Chapter 2

The attendant was nervously watching the battle unfold when a sudden gust of wind came from behind. Years of training and some techniques learned from the team saved this attendant. He awkwardly sidestepped, and his back instantly felt cold, then as if doused with chili water, a burning pain shot through him!

"Ah!!"

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Rick's chest heaved rapidly, and in his bony palms, he still felt the sensation of the broken blade slicing through the attendant's back muscles.

Under the blazing sun, Rick had been on guard for hours, but when the broken blade finally cut into the attendant, all his fatigue and thirst were filled with something that surged from deep within his body.

Humans, under extreme fear or external excitement, secrete something called adrenaline. Of course, it was unlikely that Rick, who couldn't even recognize a single character, would understand the complex composition of adrenaline. But at that moment, Rick knew he had never been so exhilarated.

The attendant's reaction was quick, and Rick tried to counterattack but was blocked by the short sword in the attendant's hand.

Looking at the rapidly bloodshot eyes of his opponent, Rick roared and pounced on him. This was what Old Egger had taught him: if the physical difference was too great, don't try to maintain distance.

In the moment of tackling his opponent, Rick did two things.

He grabbed the attendant's right hand holding the short sword and, without hesitation, thrust the broken blade into the attendant's body.

The attendant had undergone some basic training, but his main job was still physical labor like loading and unloading goods. Although he was stronger than Rick, he was fundamentally just an ordinary person.

In a life-and-death struggle, even a slight advantage could determine the outcome.

"Thud!"

The broken blade, driven by excessive force, deeply pierced the attendant's neck. Rick gritted his teeth, raised his arm, and viciously pulled out the broken blade. At the same time, he quickly rolled away to avoid the attendant's final strike.

The panic in the attendant's eyes disappeared, leaving only a blank stare. His body swayed, trying to stand up but unable to maintain balance. He clutched the bloody wound on his neck with both hands, and a mixture of blood and air spurted out, splashing onto the dry, yellow sand, which was particularly glaring.

The fallen body convulsed and twitched, the light in his eyes slowly fading, and he finally lay still.

Rick took a deep breath of the scorching air. The smell of blood in the air, like cotton, stirred his stomach, suppressing the itch in his throat. He exhaled a mouthful of stale air, and his eyes gradually became resolute.

Supporting himself with his hands on the ground, he quickly got up, picked up the short sword the attendant had dropped, and quickly searched the attendant's body with his left hand. A dusty money bag ended up in his hand.

Just as he put away the money bag, a sharp and mocking voice rang out from ahead: "Oh my, look at our Lord Rick, actually daring to kill someone? Did you wet your pants?"

Following the voice, a short, monkey-faced, and rather ugly young man with a limp was looking at him with a cold smile.

Rick's facial muscles twitched, but he ignored the man, his gaze lingering briefly on the relatively intact conscript uniform the man was wearing. The desert nights were cold, and Rick's tattered and limb-exposing uniform could only provide limited warmth.

Rick's indifference seemed to irritate the sensitive, monkey-faced young man. His pale brown, sinister eyes narrowed, and he leaned his head to whisper something to a boy who looked like a lackey.

The boy gave Rick a meaningful look and ran quickly to the battlefield, which was about to end. When he ran back, a few other young men in conscript uniforms followed him.

"Boss, what... what should we do?" The one asking was a tall young man, who, due to lack of food and water, had a large frame. He looked somewhat honest, and his speech was somewhat stammering and short.

The monkey-faced young man grunted a few times, trying to puff out his sunken chest. He limped a few steps under the protection of the young men, showing off his authority, and then raised the cheap dagger in his hand: "I want that guy's weapon. What do you think?"

The greedy eyes of the monkey-faced young man, like hooks, fixed on the short sword in Rick's hand.

Just as a scene of bullying the weak was about to unfold, a deep, thunderous roar came from behind: "Stop him!! Stop him!!"

Before the monkey-faced group could react, they felt something hit them, and they rolled around like bowling pins.

The tall guard, who had been thrown off his mount, still didn't give up his chance to survive. He clutched his abdominal wound with his left hand, his face covered in blood, and charged toward Rick.

Rick didn't know why the injured guard was running toward him. If he had turned around, he would have seen a well-trained, sturdy mount from the caravan, pacing restlessly nearby.

The border army's mounts, though lean, were well-trained. So even though the guard had managed to grab a mount, it didn't cooperate. After knocking down a few conscripts, it finally threw the guard off.

Rick was a normal person. When a blood-covered man with a shiny, sharp dagger in his hand ran toward him with a fierce expression, the normal reaction would be to run as far away as possible.

But before Rick could take a step, the mysterious voice in his head appeared again. As before, it was vague and indistinct, but the message was clear: "Kill this guard!"

Rick didn't know why the mysterious voice would make such a crazy demand. The guard was tall and strong, and his weapon had beautiful steel patterns. Rick was thin and weak, and his only weapon was a plain iron short sword he had just taken from the attendant. But after a brief hesitation, Rick put his feet back down.

His feet sank slightly into the scorching sand. Rick, following the techniques Old Egger had taught him, lowered his center of gravity and fixed his eyes on the guard's exquisite dagger.

The tall man's vision was already blurry, but his strong will to survive made him unwilling to give up. He never expected that among the bandits, there would be a third-level warrior apprentice.

When the tall man had killed two bandits, the third-level apprentice had found him. The opponent was cunning and deceitful. Even though he was stronger than the tall man, he used a despicable ambush.

Each breath tugged at his abdominal wound. His fingers, pressing on the wound, almost touched the soft, warm organs. After forcefully pushing a wet, intestine-like object back into his body, the tall man approached the brave young man.

His bloodshot eyes could only see the outline of the thin young man. But the tall man believed that victory would ultimately be his.

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