Warriors will die if they charge.

After two days of initial adaptation to his new respiratory system, Marcus repeatedly perused the unremarkable Immortal item, "The Warrior's Handbook."

The stories all depict how warriors bravely sacrificed themselves: traps, magic, being kicked out of the ranks and dying by the roadside, trying to trip over a giant and being trampled to death...

Of the 100 records, 36 describe deaths during a charge.

In other words, the probability of dying in a charge is 36 percent, which is very close to 100 percent!

It's a terrible fact.

The twilight sunlight, a yellowish hue, streamed through the window bars into the dilapidated wooden house. Suddenly, Marcus, who could read, cursed:

"As expected of a warrior, even a dog found on the roadside would be more useful than a soldier."

He tucked the thin parchment book under his wheat pillow. Although he had some reservations about the Immortal Roulette only producing a tattered copy, at least he didn't lose. Winning was better than losing.

Moreover, the added benefit seems to be that it allows me to understand the common language, which is a good thing.

Marcus picked up the baton provided by Captain Fielding and examined it once more.

This is a slightly curved round wooden club, resembling an Indian war club in my memory. The fist-sized top is inlaid with two sharp iron spikes, rough and deadly.

The water ghost's skin is very smooth and covered with a layer of solid scales. Ordinary swords and knives can easily deflect the force when they strike it, making it difficult to cause effective damage.

The sharp iron spike at the top of the baton can pierce the scales, while the inertia of the blunt weapon itself is enough to smash the water ghost's fragile head.

At least that's what Captain Fielding said; he also said that these ugly blue monsters were brought by outsiders.

Because these outsiders always liked to go into the woods across the river to have sex with the water ghost queen and have litter after litter of water ghost babies.

Marcus secured his baton to his waist with a slipknot, ensuring he could retrieve it at any time. He found a straight wooden stick, wrapped it with a linen lining smeared with lard, and quietly awaited the arrival of night.

The Warrior's Path

[Description: No one can accurately define a warrior. Anyone who dares to say "no" should be called a warrior. Facing the past, present and future, fighting against fear and fate... all kinds of feats are done by warriors, and you will take the first step to become a warrior by smashing a water ghost's head.]

The militia captain of Linhe Town needs you to smash the head of a water ghost to prove you're a true warrior.

How you break through, whether alone or with allies, whether recklessly forging ahead or meticulously preparing—a warrior cannot be defined, and what kind of warrior will you become?

[Mission Reward: Common-grade Card Scroll x1]

Marcus was quite confident in his abilities. His body was very strong, and years of working at the docks to move goods had made his arms as thick as stone blocks.

His gradually adapted theropod respiratory system gave him unimaginable stamina. He ran around Linhe Town several times during the day, nearly 30 kilometers, and only slightly sweated on his forehead, without panting or taking deep breaths.

From a body that felt like its lungs were burning after running 3,000 meters in its past life, it's now practically a superman.

Encountering a lone water ghost is not difficult to deal with.

Night had fallen, and Marcus lit a torch stained with grease, then went out of his house alone.

Captain Fielding sent him to hunt a water ghost, and suggested he find an experienced person to lead the hunt.

Marcus repeatedly consulted the Warrior's Handbook and found no record of a warrior dying at the hands of the water ghost.

Since there is none, it means they definitely won't die.

Since we won't die, let's just get straight to the point and get the card quickly so we can take on the next mission.

The night was dark and windy, the stars and moon hidden behind the clouds. Marcus walked along the riverbank, the firelight illuminating the dilapidated dock, the boardwalk creaking under his heavy footsteps.

Finding the water ghost is a troublesome matter.

In June, the Nikkalo River is like a whore, carrying debris, mud, and floating corpses from the upstream forest into the lake's mouth. The monsters lurking in the rushing water are her foul curses. Just when you can't help but want to retort, you're dragged in to do some unspeakable sordid things with the water ghost queen.

The shadows stretched longer in the firelight, and the bushes along the riverbank rustled restlessly. Most people who tried to find treasure inside ended up with their legs covered in bite marks left by the rotten teeth of goblins.

Marcus walked a long way, his torch burning halfway down, but still couldn't find a trace of a water ghost.

He looked around, puzzled. The chirping of cicadas and the hooting of owls suddenly disappeared. The rushing water lapped against the rocks on the shore, dispersing into a cloud of white mist, carrying the earthy smell into his nostrils.

"Didn't they say you'd run into a water ghost every two steps outside town? I haven't seen a single drop of water ghost poop. Are these guys just lies the Baron used to fool the unruly people and make us work hard and pay taxes?"

A loud hissing sound came from the bushes not far from the riverbank. Through the firelight, Marcus could vaguely make out a figure that was barely tall enough to step over the bushes...

He rubbed his eyes hard to make sure he wasn't seeing things.

A dwarf with thick black hair and beard ran swiftly through the forest at a speed that defied his physical structure, shifting his sturdy body from side to side, wielding a powerful crossbow and deftly weaving through the dense bushes.

A group of goblins wielding crude iron spears followed closely behind the dwarf, their mouths full of yellowish fangs emitting sharp cries as they frantically darted through the forest.

The firelight shone on the dwarf's bright eyes, and he immediately looked up and shouted in the rough, strangely accented Common tongue of Marcus on the banks of the River:

"Hey, big guy, come help me out! Bardin's being chased around in the woods like a rat in a mine. You don't want the goblins eating hard dwarf flesh, do you? Ahahaha."

Warrior's Handbook, Article 23: If you encounter a dwarf being chased by goblins, be sure to help him. He can help you repair the armor damaged during your adventure, never retreat in battle, and become your most steadfast ally.

—High warrior Asoron, keeping his oath, died alongside his dwarven friend in the desecrated tomb of their ancestors.

Marcus thought for a moment. The Warrior's Handbook only had one record about helping dwarves, stating that the probability of death was only one percent, and the chance of survival was quite high as long as they didn't charge.

We have to gamble!

He drew his rough battle staff from his waist and waved the torch to give Bardin a direction: "This way! Brother Dwarf."

"Big guy, behind you!"

The dwarf Bardin's shout made Marcus stop waving his torch, grip his baton tightly, and quickly turn around.

Two slippery, fish-like shadows slid silently across the damp riverbank. The water ghost ahead, realizing it had been spotted, sprang up from the ground, its mouth agape at a 150-degree angle, resembling a hippopotamus capable of swallowing itself whole.

In the dim firelight, one could clearly see the dense array of barbed teeth inside the monster's mouth.

Marcus heard a bang behind him as a crossbow bolt grazed the gap between the torch and his shoulder.

A powerful gust of air dragged flames across his face, and just as he was swinging his baton to meet the enemy, it struck the water ghost squarely in the eye socket.

The water ghost fell to the ground with a thud, and Marcus's nostrils were filled with a stench. He swung his baton, drawing a semi-circular arc in the firelight, the whistling sound of it cutting through the air filled with pressure.

He smiled politely at the drowsy man who hadn't yet realized the seriousness of the situation: "Your luck is on the way."

The baton struck the water ghost's arm from the side, the iron spike pierced its scales, and the hardwood hammerhead clanged loudly as it struck the ghost. Broken bones shattered and pierced its skin, staining the ghost's eerie blue skin crimson.

With a contorted, struggling expression of pain, Marcus turned around in the blink of an eye, circled around the water ghost, and kicked it in the back of the knee.

The water ghost lost its balance, its body tilting and stumbling forward. Just before it hit the ground, the blood-stained, rough war club struck the back of its head.

In just a few seconds, a corpse with its head half-buried in the ground joined the speed bumps, drops of sticky blood from the rough surface of the battle club falling onto the muddy ground.

Marcus saw that the water ghost, with an arrow lodged in its eye socket, was still wriggling, so he stepped forward and struck it twice more with his stick to ensure that it could no longer harm the innocent men of Linhe Town.

[Mission Completed: Hunting the Water Ghost]

He wanted to draw the prize immediately, but things took a turn for the worse; a group of shadows were wriggling on the water's surface.

Did we stir up a den of thieves?

The dwarf Bardin calmly ran to the big man's side, hung the crossbow containing the life-saving arrow on his shield, looked at the goblin on his left and the water ghost on his right, and laughed, "Big man, we're about to have a big fight, ahahaha!"