glanced at the longsword Blood Oath briefly and casually commented, "A magical weapon plated with mithril. Judging from the craftsmanship, it should be a work of the Ross people. While maintaining its sharpness, mithril can also effectively target spirit targets. Its grade is probably between rare and excellent."

"Grade? Could you elaborate?"

"Common, Rare, Excellent, Exquisite, and Legendary."

Marcus felt that Lor'thera, now with her slightly impatient temper, was more like a real person than the elegant and commanding mage in the tavern. She was quite adorable.

"As for this mirror—" Lorra's pretty face scrunched up, unsure of the origin of the bronze obsidian mirror.

There were no relevant records in the association's database. The craftsmanship, texture, material, and even the star pattern on the surface that looked like a stain were all completely unfamiliar to her.

"Without any records, can I still start?"

"Please go ahead, I thought the monk was omnipotent."

"His tone is so irritating," Lorra thought to herself, gently lifting the edge of the mirror and placing it in her palm.

She looked down at the mirror's surface, which was as pure as the night sky, and for a moment fell into a daze.

The mysterious starry sky was unveiled in her eyes, but what greeted the mage was not kindness, but a cold stare.

You are peeping at something you shouldn't touch, you foreign sorcerer.

The cold, misty gaze made Lorra feel like she was out of control. She looked up and found that time had stopped at that moment.

The dust, fog, and breath in the air became clearly visible, as if she had glimpsed a scene she had never imagined.

She remained calm, ceasing the channeling of her spiritual energy into the mirror, and inquired of the being beyond: "Who are you?"

The cold laughter from the Smoke Mirror pierced through the mirror and reached the monk's mind. Its sound was like the deep starry sky, filled with all things in the world, yet empty of everything.

You are arrogant and think you can control everything with some petty tricks, attempting to obtain our legacy from vague historical rumors. But the one who will truly inherit our legacy has already appeared—

Monks—an interesting group, rejecting faith and collectivism, placing individual interests above all else, willing to give everything for power and knowledge. This reminds me of something interesting.

Lorra wanted to speak, but her thoughts were completely still. The protective spell she had solidified in her soul was meaningless to the Smoke Mirror.

A mysterious entity transferred the Drow's contract to Marcus. Why not repeat this game once more, binding a mage who controls the whole situation together with a lowly warrior she looks down upon? Her fate will be closely tied to the warrior; if he dies, she will naturally not survive.

Lorra's pupils trembled violently as countless magical knowledge from Navatar flooded her mind—knowledge she craved.

This is an unequal trade, much like when she cleverly seized the Cloak of Intelligence in the tavern. Smoke Mirror is using her coveted knowledge to bind fate to the young warrior.

She could refuse, but the price would be—forever losing the opportunity to access this ancient knowledge.

As is well known, a monk will not reject any kind of knowledge.

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