What would I do? Muhadi smiled bitterly in his heart. He had just crossed over, and he didn't know anything, so naturally he couldn't do anything. But if you say that now, definitely not.
"Maybe he can read? Look at the thick book he's carrying," Fatuma suggested. "If he's really a son of a nobleman. We can get him to hand the tribe's paperwork. The old man Karim mentioned several times. There's a shortage of people."
"What do you say?" the leader asked solemnly, watching Mohadi with almond-yellow eyes, the light of the fire casting shadows on his statuesque face.
It's a pity that he doesn't happen to be a son of a nobleman, Muhadi thought bitterly, and although he can speak the language of this world inexplicably, the text information has not been found in his mind at all. When I tried to flip through that book in the desert before, I couldn't understand a single word.
"I'm afraid I'm not good at writing." Muhadi thought for a while, and finally had a decisive and calm answer.
Fatuma glared at him angrily, but saw Muhadi continue. "I'm good at a greater art, I'm good at this..."
In the desert, Muhadi unexpectedly discovered that he had the ability to move objects, which he did not intend to expose. But now the situation is compulsive, and it has to be done. If they can't prove themselves useful, maybe these elf barbarians will do something. Muhadi cares about it, since this is a fantasy world, then perhaps the existence of this ability is not a taboo, but will be valued by people. Of course, if this ability is too common, that's not good, because then he still can't prove his worth.
Therefore, Muhadi carefully opened the scene with a colorful tone of performance. Then he stretched out his right hand, and his eyes shone slightly. Immediately, a fine sand on the ground rose slowly against gravity, and gradually rose and rose under the gaze of everyone. .
There was admiration in the eyes of some people around him, and Muhadi knew that he had made the right bet. This is indeed an ability to be valued by others. The old leader stroked his bushy beard and said slowly, "Psionicist."
The old leader took a serious look at this weird young man. There are too many suspicious things about him, so he is definitely not a spy from a business family. Those people would never use such a noticeable kid as a spy. He couldn't possibly be part of the caravan that was chasing. Others couldn't see it, but the leader himself could see from various signs that the caravan never passed the place where he appeared. Besides, no one would ever use a psionicist as an undercover agent.
How to treat him? The leader thought to himself, Fatuma was interested in him, yes. But the Scorpio tribe has no place for the weak. Even a slave is too weak to be worthless, only a burden. It's time for someone to try his psychic powers.
"A weak bird, only the most basic psionic power, what's so great." The warrior named Hassan spoke, and it seemed that his breath was still alive.
Seeing that Hassan started to be impulsive again, the leader didn't have any intention of stopping this time.
"But still a psionicist, Hassan." Fatuma smiled sarcastically, and interrupted again. "In addition to the words below, my slave has another ability that you can never master in your life."
Muhadi now understands the customs of these nomadic elf tribes. They not only dress like the Bedouins on the earth, but even the rough and sturdy customs are like the nomads in the valley of Najd in the Arabian Peninsula. In this kind of society, if you want to be valued by others, you must show your ability. In addition, this girl's master, Fatuma, has defended himself several times, and may be a useful backer. Now trapped in the depths of the desert, there is no need to rush to escape.
Muhadi took a deep breath, then stood up, and said calmly, "Yes. I am a psionicist..." Although he didn't know what a psionicist meant a quarter of an hour ago, Muhadi still spoke boldly. go down. "...And you, Samurai Hassan, you insulted me just now."
Hassan glanced sideways in the leader's direction, then said it out loud. "Why, strange boy, you don't accept it? Come and suck the big bird of Uncle Hassan, gain some experience, and you won't be at a loss when you want to serve your bitch master in the future."
Muhadi blushed, let's use this man, he thought angrily, let these elves learn to look at themselves. "I'm going to duel with you. Fatuma, my master..." Muhadi felt a tinge of numbness and discomfort as he uttered the word master, but forced himself to continue "...please allow me to kill this man , honor your name."
There was a sudden silence around, and Fatumai looked at Muhadi with more admiration and worry. Hassan laughed, as if he had heard a joke. The leader stared blankly at the progress of the farce.
"A slave, dare to challenge a warrior!" Hassan shouted, and pulled out a machete, the sword pointed at the positions of Muhadi and Fatuma. "Show your weapon, but you won't see how Uncle Hassan chopped off your head until you die."
The crowd around the fire seemed to have suddenly found the voice again. Since the leader didn't seem to object this time, the elf riders began to roar again, "Fight! Fight! Fight!" "Teach this brown-eyed boy a lesson!"
Fatuma put his head close and whispered into Muhadi's ear, hot and itchy, "You're more useful than I thought at first, but you have to give me the fuck to live until I use you. What weapon do you use?"
Muhadi paused and said, "Scimitar."
Fatuma immediately took out a machete from the waist of a warrior beside him and handed it to Muhadi, not forgetting to whisper in his ear "Hassan has a flaw in his right waist." The machete was snatched by Fatumai. The samurai wanted to stand up angrily, but Suppei was kicked in the face by Fatuma, so he had to step aside cursing. Fatumai handed the knife in his hand, dictating in a timely manner, and driving people with his feet, with a pair of three, but he seemed to be at ease.
Muhadi took the machete and tried it with his hands. It was a little heavy. After all, his body after transmigration was only fourteen or fifteen years old, and it was no stronger than his original body. The blade of the machete is not made of metal, but made of something like obsidian. Muhadi frowned, this thing is definitely not as easy to use as a metal machete. But seeing Hassan also holding a machete of this material, he was relieved.
Seeing that Muhadi got the weapon, Hassan roared and jumped over the fire to kill him. For a while, sparks and sawdust were scattered, and nothing could be seen clearly. Hassan's machete was raised above his head, and the thunder slashed down.
Muhadi dodged the blow and slid two steps sideways. In the last world, he was a fighting enthusiast, dabbled in everything from kickboxing to Gracie Jiu-Jitsu, and practiced both traditional machete fighting skills, German two-handed swords, and Japanese kendo. Coupled with the development of information on the earth, I have watched countless videos of masters. Therefore, although this physical strength is not enough, the vision and skills are still there, which is also a source of confidence for him to dare to challenge just now.
Muhadi knew that with his current body, he could not defeat the warrior named Hassan head-on. But not without a chance. When fighting women and children, many people get very impatient because they worry that they will be despised for not being able to pick up each other quickly. Muhadi was going to take advantage of this, roaming, dodging, until Hassan himself showed his flaws.
What I have to admit is that although this Hassan is irritable and irritable, his swordsmanship is calm and rigorous, his footsteps are solid and flexible, and he is definitely a first-class master. He still underestimated his opponent, Mohadi thought, he didn't expect anyone in this world to have this level.
Hassan was dodged several times in a row, grabbed the front half of his body, and slashed sideways. Muhadi leaned back to avoid it, and then rolled back with momentum, avoiding Hassan's pursuit.
"How long do you want to dodge?" Hassan shouted, and everyone around backed away to make way for a space, only Fatuma remained in place, said sarcastically. "What a dull trick! You shouldn't always learn swordsmanship from the old nanny in the tribe. After all, you are still faster than the old ladies--a little bit."
Hassan ignored her and focused on dealing with Muhadi. Every strike was astonishing and faint. The latter seems to have been completely suppressed, and there is no chance of a comeback.
Is there a flaw in the right waist? Muhadi remembered Fatuma's tip, but Hassan's speed was too fast, and if he attacked rashly, the best result would be nothing but a lose-lose.
Muhadi kicked the sand in front of him, blocking the opponent's sight, and then quickly dodged to the opponent's right side, intending to go around. Hassan took only half a step back, but kept the light source behind him. He has the instincts of a warrior, Muhadi thought, and he knows his weakness and protects his right waist well.
The onlookers pointed and pointed, talking and laughing. Muhadi suddenly roared, lowered his body and rushed forward. Hassan was blocked by the knife. For the first time since the fight began, Muhadi and Hassan began fighting. Aside from the initial moment of surprise, Hassan immediately gained the upper hand with his great strength. Fatuma pursed his lips, and some onlookers were excited because they were about to see blood.
Muhadi seemed to have finally lost his strength and gave up his sword and retreated, but Hassan had not had time to pursue him. Mohadi's machete, which had been released from his hands, did not fall to the ground, but drew a semi-circle around the contact point of the two knives and slashed on Hassan's wrist.
"Psionics! You bastard!" Hassan yelled. Due to the limited power of the envoy's psionic energy, the slash was not deep, but Muhadi did not hesitate to show his psionic energy immediately, and recalled the knife to his own hands. Then rolled forward, dodging behind Hassan.
Hassan was wounded in one hand, slowed down, and was eager to save his face, ignoring defenses. He could not cut the figure that Muhadi turned over from his side. Fortunately, he was extremely experienced in combat. Although he was not injured, he immediately swept his legs behind him, hitting Muhadi's chest. The boy flew out heavily and landed a few feet away. Hassan handed the knife to his uninjured left hand and stepped forward, ready to stab the hateful slave once and for all.
when! The obsidian machete bit into another machete. Fatuma couldn't bear it, and the machete flew away immediately, but the dagger she was holding in her other hand had already pressed against Hassan's left chest.
"Enough!" the leader shouted, using his eyes to force the two people in the field to withdraw their weapons and step back half a step. Only then did Muhadi get up in a cold sweat, and the feeling of life and death just now made him linger in fear.
"This farce ends here," the leader ordered. "This slave can hurt Hassan, and it's useful. As for the two of you," he looked at Fatuma and Hassan, "this time, private fights are prohibited before returning to the tribe. . Even if you are the chief's daughter, there is no exception."