Warriors will die if they charge.

First and foremost is the weighty "Soldier's Handbook," which warns against charging.

Therefore, his fighting style cannot be like Bardin's, where he simply swings his axe and charges forward.

After all, he's a wandering knight who won't die from charging, but I'm a warrior with a 36% chance of dying from charging.

Theropod respiratory system provides them with extremely strong endurance and they hardly feel any fatigue. The problem of sudden increase in pain caused by excessive blood oxygenation is also directly solved by speed bumps.

With the addition of a degraded version of Troll Regeneration, he is now a monster with a combination of stamina, endurance, recovery, resistance, and taunt. Unless the enemy can quickly break through his defenses, they will inevitably get bogged down in a tedious and pointless battle.

With Bardin providing ranged and melee support, Marcus is unsure whether Trish will stay with Rye, but he expects her to be with them for a while.

Besides, I am the captain, so I must stand at the forefront and inspire the team with my unwavering determination.

But they would never back down; there are plenty of records of that in the "Soldier's Handbook"...

"Shield spell, please."

"I thought you'd consider fancy sword techniques and combat skills." Fielding pulled out a "Military Shield Techniques Tutorial" from the wooden cabinet, along with two thinner booklets: "Combat Skills: Wrathful Slash" and "Combat Skills: Thrust".

With a clear training plan in place, the rest becomes much simpler.

First, there's swordsmanship. Fielding's preferred swordsmanship is the military swordsmanship of the Griffin Kingdom, which evolved from an ancient swordsmanship focused on practicality. Its specific origin is unknown, but it is said to have come from a certain weapons master.

Overall, it is a piercing sword technique based on the plow position. The stance is with the sword hilt at the waist, and the attack is completed in the shortest time through skillful thrusting and slashing.

The battlefield is not a place to show off sword skills. Techniques such as entanglement, blocking, and circling are of little practical use. Furthermore, because the professional soldiers of the Griffin Kingdom have a high rate of wearing armor, their footwork is somewhat rough, and they emphasize direct dodging.

"Thrusting is the most efficient way to kill. You can use all your strength to slash your opponent's shoulder, but it's not as effective as piercing their internal organs." Fielding stood in front of the training stakes, explaining the essence of delayed thrusting to Marcus.

His hand was on his waist, the unsharpened sword tip pointing at the training dummy's throat. As soon as he finished speaking, his right hand thrust forward, creating a blur, and a thin, long gash appeared in the straw man's throat.

That sword pierced someone's neck; it must hurt quite a bit.

Marcus tried it and found that it was very similar to using a spear, except that the spear was longer, had a longer attack range, and was easier to apply force with.

Then why don't I use a spear?

Puzzled, he continued to repeat the stabbing motion, using the unsharpened blade to pierce hundreds or thousands of holes in the straw man. His crude and laborious actions made Philt, who was accompanying him during the training, twitch over.

The essence of stabbing is to create the biggest wound with the least amount of force. Your actions are like a pile driver, what exactly are you doing?

After the training dummy had turned into a clump of lint hanging on the wooden frame, the captain finally couldn't help but ask, "Don't you feel tired at all?"

"Yes." During a break, Marcus wiped the sweat from his forehead.

I'm sweating, isn't that tiring?

At noon, after enjoying a delicious meal of cassava dumplings and catfish with hard bones, Marcus returned to his intense training.

"The Wrathful Slash is an extremely powerful but also very vulnerable option. It requires wielding the sword with both hands to achieve the most effective killing power."

Fielding spread his legs wider than before, held his sword above his right shoulder, and swiftly swung it forward in a delicate arc.

To prove the value of the five gold coins to his apprentice, he didn't stop moving his hands. His body and arms moved skillfully, and a sword flower that followed the furious slash broke through the sunlight, and he began to swing it around like a windmill in place.

The movements are not fast, but the turning and swinging of the sword are extremely smooth and free, allowing the trainee to see every detail clearly.

Marcus's eyes were constantly observing Fielding's wrists, arms, and feet. At first glance, swordsmanship is nothing more than swinging, parrying, thrusting, and slashing, but how the wrists rotate, the coordination between the hands and legs, and the range of motion of the waist and abdomen all determine the quality of the sword strike.

After a sword dance, Fielding was exhausted and panting heavily. He lamented that warriors are getting old and their physical strength is severely declining, so they can only fight by relying on experience and skill.

Marcus glanced at his captain, who was resting with his hand on his greatsword, and muttered to himself.

But I was thinking, you look to be only in your early fifties, how come you're doing a big windmill like you're in a Japas tent, your legs are weak?

"Warriors are prone to accumulating hidden injuries, some of which you may not be able to detect at first. At a certain stage, for example, a fourth-tier warrior like me who is unable to acquire a second talent for a long time, these hidden injuries will erupt as I get older."

"A fourth-tier warrior?" Marcus took the two-handed sword. He didn't really understand the professional system, but he had a vague feeling that if he fought Fielding, he would definitely be the one to die.

It's a vague intuition that this world clearly has a well-defined system of professional ranks.

"Hmm, a fourth-tier warrior." Fielding took a sip of ale and shouted with satisfaction:

"I heard it was something created by mages. Don't they divide magic into nine tiers? A person who can use a certain tier of magic is a mage of that tier. This ranking system is ridiculously wrong for most professions. Can you imagine a tier 3 thief being chopped into mincemeat by a tier 1 warrior? Haha."

The captain took another sip of ale and said to the dock boy who had never seen the world outside of Linhe Town:

"But everyone still continued with this ranking theory to facilitate the assessment of strength."

The symbol of becoming a professional is awakening a talent. Talents can be good or bad, and the one you awakened should be a physical talent that is extremely well-suited to a warrior.

But talent is merely a starting point for a professional. What truly determines a professional's future is often specialized training. I served in the military for twenty years, and no one was better at training raw recruits than me, haha.

Marcus was pondering whether theropod respiratory system counted as an awakened talent. He figured, since he'd gone all in on it, it probably wouldn't.

My talent is definitely winning every bet!

Fielding stood up from the steps and patted Marcus on the shoulder:

"Hurry up and train. You have great talent. As long as you're willing to put in the hard work, you can definitely make up for your poor technique. I need to go out and check things out. Once I feel ready, I'll head back."

"Okay, I'll try again."

Marcus spent the entire day practicing only the two basic combat techniques: thrusting and furious slashing. Uncle Fielding's training method was indeed effective.

Thrusting and slashing, the two methods that best bring out the characteristics of the "sword," allowed him to adapt to how to control a sword.

Sweat dripped down his face, and the thousands of thrusts and slashes had turned the training sword he had just acquired that morning into an iron rod.

He glanced at the sky and found it was getting dark. He took off his clothes in the militia camp, took a cold shower to dry off the sweat, and then prepared to return to Muddy Street.

When he got home and opened the wooden door, he found Cui Xisi sitting on the bed with her eyebrows furrowed, as if she was deep in thought about something important.

Marcus walked to the water tank and ladled out a bowl of cool water: "Did something good happen? You're thinking about it so deeply."

Trish shook her head, her tone carrying a hint of inexplicable disappointment:

"I wandered around the dock where you used to work and saw some things. Perhaps the surface and the underground are actually the same in some places."

I'm not surprised by my disappointment in you.

"Why?" Triss couldn't help but ask, staring at the indifferent human.

"Shouldn't you try to defend yourself, saying that those oppressed laborers were forced to carry heavy boxes and logs because of the greed of merchants and the burden of their families, and that the world would have been a better place, but a group of pests ate up the root of the problem?"

"I don't care. These kinds of things are for philosophers and great sorcerers to ponder. I'm just a young man who just left the docks; I don't want to waste time on philosophical questions. If the world were going to get better, it would have been paradise long ago. If it were going to get worse, everyone here would be a jerk." Marcus took a sip of water, shrugged, and said...

"But the truth is, this world is neither good nor bad. There are good people and bad people, but we still have to live our lives. We can't live by abstract analysis and sentiments."

Triss was silent for a moment, then asked, "Do you believe in God?"

"I believe you." Marcus nodded without hesitation.

"If these gods could help me win at bridge and, incidentally, deliver two large barrels of ale when I'm thirsty, I would certainly believe them."

Looking at the snobbish human, Drow smiled inwardly without expression. "I think I'm starting to understand you, Marcus Norfitz, a sincere but unpretentious bastard."

She didn't say it aloud, but just looked at the empty cupboard, which, to be honest, was just a dilapidated wooden box that even mice wouldn't bother with.

"What should we eat today? Do I need to work to repay the money you've spent on me? You must have spent a lot of money on me."

"Not for now. Tonight, let's go to the tavern and have a bowl of hot stewed pork lungs." Marcus thought for a moment, then reminded him, "If you happen to eat any goblin meat, you'd better swallow it."

"I don't really want to eat that kind of dirty, ugly stuff."

"Then you can have some fruit; the tavern's toilets are fairly clean."

Trissy's eyes gleamed red, and she rose expressionlessly from the bed, unsheathed the longsword at her waist, handed it to Marcus, and said coldly:

"I'll eat whatever you eat... but no chili peppers! Anything dirty makes me feel nauseous."

The two left the house and strolled toward the tavern in the twilight. Trish was slow and deliberate, observing everything around her changing in the light, her shoulder close to Marcus's.

Disorientation and unease were the deepest feelings Triss felt standing under the sky.

The Underdark is a place where you can see the dome-shaped stalactites at a glance. It is a labyrinth made up of countless huge caves, and the intricate faults and cliffs form the home of the drow elves.

But she couldn't adapt to the sky, becoming a bewildered child who didn't know which way to go.

"Stop spacing out, Trish, you're about to bang your head against the stall."

"oh oh."

Why does this Zhuo Er seem a bit airheaded? She's practically a different species from Sleeping Beauty in the crystal coffin.

Marcus thought to himself as he led the hooded Trishes into the tavern: "Auntie, the usual, bring me a pot of the best stew."

Nora looked at the three silver coins pressed on the bar counter, observing the sturdy, spirited young man with great interest:

"You're pretty lucky to be able to get money from stray dogs."

"They won't have a chance to steal the shit."

Nora nodded, not asking about the adventure, and glanced at the hooded figure behind Marcus. Judging from her figure, she was definitely a girl.

"Please sit down. I'll have young York call the dwarf master down. What does your lady need?"

"Fruit, she's an elf, a vegetarian."

Marcus suddenly felt something punch him in the lower back. He turned around and saw Trish's bloodshot eyes, her expression one of anger and dissatisfaction.

"Don't worry, Aunt Nora won't ask too many questions about the guests, and strictly speaking, you are a half-elf."

A bloodlust flashed in Trish's eyes. She looked over the tough guy's shoulder and saw Nora watching them with a kind smile. In that instant, a memory was stirred in her—her father sometimes had the same expression.

It had been a very, very long time since she last saw him.

"Don't meddle, Marcus, I'll make my own decision."

"Okay, okay."

Stepping back to allow Trish to interact with the second human (Marcus intuitively believed this woman hadn't eaten lunch), Aunt Nora smiled as she looked at the round chin peeking out from under the hood:

"What would you like, miss from the underground?"

Having her identity exposed at a glance, Trishes swiftly reached for the hilt of Marcus's sword, snatching the weapon and taking control of the situation—an instinct she displayed when faced with an unexpected situation.

A strong hand gripped her wrist, and Marcus shook his head: "Don't be silly. Your aunt has seen many people, and may have even met your compatriots."

Trish calmed down, raised her head, and fixed Nora's bloodshot eyes in the shadows, filled with murderous intent.

"What do you know, woman?"

"I once entertained a male drow who had beautiful, captivating purple eyes, and whose two scimitars moved like butterflies among flowers when he wielded them... He was similar to you at the time, with a beautiful girl by his side and a noisy dwarf master, but he was also different from you. His eyes were gentle and full of care for his lover and companions."

The mixed-race drow was stunned for a moment, and Marcus could feel her surprise and excitement from her trembling wrist.

"Where did that drow go? Are there any other drow, and where do they all live?"

"I don't know, young lady. Some people are just chance encounters, adding a little something to talk about in ordinary memories. Missing out means losing them forever."

Aunt Nora is indeed a woman with a story; I really want to hear more gossip.

After pulling Zhuo Er to sit down, Bardin hummed a little tune as he walked down from the second floor. When he saw Zhuo Er sitting opposite Marcus, he was immediately at a loss.

The so-called meeting and discussion of adventure were just excuses to play bridge and drink beer in the tavern.

Since it's a card game, you have to sit opposite each other, otherwise, with that tough guy's height, if he just peeks out, his underwear will be completely exposed.

Bardin ordered the oblivious captain, "Go sit across from me. Old Bardin doesn't like being crammed together with women."

"Okay, okay, it seems I, as the team leader, have been saddled with two troublemakers."

"Respecting elders is a principle that every young person must understand."

Stewed meat, fruit, and ale were quickly served. Trish observed the steaming red stewed meat beside her and hesitated.

Based on her experience, this thing is probably very spicy.

She picked up the wooden spoon, took a small bite, and found it to be very hot, with a strong spice flavor and a slightly fishy smell of offal. It was barely acceptable.

She tried another sip of the ale, and the sour, astringent, and spicy taste was awful; she didn't like it.

Finally, there was the fruit. It was very sweet, and the fragrant juice burst on the tongue. It tasted great, and she liked it very much.