Warriors will die if they charge.

Marcus, lying on the cool mat on the floor, felt that the night had passed peacefully. As for the scarlet gaze that occasionally peeked over from the bed, he simply assumed it was the work of a mouse spying on him.

He was fast asleep, which confused Trish, because the humans had left their weapons lying next to the wardrobe, completely unprepared.

I am a Drow! A fearsome Drow, a born assassin and traitor. Can't you at least show some... respect?

I've prepared myself mentally for a long time, imagining countless times what hardships, doubts, betrayals, and battles I'll face upon arriving on the surface world, but you're just like a fat pig...

Yes, Trish repeated the common language noun she had just learned, but Marcus, like a fat pig that sleeps after a full meal, covered the campfire with ash, spread out a mat, and said goodnight right away.

That sound sleep was definitely not an act.

Well, what's done is done, I should just go to sleep...

Trissy clutched the cloak she was using as a blanket, rolled over to face the wall, then rolled over again, her scarlet eyes fixed on Marcus lying on the ground in the darkness.

She had slept for so long that she didn't feel tired at all, or rather, she needed to first confirm that the faint, inexplicable connection with Marcus was a guarantee of Mary's safety.

Monitoring, observing, and analyzing are skills that every Zall must learn.

Suddenly, Marcus opened his eyes groggily, and Drow also gripped the dagger hidden under his cloak.

Is it coming? Betrayal and lies.

Marcus ignored Zhuo'er, who was still awake on the bed, braced himself on the ground, rubbed his eyes, stood up, put on his sandals, and walked out of the room.

Trish stood up and slowly approached the wardrobe, aiming at the magic longsword.

She gripped the sword hilt, nodding to herself, "A decent weapon; it will definitely help me."

After a while, Marcus returned to the house. He looked at Drow, who was leaning against the wardrobe, gripping the Blood Drop Longsword, and rolled his eyes: "I'm going to the bathroom. Don't think too much about it."

After saying that, he lay down again, kicked off his sandals, and became a dead pig.

Ok……

Trish slowly loosened the hilt of her sword. Her intuition told her that this man posed no threat to her; if it weren't for his appearance, she would still be sleeping soundly in Emma's crystal coffin.

But past experiences and betrayals have taught her that she cannot let her guard down with anyone.

She thought for a moment, then returned to her bed and continued to monitor Marcus until sunlight streamed through the window bars and shone on his rugged face.

Looking closely, she actually has a pretty good appearance...

Having had a good rest, Marcus felt refreshed. He greeted the deadpan-looking Zor: "How did you sleep last night, Trissy? The conditions were a bit basic, but the muddy road was quite quiet at night."

"Not bad, it's really quiet." Cui Xisi lifted her cloak and stood in the sunlight streaming into the house at dawn. The light illuminated her graceful curves. Her long, silvery-white hair cascaded down her back, and her sleeveless short shirt outlined her high breasts and slender waist. Her thighs were straight and long, and at the end of her black trousers were a pair of delicate, rounded breasts with visible veins.

Marcus first glanced up and down, then turned around without making a sound and helped the unsteady little Norfitz to his feet.

Elf, that's awesome.

The two cleaned their mouths with willow branches and charcoal, respectively. Marcus thought about going to the militia camp to learn a few tricks from Captain Fielding and officially become a qualified soldier.

Trish also wanted to observe this human town alone for a while, worried that Marcus's straightforward perspective would make her think too highly of the surface world.

The two agreed to return home in the evening and then meet Bardin at the tavern.

Marcus deliberately gave Trish some gold, silver, and copper coins, told her where to get lunch, and handed her the magic longsword with the blood-drop-shaped gem wrapped in a rag for self-defense.

Trissy strapped the magical longsword to her waist and asked the human who had taken her in for the first time, "This sword is very valuable. Aren't you worried? I might leave at any time."

"Take it if you want. I can't wait to cut ties with Emma, ​​you piece of shit devil." With a curse, Marcus went out. Warrior's joy, here I come.

Watching Marcus leave humming a little tune, Trish felt a little helpless, and she sighed inwardly.

Such a fool would feel no sense of accomplishment in betraying someone.

She pulled at the hood of her cloak to make sure her limbs weren't exposed to the sun, then closed the door and stepped into the damp streets of the small town.

Upon arriving at the militia camp, Marcus greeted Fielding, who was still wearing armor, and offered him some craft beer he had bought from a shop along the way.

"Uncle Phils, I have something to ask you."

After taking the beer, Fielding looked at the brand. The wheat from Linhe Town was of average quality, but this bottle of beer from Mellen Ranch, transported from the north river, was worth at least four times more and could sell for a silver coin.

The captain put the bottle aside and noticed that Marcus's mental state was significantly better than before. After observing him closely for a while, he seemed to realize something and asked with surprise:

"You killed someone?"

"No, why are you asking this?" Marcus didn't quite understand what the old man was saying. He did want to kill the stray dog ​​in the devil's game.

But the opportunity has been delayed. So far, he has only killed a group of goblins, bear goblins, and teamed up with Bardin to deal with the silver trolls.

"Your eyes." Fielding held two fingers to his eyes, staring intently into Marcus's eyes:

"Just like the green recruits I used to see in the army, they were all numb and stiff after witnessing the tragedy."

I feel like he's bluffing, but I have no proof.

Marcus thought for a moment, but still didn't mention the stray dog: "So now I want to be a greenhorn under the old man's command and learn how to wield a sword."

"Then you've come to the right place..." Fielding smiled mysteriously, beckoning Marcus into the camp building and taking out a "Military Swordsmanship Manual" from a wooden cabinet.

Marcus was about to take the thin notebook when he noticed Fielding holding up five fingers.

"Alright, alright, how much? Gold is indeed the cheapest form of trust; without it, nothing in the world can function." Marcus muttered as he took out his money pouch.

He wasn't a militiaman in town, and Fielding wasn't obligated to give him special instruction. The entire afternoon of training had already been more than enough.

Five silver coins.

So cheap?

Marcus slowed his movements as he opened the purse, then glanced at the wooden cabinet filled with books: "Will you take a bag?"

"Training costs extra, meals are included only."

"Then give me a couple more books, and maybe some combat skills or something." Marcus took out five gold coins and held them in his palm, his meaning clear: he didn't mind having too many.

"I didn't realize you were such a tycoon. Where did you make your fortune?" Fielding laughed heartily, took the five gleaming gold coins, turned around, and rummaged through the wooden cabinet.

"What do you want to learn? Old Fielding used to be a professional swordsman in the army, and he served as a general's bodyguard. Later, he was shot in the knee with an arrow and returned to town. He knows a little about all kinds of weapons."

"Swordsmanship, hmm..." Marcus carefully analyzed his current talent advantage.