CHAPTER 172: CHAPTER 172: SUBMISSION_1

"You’ve already lost to me once. What will you bet this time?" Lance wasn’t about to give him a chance so easily.

The onlookers around them also began to jeer, clearly enjoying the commotion.

"What are you afraid of, Winston? Bring out your golden hammer!"

"Come on, Winston, did you leave your balls at home today?"

"Exactly! Let him experience the power of the golden hammer!"

"..."

Already feeling bold from the alcohol and spurred by the surrounding chatter, Winston took out a medal. He gestured to Lance, "This is a medal I won in a forging contest. No more than ten people in Totnes have one."

As he spoke, Winston placed the medal on the barrel. "This should suffice, right?"

Lance could feel the pride emanating from him as he mentioned it, knowing how important this item was to him.

Of course, it’s more fun this way.

"Alright, come on," Lance said with a smile, reaching out his hand.

This time, Winston was obviously serious. His expression became stern as he adopted his stance, his muscles pulsating with his breathing like a blazing furnace growing fiercer by the moment.

He wasn’t making excuses before. He truly thought his drunken stupor had delayed his reaction and didn’t believe he was no match for the other guy. This time, he intended to use absolute strength to wash away the humiliation he had just suffered.

"Start!"

An onlooker shouted, and Winston exerted fierce force. Just as he thought the game was over, he found to his surprise that the other man was immovable, as if he were pushing against a mountain.

Looking up, he saw his opponent’s face was relaxed, as if he hadn’t even begun to exert his strength.

This realization sent a wave of alarm through him, and he instinctively exerted more force. His whole body tensed, his arm muscles bulged, and prominent veins appeared.

But to his despair, his opponent still did not waver; what he was gripping didn’t feel like flesh but steel.

Invincible... Despair took root in his heart.

The crowd around them, seeing the standoff, began jeering once more. Initially, they thought Winston was merely toying with his opponent, but gradually, they realized something was amiss.

"Push harder!"

"Where’s the effort you use on women?"

"Are you throwing the match, you motherfucker?!"

"..."

Lance watched him struggle, grinned, and then exerted his strength, slamming Winston’s hand down.

Supernatural Power! Kid.

The moment the back of Winston’s hand touched the barrel’s surface, he looked as though his soul had been stripped away, his face pale and his expression stunned. The tavern fell deathly silent, erupting into raucous cheers only after two seconds.

"WOO-HOO!"

"HAHAHA!"

"Winston, you really can’t cut it!"

"..."

Various voices reached him, bringing Winston somewhat back to his senses. His gaze subconsciously fell on the medal.

But the item was already in Lance’s hands.

Made of gold, it featured an embossed design of a hammer and anvil. It was exquisitely crafted but showed no spiritual fluctuations; it was just an ordinary item.

Yet, what was trivial to Lance was an irreplaceable treasure to Winston.

Lance noticed his look, full of regret and reluctance, clearly regretting his earlier impulsiveness in betting the item.

"Take it back," Lance said, handing the medal back.

Winston, still mired in regret and annoyance, was suddenly stunned by the gesture, his expression indescribably astonished.

"Really? You’re giving it back to me?"

"For a craftsman, honor is life. I won’t take away a craftsman’s ’life’."

As he spoke, Lance placed the medal in Winston’s hands. Winston, cradling the regained medal, thought of his own behavior just moments ago and was overwhelmed with guilt.

"My Lord, I am truly sorry. I drank a bit too much and lost my head."

"HAHAHA! Then buy me a drink. I’ve had enough of this rotten world; let’s all go mad together!" Lance said, patting Winston on the shoulder and signaling him to stand up.

"Well said!"

"Bring on the drinks!"

"Old Jim, roll out your barrels!"

Lance’s hearty demeanor completely won over the group of craftsmen, who cheered and supported him.

Winston was a standout among the craftsmen; not many here could beat him at arm-wrestling. Since he had been beaten by Lance, some still harbored a grudge. A few drunkards, wanting to prove the strength of craftsmen, raised their glasses, intending to get Lance drunk.

Winston wanted to help him avoid drinking too much, but Lance accepted all comers, downing pints of beer one after another. Meanwhile, the drunkards fell to the floor one by one, yet Lance remained as jovial as ever.

After tonight, the Furnace Tavern was destined to have one more story to tell.

The night was long, and Lance’s appearance was bound to be just an interlude. After the excitement, things would return to normal. He finally revealed his purpose, turning to Winston.

"I heard that the Gun and Cannon Academy recently laid off a bunch of craftsmen. Do you know any of them?"

"I know a few. It wouldn’t be hard to find them. But why are you looking for them, My Lord?"

"My domain needs a few skilled craftsmen to help maintain our weapons. Most others have stable jobs, so I’m afraid only those who were dismissed might be willing to come with me."

Upon hearing this, Winston understood that the person before him was actually a Noble Lord, and he promptly thumped his chest in assurance.

"Rest assured, My Lord. Leave this to me. I’ll get in touch with them for you. They will all be highly skilled craftsmen."

"Tell them I won’t skimp on their wages, and their families can come with me too. I’ll take responsibility for settling them."

I’m not familiar with these craftsmen myself. If a professional can help screen them, that would be ideal.

Lance left his address, telling Winston to find him once he had gathered the men, promising he would be well compensated.

「...」

When Lance returned to the merchant company’s quarters, it was already deep into the night. Compared to the spacious accommodations in Ovando City, this place was severely downsized. It consisted of only a storefront along with a backyard warehouse, with barely enough usable space across two or three floors.

Yet this little spot on the edge of the Central City District was half of Walter’s net worth, valued at close to five hundred thousand Gold Coins. This just went to show that Totnes’s reputation for exorbitant property prices was not unearned.

The lights were still on. As soon as Lance entered, he saw Dismas hurry to greet him, a look of concern on his face.

"My Lord!"

Lance raised his hand to reassure him, teasing with a smile, "It’s alright. I’m a grown man; it’s not like I’d get lost."

He walked in just as Tiffany was about to come out.

"Why are you back so late?" As soon as Tiffany came close, she smelled the alcohol on him and couldn’t help frowning. "Have you been drinking?"

"Alcohol!" Hearing this, Boudica, who had been dozing off at the side, lifted her head and mumbled, "Why didn’t you call me?"

This guy... Lance glanced at her, somewhat speechless.

"How are things on your end?"

"Just as you said, those guys wanted to increase the supply volume. After hearing we didn’t plan to renew, they first threatened to cancel all deals, then relented and raised their prices. However, as per your instructions, I’ve already cut off all grain dealings," she reported.