The feeling of a headache is always overwhelming, it is not as clear and targeted as the pain of other limbs, and the headache is always mixed with vertigo, dizziness and an indescribable sense of confusion. The brain is the processing center of the human body, and any problems with it will directly affect the body's ability to think. This is more devastating for those who have to work even when they are sick, than the damage to their limbs.

"Whoa!" Marcus swept his arm and brutally threw the ink-filled bottle off the table. The waitress in the tent hurried forward, trying to save the day before the ink further contaminated the carpet on the floor. However, his actions apparently made the irritated Hand of the King feel uncomfortable, and Marcus shouted without raising his head, "Get out of here!"

The waitress hesitated, and the fat Sir had risen from his seat, grabbed the scepter at his feet, and made a gesture to strike the waiter. Of course, Marcus wasn't that brutal yet, he just wanted to get the other party out of the tent as soon as possible in this way. And it turned out that the stick knocked down in the face was indeed more effective than any order, and the waitress ran out of the tent with a rolling belt, begging for mercy without stopping, as if Marcus had not a scepter but a steel knife in his hand.

"Pretentious bastards, nasty finesses. Driving the waitress away, Marcus swore and walked back to his seat. But in these few steps, the dizziness caused by his headache made him fall irrepressibly towards his right hand, but fortunately he still had the scepter in his hand. The scepter covered in gold and silver, with a white lion carved on the top, was a symbol of power second only to the king, but now, this thing that countless people had been thinking about could only become a crutch for Marcus to keep himself from falling.

Damn headache. The king's hand rubbed his brow vigorously, hoping to relieve the dizziness caused by the headache. This unprovoked torture had been upon him for a few days, and the constant intrusion day and night had brought Marcus to the brink of patience. He could have taken advantage of the maid, he knew that the other nobles had planted a spy on his side, and if he gave her a little bit of information, he could make this spy his pawn at a critical moment. But Marcus's head hurt so much that he was in no mood to lay it out anymore and think about the deceitful aristocratic struggles, and now he was like a sick lion, who could only protect his dignity by roaring and waving his claws.

The bloated sick lion staggered back behind his desk, he looked at the silver lion on the top of the scepter in his hand, and smiled sarcastically, "Hand of the King, without the Hand of the King, where did the Hand of the King come from?" he said, he raised the staff and wanted to throw it away, but after thinking about it, he withdrew his arm and put it at his feet.

After doing all this, Marcus felt his spirits lifted a little, and he wanted to continue to correct the papers on the table, only to find that the inkwell had spilled a little when it fell, completely covering several pieces of text. Damn it. Again, he thought so. At this moment, the outside of the tent began to be noisy, and the King's Hand frowned, he wanted to quiet the people outside by shouting, but he could not raise so much strength.

Fortunately, the commotion quickly subsided. At the same time, the curtain of the tent was lifted. "I told you to get out. Marcus put his face in the crook of his arm on the table, his voice muffled from it.

"Really, why don't I seem to have heard you say that?" came some old but resolute voice. The king's hand immediately raised his head, and he saw that the person who was bowing his head into the tent was not the maid before, but a knight in full armor, with a badge pinned to his chest, which symbolized the status of the Grand Master, and held the burqa outside the armor.

"Lord Atticus, how could you—" Marcus tried to stand up, but his brain was dizzy from the violent movement, and he sat back down on his feet.

The Iron Knight was silent for a moment when he saw this, then stepped closer, "I thought that being sick was just an excuse for you not wanting to socialize too much. Now it seems that you had better go and show the pharmacist, your face looks worse than a dead man. ”

"I'm going to give my head a hammer right now, this damn headache has kept me from closing my eyes in days. But go to the pharmacist, I'm afraid they'll cure me like a big fat rat!" Marcus said exaggeratedly, apparently Cheese had informed him of the rat-man plague and the Apothecary's Guild. And even if the mage didn't do this, combined with the sudden outbreak of rat-man epidemics in many cities, the Apothecary Association would not be able to get rid of it.

Atticus nodded, honestly he wasn't sure if the pharmacists' guild had been cleaned of the moths or not. "Well, if you don't recommend some new treatments, there should be someone in the people I bring who can help you. ”

"I refuse the dwarven cure, I heard they will use the mud from their shoes as a cure!" said the King's Hand, looking horrified, telling him to drink that kind of stuff rather than let him die.

"Not dwarves. The Hammer Duke did not go with me. He's working on something with the survivors of Molten Iron City, and maybe he'll come over when he's done. The Iron Knight shook his head, a wry smile. He focused his gaze on the Greylion map behind Marcus, focusing on the location of the Molten Iron City. There is no doubt that André is a worthy lord, and the Hammer Realm he rules is the most dynamic realm in the entire kingdom. But the only reason the dwarf had stayed with the Glaslion was the fact that Sigurt was his friend. Now that the king is dead, no matter who dies at whom's hand, it seems that the dwarves have no point in staying in this human kingdom. And if the Grand Duke of Fierce Hammer really leaves, I am afraid that it will be even more unfavorable for the current situation of the blue lion.

Marcus noticed the knight's gaze, and he sighed, "If the Hammerlord loses its lord, it will be more than just a loss for the kingdom. The guys outside the tent would fight like crazy for the land and wealth he left behind, especially the fortified castles, which were irresistible temptations for any family. Without the king's constraints, no one could stop them. Even at the worst possible point, if we don't elect a king in time who is recognized by everyone, the whole kingdom may be divided. ”

He said, playing with the wooden marker on the table, a chess piece carved in the shape of a nezumi, "The shared hatred of the nezumi is the only lifeblood that sustains the kingdom right now. At least for now, anyone who wants to eat cake before the revenge is avenged will be killed by the others. But what about then? Salon Collar is not far from us. ”