A look of helplessness appeared on his face as he shrugged at the other party.
"It’s because we have a normal person like you in the team; otherwise, spending ten days to half a month with these guys, I wouldn’t know how to get by."
Still returning with a smile, Cornell lay back on his recliner, his head on a silk cushion. With a slight mental focus, a petite teacup on the tray beside him floated steadily, obediently hovering to his mouth.
He sipped the tea lightly, savoring the lingering fragrance on his tongue.
His attention returned to the book in his hand, which was several inches thicker than a brick.
Through the gaps between his fingers, the title printed on the cover could be vaguely seen:
"Dialectal Variations in Giant Language: From Thunderous to Stone-Tremor Phonetics"
"You’ve been reading this book for several days now. I remember you bought it in Neum, right?" The elf looked at the heavy book in Cornell’s hand and clicked his tongue, "Besides a mage like you, does anyone else really read these hefty tomes?"
Cornell simply shook his head at this.
"Just a hobby, unrelated to spellcraft."
"Now that you mention it, that’s true." The mage’s answer seemed to stir a memory in the elf, whose race-specific exquisite face showed a hint of agreement.
"I remember before I left..."
Before he could finish, a loud noise suddenly erupted in the nearby forest.
The mist that had originally flowed gently in the air suddenly halted, magic particles became chaotic, and strands of cold seeped into the camp.
In his vision, a figure with a burly stature could be vaguely seen, shrouded in dazzling flames after triggering numerous magic traps, rapidly approaching the camp.
This fearless approach through various traps should have made the whole team tense up against such a powerful enemy.
Yet, neither the human warrior meticulously maintaining his weapon, nor the elf leaning against a tree trunk, displayed any preparation to fight.
The latter even had a hint of a joke on his lips as he looked at Cornell beside him.
A burly figure burst out of the forest brush, accompanied by the sound of breaking branches and flying leaves.
The green-skinned surface was still stained with goblin blood, and he wore the same Totem Chest Armor.
With legs as sturdy as elephant trunks, the Half-Orc walked straight to the mage.
"Volga, hungry, hot meat, eat!"
Cornell looked at the Half-Orc in front of him, who had just destroyed all the traps he had set, and his eyes were filled with deep helplessness.
"Didn’t I say already, there’s a mark on you, so when you come back..."
Having said it countless times, he glanced at the saliva dripping from the other’s mouth, and decided not to waste more words.
With a casual wave, a ring on his finger flashed with a silver light.
Instantly, silver lights flickered, transforming into several large, aromatic servings of prepared beast meat, which fell into prearranged dishes on the ground.
The Half-Orc Volga unceremoniously dove in, feasting like a starved beast.
After eating, he picked the last bits of meat from between his teeth with a twig, burped contentedly, and fell asleep with a thunderous snore.
It hadn’t even been ten minutes since he returned to the camp.
Volga’s profession was special, seemingly a variant under the "barbarian" category, using "Anger" as a core source of power.
Though it granted him explosive power far beyond the average professional, with every breath and heartbeat, the rage in his heart silently built up.
Releasing it periodically was necessary; otherwise, it would exceed his limits, leading to uncontrollable fury.
Thus, the team was quite used to Volga’s sudden departures.
Moreover, being on the outskirts of Mist Forest, there were hardly any creatures to threaten them, rendering his solitary actions relatively safe.
After taking some time to rebuild the traps destroyed by the Half-Orc, Cornell sat back into his recliner.
The golden-haired elf nearby idly wielded a twig, as if sketching the air.
Glancing at the bloodstains on the Half-Orc, he seemed to recall some topic discussed by professionals on the Association Second Floor before leaving town, and casually remarked:
"Hunting Day... I’ve heard there are a lot more goblins this year than before, and many adventurer teams in town haven’t returned."
"Isn’t it every year?" Cornell flipped through the pages, his gaze sweeping over the densely packed characters without lifting his head as he responded, "Adventurers exchange their lives for money, it’s quite normal."