"...What do you mean?" The two Chosen were baffled.
"Your three opponents: Fish-Swallower Stan is a cunning old weakling. Just don't fall for his act of weakness;
Little Blacksmith is a brute who only uses heavy attacks. Stay nimble and he's just a target;
Jonah of the Great Black Tree is agile, but if you, swordsman, can trade blows with me, you can handle him easily too.
Also..."
Chen Xu asked the Sergeant for a map of Velen and began marking some easy quests and monsters:
"Here. The Nilfgaardians here are hiring people to deal with Ghouls, and some bandits to the west have captured a merchant.
And these contracts in the outlying villages aren't difficult. You two should be able to handle them.
If you're confident enough, you can also challenge the werewolf here. Too bad there are only two of you left, or you could take quests over an even wider area."
"All of these together should net you at least a thousand experience and points. The information came from my witcher friend.
And my only requirement is that you settle your debt to me first."
The Chosen with the mangled hand swallowed and asked incredulously, "With information like this, why don't you do it yourself?"
Chen Xu looked at him with a half-smile, and he seemed to understand:
These scraps weren't worth his time?
"Why should we believe you?" The swordsman certainly lived up to his knack for being a prick.
He needed constant reminders.
"Of course you don't have to believe me. Pay 100 points and leave. But what about next time?"
Had Chen Xu entered the battlefield voluntarily?
No.
He didn't believe these people could simply leave whenever they pleased:
"If you give up these thousand-plus experience and points, the gap between us will only grow!
And the people I hate most are those who don't pay their debts."
"If you dare run, you'll face an even stronger me next time. This is my first time entering a battlefield. Do you think cowards like you have a chance of turning things around?
Leave, and you die.
Why not take these resources and stake everything on getting revenge on me?"
He whispered like a devil, threatening and tempting them, leaving the two no room to choose.
The swordsman snatched the map and said with determination in his eyes:
"You'll regret this."
"Wait. Give me something you carry on you." As Chen Xu spoke, he swiftly plucked a long hair from the head of the Chosen with the mangled hand before the man could react.
"What are you doing!" The swordsman was so alarmed that he drew his sword.
Flesh, skin, and hair could all be used for curses. Legends even spoke of powerful beings who could use them to locate their owners.
He had forgotten, however, that before leaving the battlefield, these ungridded objects that could not be gridded would all be held back.
Chen Xu turned his hand over, and the strand of hair vanished into thin air.
This wasn't sleight of hand, but the storage space Chen Xu had just redeemed;
he had set its entrance in his palm for easy storage and retrieval.
"There are too many idiots in this world who can't read the situation. Of course, I'm not talking about you two." Chen Xu had figured it out-not everyone had received nine years of compulsory education:
"But you can never be too careful. I know [Tracking Technique]. Can't you see it?"
He suddenly probed them, carefully watching their reactions.
They looked utterly bewildered, even a little cute.
"Heh, of course you can't see it. But do you dare not believe me?"
He laughed it off. The swordsman's face flushed red with anger again. He tossed over a copper coin he carried and furiously dragged his teammate away;
this fellow had such a rotten personality that if he stayed any longer, he feared he wouldn't be able to restrain his surging sword intent!
The copper coin flipped and danced between Chen Xu's fingers. Thoroughly satisfied, he tipped his chin at the Sergeant, turned, and left.
So they really couldn't see it!
He guessed that the god sheltering him must hold an extraordinary position on the battlefield.
Otherwise, why was almost everyone else's information laid bare before his eyes?
Only a [Talent] field remained to cover their shame!
But judging by this, the bullshit god who had taken the form of Gaunter O'Dimm seemed even more terrifying.
He wandered into the kitchen. It wasn't mealtime yet, but some fresh desserts were available.
Chen Xu took out thirty crowns outright and asked the cook to prepare more food for him.
The Baron's cook was quite good. He needed to make use of his storage space; going hungry was very unpleasant.
After arranging for both meat and vegetables, he carried a tray of madeleine-like cakes and a jug of fresh hot milk upstairs to check on the witcher and sorceress's recovery.
Standing outside the lavishly decorated wooden door, he heard the bed creaking and sheepishly withdrew the hand he had raised to knock.
In the past, he might have felt envious, but now that he had witnessed Fringilla's pure, unclouded stupidity, he instead felt sorry for the White Wolf.
For a responsible man, having that physical relationship would subconsciously give rise to a sense of responsibility.
To be saddled with an idiot like that...
Heh. Good thing the White Wolf was the protagonist.
The moment the kitten-like cries inside subsided, Chen Xu timed it perfectly and banged on the wooden door.
A flurry of frantic dressing followed. He curled his lips and waited for the man to open the door.
Sure enough, the White Wolf opened it. Seeing Chen Xu carrying food, his trace of displeasure at being interrupted vanished in an instant.
"Oh, Pro. Come in."
He stepped aside, then sat opposite Chen Xu at the coffee table. He grabbed the cakes, crisp on the outside with soft, sweet plum jam inside, and ate them in single bites. He really did seem hungry.
"How was your rest?" Chen Xu smiled meaningfully, more concerned about the rate at which his dark energy was recovering.
That smile was two parts disdain, one part envy, and seven parts pity, making the White Wolf deeply uncomfortable:
"Fine. Need something?"
Fine, my ass. His dark energy had only recovered by twelve units, not even twenty-six percent, and he still had the nerve to waste his energy in this state?
How could a tool just focus on enjoying himself instead of finding ways to improve his service?
He could never have imagined that the sorceress had been the one to initiate it, driven by psychological pressure and guilt.
"Nothing. Remember what you said in White Orchard? That you could teach me a few moves the next time we met." Chen Xu had just picked up a cake when the sorceress emerged from the washroom behind him and snatched it away.
He was very displeased now.
"With your little repertoire, you've got the nerve to teach him?"
Fringilla poured herself a cup of warm milk and mocked the servant who had just spared no effort in attending to her.
As far as the sorceress knew, Chen Xu was probably the strongest mortal she had ever met, possibly stronger than even Zhaotian Zhi, who seemed to have berserker blood.
Honestly, she really did think the White Wolf was overestimating himself.
"Why are you looking at me?" She suddenly sensed Chen Xu's gaze.
Chen Xu waved a hand to indicate it was nothing.
[Detection] had still been noticed. Unless it was used on someone familiar who had fought alongside him, it could easily provoke a dispute.
The effect was something like:
What are you looking at?
You. Got a problem with that?
If a god was going to offer protection, they should do it properly. Letting people notice [Detection] was simply the greatest flaw.
This one had recovered quite well, though. Her dark energy had already replenished to over forty-five percent.
Sure enough, no field was ever plowed to ruin; only the beasts pulling the plow died of exhaustion.
"You think I'm not qualified to teach him?" Geralt raised the left corner of his mouth slightly. Anyone who knew him knew that this wasn't merely amusement, but also an expression of displeasure:
Fringilla was good in every way except that she was stupid.
Pro might have a few tricks;
but compared with him, the great sword saint of the North, the Butcher of Blaviken, a veteran pile driver nearly a hundred years old, he was still a little green.
"Oh, darling, you've misunderstood. In my heart, you'll always be the strongest!"
The sorceress bent down and "doted" on the White Wolf, stroking his cheek and unwittingly starting a dispute.
Never use the word "always" to compliment a man.
We men know perfectly well that we can't always be the strongest. Why say something so fake?
It was pure passive aggression.
The White Wolf shot to his feet, then choked on the cake in his mouth and pounded his chest twice. Chen Xu hurriedly passed him the milk.
"Phew-thanks! Come on! Let's see whether you've got any aptitude!"