Chapter 85 Brawl

For the people of Aifala Continent, calling Midsummer a continent-wide celebration would not be much of an exaggeration.

And adventurers?

They spent their lives walking a tightrope.

The pay could be excellent.

Tomorrow was never guaranteed.

There was no chance they would miss a major festival like this.

The White Chickadee Tavern was packed.

Unlike the solemn gathering in the central square, this place was built for noise, alcohol, and music even on an ordinary day.

Tonight, it was worse.

Or better, depending on who you asked.

Adventurers occupied nearly every seat in the spacious hall.

Servers hurried between crowded tables with trays of food and alcohol, sweat soaking through the aprons and uniforms on their backs.

Chapton had always been good at business.

The tavern already occupied a prime location near the Adventurers’ Association.

For Midsummer, he had gone one step further and organized a special event.

The White Chickadee Drinking Contest.

The rules were simple.

A challenger received one enormous mug of liquor mixed with special spices.

Finish the entire thing in one continuous attempt, and everything you ordered that night was free.

Fail?

Pay one silver coin for the special drink.

Honestly, one silver was not much to most adventurers.

That was roughly the cost of a single night at an inn.

Compared with that, the chance to eat and drink for free all evening was far more tempting.

The moment word spread, nearly half the adventurers in town seemed to rush over.

They crowded into the tavern.

They lined up to challenge.

Then most of them lost.

The special spices mixed into the alcohol were viciously irritating.

A few mouthfuls were enough.

The smell was even harsher than the peppercorns produced in the Grim Region.

Sooner or later, most challengers lost control, spat the liquor out, and started coughing hard enough to bend over.

Of course, Chapton was still a legitimate businessman.

He wanted these people to come back tomorrow.

So he had balanced the challenge carefully.

Winning was difficult.

Not impossible.

Adventurers with especially strong bodies, or those who simply were not very sensitive to smell, could occasionally finish the mug.

Maybe one or two out of every ten challengers.

And every time someone succeeded, Chapton loudly announced it to the entire tavern.

That was enough to lure another wave of spectators into trying.

Right now, someone else seemed close to winning.

A tall, thin man in a loose robe stood at the bar.

His head was tilted back.

Eyes shut tight.

Adam’s apple bobbing.

The thin hand clutching his mug trembled with effort.

Clear liquor ran down from one corner of his mouth.

His rough face, weathered by years of wind and sand, had gone bright red.

His nostrils flared violently against the harsh smell.

He looked one breath away from coughing everything out.

Yet somehow, through sheer stubbornness, he kept drinking.

[A Calishite?]

Xia Nan’s gaze passed over the man’s hair and skin.

He had spent the past few weeks cramming as much information about this world as possible.

Geography.

Cultures.

Races.

Regions.

He finally knew enough to make a reasonable guess.

Calimshan lay in the southern part of the continent.

Desert.

Wasteland.

Slave trade.

Date palms.

Spices.

Mercenaries.

Years beneath a scorching sun and relentless sandstorms had left most people from the region with tan skin and dry, curly black hair.

Then there were the man’s gemstone rings and the metal bands woven into the ends of his hair.

Distinctive cultural markers.

Enough for Xia Nan to identify him as one of the so-called “desert folk.”

Nothing unusual about it.

Rivervale Town was an important adventuring settlement in Cloudreach Province.

People came from all over the continent hoping to strike it rich.

Calishites were uncommon here, but hardly unheard of.

“Xia Nan!”

Chapton spotted him entering and grinned.

“What do you say? Want to give it a try?”

Xia Nan had been staying at the tavern long enough for both men to know each other’s names.

They were not especially close.

But calling them ordinary friends would not be too much of a stretch.

Xia Nan smiled and waved him off.

“Don’t bother trying to make even that little bit of money off me.”

He found an open table.

“Set Meal No. 3.”

“Haha! Coming right up!”

Xia Nan had seen far too many tricks like this in his previous life.

Merchants had harvested him like a crop often enough already.

He was not going to get transmigrated into another world just to keep falling for the same sales tactics.

He settled into a relatively quiet corner.

At the bar, the tall Calishite was reaching the end.

His head suddenly tilted farther back.

The last of the liquor disappeared into his mouth.

Bang!

He slammed the empty mug onto the counter.

His chest heaved.

The sharp smell seemed to leave him barely able to breathe.

Chapton immediately clapped his hands.

“Congratulations! Another guest has completed the challenge!”

His voice boomed through the tavern.

“Everything he orders tonight is free!”

The surrounding patrons cheered.

Several people who had been watching instantly looked tempted.

The Calishite wiped the liquor from his mouth with his sleeve.

A smug look appeared on his rough, narrow face.

Then a doubtful voice came from the crowd.

“Boss.”

A stocky red-bearded Dwarf in light leather armor stared at Chapton with eyes like bronze bells.

“You allow people to drink sobering potions before the challenge?”

Xia Nan had been watching the whole thing.

Only then did something click.

[So that’s what that smell was.]

Sobering potions used a small plant called the beetle-shell flower as their main ingredient.

Normally, the plant merely looked a little strange.

Once boiled, however, it produced a sour stink resembling fermented sweat.

Several days ago, when Xia Nan visited the Verdant Crucible for supplies, Miss Edwina had been preparing a fresh batch of sobering potions.

The smell had nearly driven him straight back out the door.

“Wh-what sobering potion?”

The Calishite reacted before Chapton could even speak.

He practically jumped.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about!”

The Dwarf’s brows shot up.

“Trying to play dumb with me?”

Originally, he had probably just wanted to seize the chance to talk Chapton into giving him a few free mugs of ale.

But that reply struck the wrong nerve.

“You stink so badly of beetle-shell flower that I could smell you from two streets away!”

The Calishite bared his teeth.

“I happen to like the smell. I was craving it today, so I drank a little before coming here. What about it?”

The argument was clearly getting worse.

Chapton, who rarely bothered interfering in this kind of thing, finally reached out and tugged at the angry Dwarf.

“Let it go.”

He gave the man a placating smile.

“Do me a favor. It’s Midsummer. Calm down.”

Then he raised his voice.

“Jem! Three big mugs of ale for this table!”

The red-bearded Dwarf was probably a regular.

After Chapton stepped in, the straightforward fellow finally backed down.

He shot the Calishite one last glare, then returned to his seat.

The tall man knew perfectly well he was in the wrong.

He had only wanted to play a little trick and get a free dinner.

Now that the Dwarf had exposed him in front of everyone, staying in the tavern was embarrassing.

So he turned to leave.

But maybe getting called out in front of the whole room had bruised his pride.

His expression darkened.

And under his breath, he muttered,

“Slagspawn. Who does he think he is…”

He did not say it loudly.

Unfortunately for him, the earlier argument had drawn everyone’s attention.

The normally deafening tavern had gone quiet for just a few seconds.

Even Xia Nan, sitting near the corner, caught the faint mutter.

And after checking the man’s lip movements, he was sure.

[Oh.]

[Now it’s really not over.]

“Slagspawn” was an especially vicious racial slur against the Dwarves of Aifala Continent.

It mocked the belief that the Dwarven race had been forged from a volcanic furnace by their father god, Moradin the Soul Forger.

And very faintly, very indirectly, it also insulted their chief deity.

For Dwarves, who were fiercely proud of their bloodline and racial myths, it was nearly unforgivable.

Xia Nan had once seen a drunkard say the word by accident while bragging.

He had not even aimed it at anyone.

Several Dwarves at the neighboring table still broke his legs and threw him out of the tavern.

So when “slagspawn” left the Calishite’s mouth…

The red-bearded Dwarf’s face changed instantly.

He snatched up a mug and hurled it.

“You damned sand rat!”

The Dwarf shot to his feet.

“How dare you!?”

His beard practically stood on end.

His rugged face flushed crimson.

Then the short, broad body charged forward like a block of stone.

“Wind thrall!”

“Calishite maggot!”

Crash!

Tables overturned.

Chairs slammed against the floor.

Someone cried out.

Someone else started cursing.

The space in front of the bar descended into chaos within seconds.

Xia Nan sat well away from the trouble.

A server had just brought him his cream of mushroom soup.

He calmly scooped up a spoonful and ate.

Tavern fights.

Nothing unusual.

A place like this saw several every night.

He was used to it.

Still, while the two men wrestled, Xia Nan watched with interest and mentally reviewed the Dwarf’s insults.

People often said that when learning a foreign language, the first things you mastered were basic greetings…

And swear words.

Xia Nan had spent many nights in Rivervale Town listening to adventurers boast over alcohol.

Did he learn any major secrets?

No.

Did he learn a spectacular amount of vulgar language and embarrassing gossip?

Absolutely.

“Sand rat” probably came from the stereotype that Calishites lived in the desert and were as cunning as rats when doing business.

“Wind thrall” referred to Calimshan’s history of being ruled by Djinn, mocking the Calishites’ ancestors as servants of elemental creatures.

As for “Calishite maggot”…

Xia Nan had no idea.

Maybe there was some historical story behind it.

Maybe it was just an insult assembled from whatever words happened to sound offensive.

On the floor, the two fighters looked ridiculous together.

One tall and thin.

One short and broad.

The Calishite used his longer reach to full advantage.

Before the red-bearded Dwarf could even get close, he took a kick and two slaps to the face.

The Dwarf, however, was built like a wall.

Dense muscle.

Stable stance.

And after hearing that racial slur, enough anger to ignore pain entirely.

He simply endured the punches and kicks, pushed forward, wrapped both arms around the Calishite, and tackled him to the floor.

Nobody stepped in.

Instead, the tavern patrons automatically moved back and formed a circle.

Then the cheering started.

“That’s it! Hit him in the face! Kill that date-mouthed bastard!”

“Everyone knows Dwarves have stone guts! Why are you still hitting him there? Do you even know how to fight?”

“Hahaha! They’re biting each other! They’re biting!”

A few faster-thinking patrons immediately started taking bets.

Even Chapton did not intervene.

The tavernkeeper simply stood behind the bar with both hands on his hips, staring helplessly at the overturned tables and chairs.

His expression said resignation.

His eyes said calculation.

Double compensation?

Or triple?

Xia Nan watched with growing interest.

Without realizing it, he even ate a little more than usual.

The atmosphere kept heating up.

At first, both fighters had shown some restraint.

Plenty of cursing.

Plenty of grappling.

But only bare hands.

No combat techniques.

No weapons.

Then the crowd kept shouting.

And the Dwarf kept unleashing one vicious insult after another.

Finally, after taking another heavy punch square in the face, the tall Calishite snapped.

He lurched to his feet.

Shing!

A curved blade flashed out from his waist.

His face was bruised black and blue.

The expression on it twisted between anger and hesitation.

The Dwarf was already furious.

With his explosive temper, backing down now was impossible.

“Ptui!”

He spat a mouthful of bloody saliva onto the floor.

His right hand tightened around a heavy forging hammer.

Then he inhaled deeply.

His body swelled.

In the span of a breath, he seemed almost twice as broad.

A metallic sheen spread across his skin.

The tavern fell tense.

One heartbeat.

Two.

The two men stared each other down.

And just as everything was about to explode…

Creak.

The closed door opened.

Whoosh!

It was the middle of summer.

The tavern was hot.

Packed.

Stuffy.

Yet everyone inside suddenly felt a freezing wind rush in from outside.

A massive figure stepped through the doorway.

Silent.

Broad enough to nearly fill the entire entrance.

Closely cropped blue-green hair stood from his scalp like steel needles.

His sharply cut features looked as though they had been carved from ice by the northern wind.

Beneath the heavy shadow of his brow were deep blue eyes.

Cold.

Still.

Like frozen pools.

He did not speak.

He did not need to.

An invisible pressure followed him into the room.

The roaring tavern fell silent in an instant.

The only sound left was the soft clicking of the bone-and-fang necklace hanging around the man’s neck.

Xia Nan lowered his head immediately.

Spoon.

Soup.

Two quick mouthfuls.

He became deeply, passionately interested in dinner.

Across the room, the Calishite and the red-bearded Dwarf lowered their weapons at almost the exact same time.

All the courage and fury from moments ago vanished as though swallowed by that bone-chilling wind.

Neither said a word.

They quietly picked up the overturned tables and chairs.

Returned everything to place.

Sat down.

Just like that.

As if the fight had never happened.

Behind the bar, Chapton forced a stiff professional smile onto his face.

“Welcome to the White Chickadee Tavern, sir.”

His voice was very careful.

“What can I get you?”

The barbarian did not answer.

His blue eyes slowly swept across the tavern.

Table after table.

Face after face.

Then they stopped.

One corner.

One black-haired young man who was still very seriously eating soup.

The barbarian began walking.

His thick legs carried him forward.

The frost-white fur of his wolf-pelt cloak swayed with each step.

Under the lamplight, the shadow of his enormous frame stretched across the floor.

Then swallowed Xia Nan completely.

A deep voice sounded above him.

“You are Xia Nan?”