Warriors will die if they charge.

"I don't like being in the same team as mages. They always like to lie and abandon their teammates when danger comes, using their weird witchcraft to run away."

Bardin thought Lorthera wanted to hire him and Marcus to go on an adventure in the Riverside Forest, but the mage's reaction remained indifferent:

"Master Dwarf, you may have misunderstood. I have only recently arrived in Linhe Town and need to check on the operation of the Mage Association branch. I will not be entering Linhe Forest."

"The Mage Association?" Marcus slapped his thigh immediately, complaining, "I have to file a complaint! That old man Ike is discriminating against people who can't read or write, saying that illiterate people can't be mages!"

Lorthera and Bardin both looked at Marcus as if he were an idiot; people who can cast spells but are illiterate are usually called sorcerers.

Did I say something wrong?

"No, you should just say what's on your mind, big guy."

The monk coughed twice and changed the subject:

"To make a long story short, I believe your abilities far surpass those of the novice adventurers in the Pig Lung Tavern. If you find any magical items similar to this cloak, or any unusual plants or minerals, I'm willing to buy them at a reasonable price."

"Are you going to take this?" Marcus casually pulled out the "Warrior's Handbook" from his pocket. The thin kraft paper had been flipped through for several days, and the edges were wrinkled.

Taking the Warrior's Handbook, Lorthera glanced through it, shook her head, and smiled helplessly: "Marcus, to come up with so many morbidly humorous ways to die, it seems this bard has a very vivid imagination. I'm willing to pay 1 gold dir to buy the copyright and help publish it in the Silver Mountain City magazine."

"Then forget it, this is my precious treasure."

Lorra handed the Warrior's Handbook back to its original owner. Her bright eyes narrowed, curving like crescent moons. She snapped her fingers, dispelling the magical barrier surrounding the long table, and vanished from the spot, leaving only a sentence lingering in her ears.

"I look forward to your exciting adventures! Remember, mages are always the most generous, so if you find anything, come find me at the guild branch!"

The light dimmed again, and the noisy arguments in the tavern, accompanied by the bard's vulgar, garbled voice, squeezed out the mage's crisp, playful final notes.

"Damn witchcraft," Bardin muttered, glancing at Marcus, whose eyes were glazed over and staring at the empty bench.

"Hey buddy, stop looking. That's a mage, the kind of mage who'd rip your heart out to make potions. Trust me, women who're skinny like ribs are the biggest liars. And she doesn't smell of alcohol or malt on her. She definitely can't cook. She's not a good woman."

Marcus picked up the money bag from the bridge deck, weighed it in his hand, and found it to be quite heavy.

"Don't frame me, Bardin... I admit she's pretty, but it's all because of the charm spell. Next time I see her, I'll be more determined than anyone else."

Bardin pursed his lips. He didn't think anything of Marcus's lustful thoughts. On the contrary, he thought it was normal for his friend to like beautiful women.

The monk didn't seem like a bad person; at least he knew that you had to pay to exchange things, so he didn't take the fool's cloak for nothing.

As for charm spells, what kind of charm spell could make a gambler willingly admit defeat? The dwarf couldn't understand it.

He glanced at the heavy money bag in Marcus's hand, the young human feeling the sharp outlines of the gold coins through the smooth leather.

"Buddy, this money can buy you a decent house and marry a nice girl who can brew wine and bake bread. It sounds like a lot, but it's not really that much. It'll be gone in one round of cards."

Marcus knew what Bardeen was implying, and he worried that he would take the money and plunge headfirst into the casino.

After all, judging from the card game just now, I showed a pretty obvious gambling mentality.

"Brother Dwarf, you know about weapons and armor, right? This money should be enough to buy a decent set of armor and a longsword."

“I must say…” Bardin raised his glass: “You have half the wisdom of a dwarf, Norfitz.”

Marcus tucked the money pouch into his pocket, clinked glasses, and recalled his bet with Lorra earlier.

Without a doubt, the mage won easily. She controlled the rhythm of the entire game with various hints. Her seemingly polite and proper words were in essence an elegant disguise of her desire for control.

But she eventually ended the game, preventing the Queen of Glass, the last card symbolizing defeat, from falling.

Well... as for the reason, Marcus speculated that the victory she wanted was one that was completely under her control. In her prediction, she should have forfeited in that round and conceded points, barely surviving the remaining four rounds.

But that Queen of the Wine Cup, who refused to lose face even in defeat, shattered Lorra's expectations.

She won, but it wasn't exciting for the mage; she wanted calculation and strategy, not something like her all-in.

She wanted to win, but once the cloak of intelligence was removed, all I wanted was to have fun.

"But I still lost, it's really painful..." Marcus murmured, taking another sip.

"Brother Dwarf, shouldn't we go to the Adventurers' Guild and form a team? Let's gather some clues about the Hammer of Destiny."

"Don't take it too seriously. The Hammer of Fate is like a box that's fallen into a river. Maybe one day when I'm completely disillusioned, it'll be right in front of me." Bardin waved his hand. He liked this straightforward, big, simple-minded guy.

He is reliable and tenacious in battle, has a good capacity for alcohol, and is somewhat prone to gambling, but not for money or profit.

"But as for the team, we could consider... naming it Solarbaz!"

Marcus blinked, not understanding the dwarven language: "What do you mean? Is Solarbaz your ancestor?"

"No, how should we translate it into Common Language?" Bardin pondered for a moment, then shook his head and said, "You take the name; I don't know much about human culture."

Marcus crossed his arms and pondered for a moment. Luna Knight? It sounded a bit indescribable.

No embers? Actually, it's quite warm here.

The emperor's favors are never enough, yet the church has not stood up.

His gaze swept across the tavern, finally settling on an unremarkable wooden barrel filled with rye wine.

"Rye liquor is like our lives, bitter and sour, rolling down our throats and forming a swirling memory, sweet, fragrant, sour... We savor our lives in this liquor, though difficult, it is incredibly wonderful."

He nodded with great pride, feeling proud of this brilliant idea.

"Rye wine," what a great name.

"I didn't expect this big guy to be so eloquent..." the dwarf muttered, raising his glass full of ale: "A toast to rye, to our bittersweet and wonderful life."

"She had a pair of dark eyes that I couldn't resist touching. When I touched those eyes, the room was too dark, and she was breathing heavily in the darkness..."

A gleaming copper coin landed in front of the bard, the lean man who had left a deep impression on Marcus, who whistled: "Give me some tough dwarven tunes, there's a dwarven master sitting in the tavern."

The red-haired woman, carrying a huge wine glass, suddenly stood up from the table behind him and sat down on the empty seat on the bench next to Marcus.

Her face was flushed, and her expression was unrestrained. She raised her wine glass to Badin, and the outline of her snow-white chest could be vaguely seen through the half-open collar of her old leather armor.

"I've heard there's a dwarf adventurer at the Pig Lung Tavern. You must be the one. Interested in joining our party?"