Warriors will die if they charge.

Brothers and servants

"Marcus, do you understand what brotherhood means?"

Before the battle began, Moraz said to Marcus, who was walking by, "No, you don't understand, how could you possibly understand?"

"Are you going to bark all day?" Marcus said impatiently. He hated people who would argue and whine while fighting. He was worried that if he really gave him a good tongue-lashing, he would say something too harsh and ruin the reliable and steady image he had in Eileen's mind.

It should be noted that even after becoming Zhuo'er's servant father, he still harbored a fondness for beautiful girls.

"Then let's start the war!"

As soon as Moraz finished speaking, his figure vanished like a ghost.

Marcus only felt a black gust of wind flash before his eyes, and a magnificent military knife, gleaming with black light, attacked from the side. The speed bump allowed him to barely catch Moraz's movements. He blocked the knife with the cross-shaped hilt of his longsword Blood Oath, and countered with his war club.

bang~

The dull, drum-like sound and the feedback from the tiger's mouth told the soldier that he had hit the target.

According to the law of the baton, the one who gets hit will definitely let out a wail. This is true for water ghosts, bear goblins, and snake people.

This law only fails in Moritz's case.

As the dust settled, Moraz, whose arm had been struck by the stick, showed obvious signs of deformity, with his arm bent inward. Yet, he maintained his saber-wielding stance, seemingly unconcerned about his injury.

Marcus pulled out his baton; there was blood on the iron spike, indicating that he hadn't hit a puff of illusion.

"You can't kill me, Marcus—I made a deal with the evil god, with my soul, with everything, this is the sacrifice!"

Moraz roared, and the saber came down again. This time, the soldier's reaction speed was slightly slower. He parried with his longsword, but only managed to block most of the force. The remaining part of the saber slashed across Marcus's chest, leaving a deep, bone-revealing wound.

The baton struck again, hitting Moraz in the face with such ferocity that it sent him flying several meters, crashing into the veiled statue of the goddess in the church.

Moraz slid limply from the statue to the ground. His face, which had been beaten bloody by the war club, recovered at a speed visible to the naked eye. As for his bent left arm, it had already been restored to its original state.

"I will not die! I am immortal until Moraka regains her senses!"

Marcus glanced down at the wound on his chest. It hurt a bit, but it was still within a manageable range. He still had a rare-level card as a backup, but he couldn't use it here.

He was still waiting to go back tonight, to hold Hakis's hand tightly, and to go all in again with a legendary bet. He couldn't let that go to a fool.

The blood from the knife wound on his chest slowly stopped flowing, and Moraz's previously maniacal expression turned serious.

"You made a deal with the evil god to gain immortality? Actually, I also made a deal with the devil, in exchange for a drow woman, and—this longsword that can kill."

The ghostly mercenaries began to grind flesh with the warriors. Moraka's fighting style was unlike anyone Marcus had ever seen before. He was somewhere between a warrior and an assassin, capable of launching surprise attacks and wielding his weapon with consummate skill. He beat Marcus until he howled in pain, saying that if he was too weak, he should eat more goblins.

This was a stalemate. The duel between Moraka and Kuran was between two people who had received long-term formal training. Anyone could see the exquisiteness and precision of each move. In the arena, they would only earn a thumbs up and praise for their superb martial arts skills.

The battle between Moraz and Marcus was more like two indestructible bugs grinding meat. The mercenary could not easily kill the warrior with a single blow, beheading him or piercing his heart. He could only search for the only breakthrough in his increasingly irritable and anxious state.

But this put Marcus in his element. He enjoyed the feeling of fighting a bloody battle, and every time he swung his longsword and club, he would leave behind pieces of flesh on the ground.

Eileen, watching from the corner, clenched the hem of her clothes. She felt how ironic the scene was. The two brothers she should have trusted wanted her dead, while the young man from Linhe Town, who should have kept his distance, was fighting for her.

At the other end of the beer courtyard, Zhuo Er, who was fiddling with her newly bought pansies, suddenly stopped what she was doing.

She remained crouched among the flowerbeds, turning her head hesitantly toward the west where the church was located.

She could feel the thread trembling, just like the encounter with the snake people in the riverside forest before, Marcus was in a frenzied state of battle.

When he gets into a fight, he may seem to be cursing and swearing, but deep down he craves victory more than anyone else.

"But what does that have to do with me? I just asked if he needed any help, but he refused outright, thinking I was just a burden," Trish said softly, carefully placing the pansy's roots into the loose soil she had just dug.

Yes, compared to the warriors who only think about playing cards and drinking all day, these cute little flowers know better how to please the mistress.

Zhuoer covered the roots with soil and pressed it down, then started digging a second hole. Perhaps it was the twilight, the transition point between day and night, that made her feel uncomfortable. The small shovel, about the width of her palm, shoveled into her instep, leaving a very shallow white mark on her instep where the fine blue veins were throbbing.

No, the silk threads are trembling even more violently—

He is your servant, Trissy, your possession.

Yes, it's your private property, so no one but you can touch it; that's the mistress's right.

Trish glanced at the unfinished pit, placed the pansies aside, and went upstairs to the second floor of the living room to put on her cloak.

Bring along a powerful crossbow and a longsword.

He's a fool, a fool like the dwarves who only knows how to act recklessly. You could tell from the time he drank the voodoo potion; he does things based on...

It doesn't require using your brain.

Zhuoer quickly equipped herself and rushed from the courtyard to the church on the west side of the town. She saw soldiers and villagers shouting and cursing, and clearly sensed that Marcus was fighting inside the church.

After thinking for a moment, she decided that she couldn't go through the main gate, so she found a secluded spot, nimbly climbed over the low stone wall, and jumped to the watchtower in the churchyard.

The watchtower was level with the second floor of the church. She climbed the stairs, moved silently in the shadows, wiped out the mercenary with a crossbow, and leaped from the window to the second floor of the church, six meters away.

Infiltration was an instinct for her, but she rarely had the opportunity to use it on the surface, since Rye Wine hardly ever engaged in covert operations.

She slipped into the church and heard faint sounds coming from the floorboards on the second floor, along with the clanging of clashing swords. She immediately went to the corner of the stairs and hid in the shadows.

Marcus won't die anytime soon; that guy's life is more tenacious than a troll's.

Zhuo'er calmly observed Moraz's situation. Could there really be mortals who were immortal? She didn't believe it; it must require some kind of condition.

The shadowy, venomous snakes encircling the statue seem to be related to this—