Warriors will die if they charge.

Bardin has disappeared.

Marcus stood ten meters away from Emma, ​​his parched lips parted in a grin:

"Who are you."

"Immael."

Who is Emma?

"A nobody."

Marcus stopped the conversation, spread his hands, and asked:

"Listen, I don't want to play any language games with you, nor do I want to ask why this is happening. Where is my dwarf friend? Will you still bother us after we leave?"

"Bardeen Greenock is safe."

He only answered one question, so Emma made no guarantees about what would happen after he left.

Marcus sighed in disappointment, looking at the basement vault where the contents had clearly diminished, a sense of weariness rising within him:

"Okay, buddy, I can tell you're not a devil who tempts people to depravity. You're just bored and want to have some fun, so you throw a few rotten fish into the mire of desire and see what choices these fools make."

"In terms of human cultural habits, your understanding is very accurate, Marcus Norfitz."

Emma's lips curled up almost imperceptibly, the torch went out, and the spotlight shone on the lead actor.

In the absolute darkness, Emma raised her hands and chanted aloud:

"They gaze upon the past with such sorrow, behold."

"Ohar the Orc, who once had nothing, hung from a treetop with his neck wrapped in a swaying rope, uttering terrible pleas, how pitiful! The foreman dug two pieces of gold from his latrine with an iron spoon; he had made a mistake that could not be made up for except with more gold."

"Duncan, with his severed finger, a pitiful soul yearning to be seen whole. He clung to his captain, his sister, and his mother, accustomed to being taken from. He didn't need desire; he sacrificed himself to earn the promise to stay by his mother's side. He never truly became himself!"

"Poor Nia, her desires are insatiable. The knight's sword is so sharp that even after all these years, she can still clearly feel the sting of blood when it fell. This suffering is terrifying to behold! She craves power, not for the happiness it brings, but for the promise of never being hurt again!"

"The stubborn dwarf, due to a trivial mistake, entrusts his fate to the millennia-old wish of his race. He has no idea what he is looking for, and wanders aimlessly across the desolate land, using laughter and songs to cover up the pain of losing his homeland."

Emma lowered her hand, the choral chanting subsided, and the spotlight shone on Marcus:

"The gambler Marcus's stakes weren't gold, power, or a chance to change his fate; what he wanted to win was the possibility of continuing on. He didn't ask for anything in return. Why?"

The devil didn't need Marcus's answer. He snapped his fingers, the torch in the basement reignited, and his body disappeared along with the spotlight.

"You have one more chance to confront your desires, Marcus Norfitz."

Marcus smacked his lips and spat on the ground. The basement was completely sealed off, and he needed to find something to satisfy the devil's perverse desires.

The "Dark Trial" has not yet shown as complete, indicating that the game is still ongoing.

That bastard! Unless you hear it explicitly from his mouth, making assumptions about it will definitely cause trouble.

He walked to the display case where the items were placed and observed the gold foil scroll placed in the crystal. Countless strange runes that he could not understand were flowing on the surface of this strange thin paper.

He curled his lip, dismissing the criticism:

"Nesser reel, what kind of crap is that? I don't understand it."

"Holy Avengers, how does 'holy' relate to 'vengeance'? I don't understand."

"The Crown of Horns: A true man never wears a helmet."

"The Crown of Imasca, the last person to wear it died in the swamp."

"Divine Spark? Can I cosplay Belial?"

"At the heart of the floating city, I am a warrior, I do not know magic."

Marcus's blindness prevented him from recognizing the true value of these items. While he seemed to be constantly complaining, his mind was actually analyzing every word the devil spoke.

Demanding comes at a price, and trust becomes a burden—this is the unspoken rule of the entire game.

But both of them share a common premise—the weight of one person.

Marcus, even with his buttocks, knew that any one of the artifacts in this treasure trove would crush him to dust.

His gaze slowly settled on a person lying in a crystal coffin.

She was a woman as cold as ice, with pointed ears, snow-white hair, ashen skin, eyes tightly closed beneath slender eyebrows, a delicate nose, and thin, cherry-red lips.

The black dress covered her body, and upon closer inspection, one could see her high, firm breasts rising and falling with her breath.

An elegant woman, like a sleeping princess.

A drow elf.

The weight of one person.

Marcus continued to grapple with the thought: the devil's game was called "The Dark Trial" in the cheat system, but there was no related quest description. It was said that drow elves lived in the Underdark, could this be a hint?

Moreover, although this drow elf looks quite tall, standing at around 1.7 meters, even if the two lumps of fat on his chest are heavy, they couldn't possibly be stronger than old Norfitz's arms.

The treasure is not about physical weight; he had already realized this from the "Dark Age Relics of the Dwarves" that Bardin picked up. It's about the relationship hidden beneath the material appearance. What if I took a living person?

Emma couldn't possibly argue that she was heavier than those artifacts.

Marcus pointed to the adorable drow elf sleeping in the coffin and said without hesitation:

"I choose her."

"Are you sure?" This was the first time Marley had asked a hero about his choice. He repeated what he had said earlier in the calmest tone: "Trust is a burden, Marcus Noelfitz."

The more you explain, the more I want to take it. Once I leave this godforsaken place, I'll just dump this woman on the roadside. I don't care about any of this bullshit burden.

"I'm sure, stop talking nonsense."

The coffin was slowly opened, and a cold, frosty white mist brushed against Marcus's cheek.

He bent down and gazed at the exquisite, flawless face of the female drow, and suddenly a fantasy came to mind.

If she were a white-haired, red-eyed female elf... would I still be willing to leave her on the roadside? But I've heard that drow are ruthless killers who don't blink an eye.

Marcus shook his head inwardly, thinking, "Stop staring at those low-class things, get out of here quickly."

Strong arms wrapped around the back and thighs of the drow, placing her in a princess carry on her chest.

She was so light that he even wondered if he was holding a pale woman made of paper.

A steady breath, blowing across my cheek.

It's so cool...

"Emmael? You're not going to breach the contract, are you?"

"Leave now, hero who has completed the dark trial. You have earned my respect. You make me curious: just how much trust would it take to break your stubborn back?"

At the far end of the basement, a dark door opened. Marcus, carrying the drow, reached the door and asked again, still worried, "Is the game over? Where will I end up if I go through this door? Is Bardin's book still there?"

"The game is over. You will return to the dark cave where you came from. Bardin Greenok did not complete the trial and cannot take what he asked for."

Marcus sighed and stepped through the dark doorway.

[The Dark Trial]

Status: Completed

[Reward: One Legendary Card Ticket]