I Have a Few Too Many Trump Cards

After buying the Bag of Holding, Pan Long still had some money left. He bought nothing else and could not be bothered to earn more. Instead, he returned to the Friendly Arm and stayed there for a while to rest and recover.

He had been in this world for nearly a month. More than once, he had killed until blood ran like a river, leaving heaps of corpses in his wake. That was hardly good for him; it had taken a considerable toll on his mind.

Even veterans who had killed countless people on the battlefield needed to return to the rear every six months or a year and rest for a while. They needed to let their nerves settle and their minds shift from "war" back to "life."

Pan Long had not been quite himself lately, either. He needed time to recover and return to normal.

So for the next stretch of time, apart from finding a training ground near the inn where he practiced every day and familiarized himself with his various martial arts, he spent his days in the common room, eating, drinking, and chatting with the Wine drinkers.

The Friendly Arm was not expensive. As long as he did not order extravagantly or drink Wine, one Jin coin was enough to while away a day.

He idled through his days like that. Gradually, his mind relaxed, and the killing aura he had accumulated faded. Slowly, he came to resemble the young man who had first entered this world: someone fresh out of the gate.

But he knew that, deep inside, some things had changed for good.

He could wash the blood from his hands and let the killing aura fade, but his experiences would not vanish. What he had learned from killing was engraved deep in