That's right, that's what adventure is like!

Silver fly.

This is a rare parasite found only in the wilderness. The adult is about the size of a fingernail, and its exoskeleton appears a cold, silvery-gray under light. It flies silently.

But it's not famous for its appearance, but for its habits.

Most blood-sucking insects will leave on their own after biting a creature, but this is not the case with silver fly.

It actively chooses its preferred host, lays its eggs in the wound from the bite, and lets the larvae feed on the host's accumulated blood clots along the blood vessels.

Strangely, most of the parasitized prey do not drive away the silver fly larvae inside their bodies, because its mouthparts can secrete an acidic liquid with paralyzing properties, causing the host to develop a psychological dependence on it.

Among adventurers, there is also a group of people with similar habits to the silverfly.

They joined the team with the sole purpose of "leeching off" others, first demonstrating their symbiotic value to obtain sustainable benefits and provide nourishment for their own growth.

However, once it truly grows up, and the benefits provided by the team are no longer sufficient to meet its needs, the "Silver Fly" will instantly turn on its host and devour the entire team.

In some ways, this is more terrifying than a burden in the team, because you can't tell whether the teammate who always greets you with a smile is a silver fly.

She wouldn't even know if she could no longer satisfy his appetite.

The half-elf Roland had just seen was clearly a "silver fly".

— "Bald head, left elbow joint, old injury"

—"The wanderer, greed, gold coins."

— "Profit margin, 80%."

The writing on the stone shimmered clearly in the sunlight, simply outlining the weaknesses of the two teammates and proposing trade terms.

80%.

If he wanted to get the half-elves to betray the team and squeeze out their last bit of value, then he would have to keep 80% of the profits from the two of them.

Is it believable?

Yogurt's sharp gaze fell upon the tiny, arrow-like markings, her eyes filled with suspicion.

The trustworthiness of adventurers like these silverflies is always questionable; no one can say for sure whether they are part of a trap set by two other people.

The team is named "Silver Fly," don't they realize that their teammates have someone like that?

Roland didn't speak, but instead took the coin out of the lining.

Now is a good opportunity to experiment with new effects of coins.

The lost coin lay quietly in his palm, cold and silent. The dents on its edges looked somewhat deep in the sunlight. He gripped it tightly, closed his eyes, and let his attention immerse itself in its coldness.

Commitment, transaction.

The writing left by the half-elf meets both of these conditions.

The coin started to heat up.

Unlike the obvious faint light when observing battlefield traces, a restrained, warm aura climbs along the palm lines, bringing a strange sense of lightness.

There are no images or sounds, only the lingering aftertaste of perception.

It felt like touching the residual body heat on the wall, suggesting that someone had leaned against it not long ago.

The writing on the stone is consistent in depth, without any pauses or corrections, but rather written in one continuous stroke, as if it were an assessment or price quote made countless times.

When the half-elf left those words, he did not hesitate or fear. Just as when he was hunting, his heart rate remained at a normal level, with his fingers resting on the bowstring.

The coin reached its peak heat level and then cooled down.

"I'm not lying."

Roland opened his eyes and said.

Yogurt shifted her gaze from the stone to his face, somewhat surprised by his sudden certainty, while also waiting for him to continue.

"What he said is true," Roland said, pulling the coin back to his chest and feeling its warmth. "His teammates' weaknesses, his price, and... he was indeed prepared to betray them."

"But he might betray us again," Yog said in a low voice.

Roland nodded: "Yes, but at least this information is true."

"In addition, he has probably already done a combat capability assessment and knows that neither we nor he can take down the other two on his own, so he sought cooperation."

Yogurt fell silent.

He had already learned some stealth techniques from the ranger, but he was still quickly discovered by that bald, muscular man, which speaks volumes.

"Let's go," Roland said, walking first towards where the horses were tied. "We still have some time. Teach me some riding techniques first, and then we'll act when the opportunity arises."

"OK."

……

As dusk settled, the road finally became deserted.

Yogurt's lessons are brief and practical: how to use your thighs to share the discomfort of the bumps, how to match the horse's rhythm when it accelerates, and how to better control the direction with the reins.

Under such guidance, Roland rapidly improved his skills and was able to briefly take his hands off the reins while running.

As the horse's hooves trod the last stretch of mud, the scenery ahead suddenly changed.

Deadwood forest.

Vast swathes of dead trees, as if swept away by a plague, stubbornly refused to fall, their twisted forms outlined in the gray and white light, their bark peeling away to reveal their pale interiors.

The air was filled with a slightly metallic, mineral smell, mixed with the unique aroma of decaying leaves and branches.

"Be careful, they're here."

Roland reined in his horse, his gaze sweeping over the edge of the deadwood forest to a relatively open clearing in the middle.

Despite the numerous obstacles, it was still possible to make out the situation inside with a grudging sense.

The Silverfly Squad has already set up camp.

The carriage was parked next to an exceptionally large, dead tree, and the two horses, unsaddled, were grazing.

Ms. Barlow did not get out of the car; only a small lamp shone through the gap in the curtains, casting a dim, yellowish silhouette.

The bald, burly man had his back to them and was chopping wood with a battle axe. Each swing of the axe precisely split the wood in two, leaving a clean cut.

The loafer was crouching in the shadows of the carriage, repeatedly counting the few gold coins he had taken from the bandits, and licking his lips incessantly.

The half-elf was standing on a dead tree stump, looking around, seemingly still on guard duty.

Judging from the frequency with which he lingered in the Roland area, he had clearly already noticed their arrival.

"Let's go first."

Roland turned around and made a hand gesture. Before the other two members of the Silverfly Squad could notice him, he turned around and led Yogurt back to a safe distance.

"They're not leaving," Yog said impatiently as soon as he returned to the horses. "The groom is setting up camp, and there's a pot on the fire."

Roland naturally noticed this as well.

This is a sign that Ms. Barlow's destination is not far away, and it will not take much more time to get there.

So why did they camp here instead of going directly there?

"...They must be waiting for something to appear," Roland thought for a moment, then frowned. "What do you mean? Could it be that they arranged to meet someone else here? This is the wilderness."

Yogurt, equally bewildered, fell into her usual silence.

In the end, it was Roland who made the decision.

"Since they want to wait, then we'll wait with them."

"I want to see what's going on behind this."