Warriors will die if they charge.

"Ready?"

"Ready."

A powerful punch landed on Marcus's broad chest, and an invisible wave of air spread from the linen lining, blowing away the fog stuck in the fabric gaps.

Marcus wanted to laugh and say that Marcus's fist wasn't as strong as Old John's at the dock, but as soon as he opened his mouth, he suddenly felt a sharp pain in his internal organs, as if his heart was being squeezed tightly by a hand.

He didn't make a sound, his forehead beaded with cold sweat as he stared intently at the amused Fielding, silently enduring the churning pain inside him.

"Kid, you've got some perseverance."

Marcus gritted his teeth and remained silent. This was the lowest-barrier professional certification, and he had to deliver the punch.

Why should I be relegated to being a miserable dockworker? Carrying heavy wooden crates and receiving a few copper coins from merchants, I long to see this vibrant and beautiful world for myself, and ideally, to find an elf and have a passionate love story with her!

He mimicked Fielding's posture, enduring the excruciating pain that felt like his muscles were about to tear, twisting his waist and legs, straightening his arms, and delivering a soft punch to Fielding's leather armor.

The punch didn't make much of a splash, but Marcus felt like he was almost exhausted.

Fielding glanced down at the fist pressed against his chest and nodded. "Not bad. It's rare to see someone who can fight back after taking a punch from me."

"Am I a soldier now?"

The captain looked at Marcus, whose eyes were blazing with anger, and knew that he was holding back a lot of resentment and wished he could punch himself in the face, but that's how a soldier should be.

Without fire in one's heart, how can one take shape?

"You still need more practice. Are you interested in joining the militia? You're a promising soldier."

Marcus instantly relaxed, exhaled a long breath, rubbed his still-painful chest, and stared intently at the changing system.

[Southbound Dedicated Rail]

Status: Completed

[Reward: 2 Rare Card Tickets]

He saw at the bottom of the panel five different roulette wheels, each marked with the words Immortal (gold), Legendary (red), Excellent (blue), Rare (yellow), and Common (white). The roulette wheels were divided into varying numbers of sections from left to right, with a metal slot in the center that resembled a banknote holder.

[Note: Each level of coupon guarantees a corresponding roulette reward. The probability decreases by 90% with each level you advance.]

So my cheat system is a gacha system; you can draw cards from the roulette wheel by completing tasks.

The recently completed southbound transition yielded two rare-grade cards. Throwing them into the rare-grade roulette guarantees a draw, but if you throw them into the excellent-grade card pool, the probability of drawing something is only 10%, and for higher-grade pools it's 1%, or even 1/1000.

Damn it, I've already transmigrated, and the gacha pool is still chasing me.

Let's throw out one card to test the waters first.

Marcus didn't hesitate to slip a card from the side of the roulette wheel into the Superior Roulette.

A 10% probability?

No, it's fifty percent. Gambling is like flipping a coin; there's only the difference between heads and tails—winning or losing.

All in!

The area of ​​the blue roulette wheel that was originally crowded with various items was mostly covered by gray. The pointer started to spin, and Marcus clenched his fist, staring intently at the pointer, which was no thicker than a needle tip.

Spin, spin, spin... Spin it now!

He stared at the blue roulette wheel, knowing full well that this was his only chance to turn his life around. The hard-earned money he made as a porter for a month wasn't even enough for the old man from the Mage Association to light a single incense candle.

Since this is a lottery, I might as well leave the chance to luck—I'm a man who's hit the jackpot!

Three seconds later, the pointer stopped on a pattern engraved with a bird.

Congratulations! You have drawn the Superior-grade trait "Theropod Respiratory System (Improved)".

[Theropod respiratory system (improved): The human respiratory system is so terrible, it's like a mountain of dung. Breathing limits our endurance and adaptability. In terms of physiological structure alone, humans are even inferior to goblins...]

But I've found a perfect alternative that allows an ordinary person to sprint 50 kilometers continuously, move freely in towering snow-capped mountains, react faster than an elf, hold their breath underwater for twenty minutes, prevent wounds from becoming infected and suppurating, and regenerate with abilities comparable to a troll.

To fit the adaptor with the lungs of a Deviljho, as for the cost... it's insignificant.

—The Lich Master, Connie Alva the Merciless.

Skill Details: Your respiratory system is greatly improved, and your stamina and physical recovery speed are significantly enhanced. The effect increases with your physical constitution.

After reading this description, Marcus felt dizzy and nauseous, and found that his breathing became unusually slow, or even stopped.

"Hey, Marcus?" Fielding called out a few times, only to find that Marcus was still in a drunken, confused state.

"I think I'm a little dizzy from oxygen..." Marcus plopped down on the ground, pulled up his collar to cover his mouth and nose. Is this the power of the cheat? His brain was so scared that he stopped breathing.

Fielding slapped Marcus on the forehead, roaring furiously:

"You just said you wanted to be a soldier, but you're sitting on the ground like a sissy. Get up, you bastard!"

Marcus remained unmoved, his gaze fixed intently on the control panel.

His eyes lit up, and without thinking, he threw the last rare card into the Immortal Roulette.

The pine needle-thick pointer spun rapidly across the vast, gray expanse, like a compass being pulled simultaneously by the North and South Poles.

As the pointer spun and glided across the prize area engraved with mysterious patterns, Marcus's heart pounded wildly.

No, no, stop spinning! Stop it now!

The pointer slowly landed on an area engraved with books, and Marcus slapped his thigh: "Gold! I'm rich!"

He laughed heartily, shook his head, and tried to see the description on the panel clearly, only to find his vision becoming increasingly blurry.

The lungs of a Deinosuchus...aren't these things supposed to be able to adapt to high altitudes? How come they're causing oxygen intoxication while sitting by the river...?

He could only vaguely make out the item descriptions on the panel, and lying on the ground, he mumbled incoherently, "Soldier, soldier..."

But before he could completely faint, Fielding squatted down, patted his cheek, and looked utterly helpless.

"Kid, if you want to be a warrior in Linhe Town, you'll at least have to hunt down a water ghost on your own."

He thought the punch he'd just landed had left the seemingly strong but actually weak kid disoriented, but this near-fainting appearance, still muttering about warriors, seemed to remind Fielding of something, and he sighed with emotion:

"Try to prove your abilities, Marcus."

Marcus breathed in the air greedily; he was too excited to believe he had won with a one-in-a-thousand chance.

I'm incredibly lucky! Going all in is definitely the right way to go.

Fielding had Marcus carried into the militia barracks to rest. After his body adjusted to the rich oxygen, his vision cleared up, and the blue worm-like characters returned to their original form.

"Wow, the Golden Legend..."

Congratulations! You have obtained the Immortal-grade item, "Warrior's Handbook".

[The Warrior's Handbook: I have a joke, want to hear it? There is a profession that has no magic, no divine arts, no special features, only the weapon in hand and the anger in the heart, licking blood from the blade, relying entirely on the righteous anger in one's heart.]

Oh no! Another soldier has fallen into a manhole and died on the roadside while charging. I have to go check on him right away.

—Nyx, the goddess of fate.

A very thin leather booklet landed in his hands. Marcus couldn't wait to open this immortal item, written by the goddess of fate herself. This must be the arrangement of destiny.

awesome!

Article 1 of the Soldier's Handbook

The seventeen legendary warriors I knew all died on the way to the charge. From the Underdark to the Spine of the World, the ground is littered with the bones of warriors. But warriors must charge; honor or death!

—These were the last words of Charles Homan, Grand Master of the Lionheart Knights, who died at the hands of a high-ranking demon.

He continued flipping through the pages in disbelief, forgetting to think about why he could suddenly understand the text, and discovered that all the subsequent content consisted of the soldier's last words and how he died.

Where are my legendary combat skills and breathing techniques? Where are my artifacts and treasures?

This is a damn list of dead men!