Chapter 45

The night on the Aifala Continent, at least for the vast majority of humans living on it, is quiet and dangerous.

Except for some large cities with sufficient combat readiness and solid defenses, "noise" and "prosperity" are basically difficult to associate with human settlements under the cover of night.

After all, no one can guarantee that those hungry nocturnal monsters wandering in the wild won't be attracted by the lights in your home.

Of course, for River Valley Town, especially the street where the Adventurer Association is located, it is another kind of scenery.

"Wow... Hahaha!"

"Another cup! Another cup!"

"Where is my rat meat platter? Why hasn't it been served yet!"

The warm and bright lights seemed to become blurred under the mist of wine and food aroma in the air.

The crystal-clear wine swaying and splashing from the cups, the orange-red flames rising and lingering in the fireplace, and even the green waiter sweating profusely and weaving between the drinkers...

The Baishanque Tavern at night is almost another world.

Bang—

A wooden chair was overturned, and a bearded Barbarian with his upper body bare, revealing a body full of tough muscles, jumped onto the wine table.

Regardless of the food stains on his leather boots, amidst the cheers of the people around, he held a wooden wine cup and awkwardly swayed his scarred body, dancing the traditional dance of his tribe.

Beside him, there was even a Bard with high spirits, leaning back, crossing his legs, and playing the lute in his hand quite dashingly to accompany him.

At the next table, a Dwarf with brown-red braided whiskers gritted his teeth, his arms as solid as steel expanding and engorging with blood, and was arm-wrestling with the burly human opposite him.

The onlookers behind them made noise and booed from time to time, making both people at the table flush with faces, fearing to lose face in front of these drinkers who were just watching the fun.

In the tavern lobby, behind the bar.

Chaputun was focused on wiping the wine glass in his hand.

His fingertips pressed against the soft cloth from the bottom along the cup body upward, following the curve of the wine glass, carefully scraping off the stains and fingerprints on its surface; then he reached into the inner wall, using the strength of his wrist to rotate and clean every corner of its interior.

Facing the noise outside the bar, he didn't even raise his head, meticulous and serious, as if he were touching his lover's hand.

Only occasionally, when the Barbarian's leather boots stomped heavily on the table with the dance steps, or the Dwarf who won the arm-wrestling match excitedly slapped his fan-like hands on the wine table,

did his two handlebar mustaches tremble slightly, imperceptibly.

The scene before him happened almost every night since the establishment of the Baishanque Tavern.

As the owner of the tavern, Chaputun knew it well and had long been accustomed to it.

Running a tavern is not easy to say it's simple, but it's not that complicated to say it's difficult.

First, you need to investigate the business status of local peers and the identity and consumption ability of main customers in advance, and then pick a good piece of land.

Regarding this point, Chaputun thinks he did a good job.

The excellent location of the Baishanque Tavern adjacent to the Adventurer Association, and the wine and food in the shop, from expensive "status symbols" to cheap "value for money," are all available.

This allows both those professionals whose one piece of equipment is worth their annual income and the bottom-level adventurers who rely on hunting Goblins to make a living to spend a relatively happy night in the tavern.

Secondly, you have to get along well with those people who are closely related to the tavern.

From the sheriff and high-level adventurers in the town, to the cleaners responsible for recycling garbage.

Gold coins lead the way, and everything goes smoothly.

Otherwise, who knows if a poisonous monster corpse will suddenly appear in your kitchen one day, or if some drunken adventurer will tear down your tavern.

Finally, the most important point, and the one Chaputun most hopes that young people who want to engage in this line of work know—

Don't be a killjoy when adventurers have just finished a whole day of dangerous and hard tasks and are in urgent need of alcohol and social interaction to vent their energy.

Otherwise... the annual loss bills and the huge expenses on healing potions will tell you the reason.

Of course, facing some extreme behaviors of adventurers that are too high-pitched to end, his "management fee" of three digits every year is not paid in vain.

Someone will come to help him solve it.

Gently put the wiped wine glass back into the wooden cabinet.

Ignore the increasingly loud noise in the lobby.

Chaputun took out a brand-new rag, wiped the bar table, and pondered in his heart:

"Ms. Edwinna of the 'Green Grass Crucible' seems to have new potions on the market recently; I can send two bottles of 'Lava Sigh' over another day."

"Mr. Fran's son has a birthday next month; I heard that he has already hired a professional for special training. A well-crafted single-handed sword should be a good birthday gift."

Creak—

The sluggish sound of the wooden door hinge rubbing, accompanied by the cold wind seeping in from the door crack.

Brought Chaputun back from his thoughts to reality.

Subconsciously looked up.

What came into view was a tall, black-haired young man.

His neat short hair was slightly messy due to the evening wind outside, his lip line was thin and clear, and a pair of long, narrow, but not short, pitch-black eyes were like the deep night outside the wooden door.

His facial features, at just one glance, gave people a sharp and cold feeling.

It seemed that he had just returned from an adventure; one could clearly see the cracks on his leather armor, and there were even scattered bloodstains on his clothes between his arms.

He carried two weapons, one long and one short, on his back; the long one could vaguely see the iron-grey blade under the scabbard, while the short one was tightly wrapped in bandages, making it impossible to capture its specific appearance.

"Dual Swordsman?"

Chaputun thought to himself.

A bit strange.

Regardless of the current time point or the other's dress and appearance, it was clearly a look of just finishing a mission.

But the young man himself did not have the fatigue and hardship of an adventurer after a long journey and countless battles in his impression.

On the contrary.

Full of spirit, full of state.

As if he had been resting in the town for many days.

"Did he rest during the day and travel at night?"

"That shouldn't be right; the Mist Forest is so dangerous, how could anyone dare to travel at night?"

Pondering slightly, he found that he really couldn't figure it out.

Chaputun didn't struggle anymore.

Having run a tavern for many years, he had seen all kinds of weird people.

And the stories circulating among those drinkers had told him countless times that for those engaged in the adventurer line of work—

Don't be a busybody.

However, just because he understood this truth didn't mean everyone knew it.

The young man with short black hair clearly attracted the attention of some people.

Just as he walked into the tavern and came to the bar.

A drunken figure held a wine cup and swayed over:

"Kid, new here?"

(End of chapter)