Chapter 86: Brawl

Midsummer Day—for the people on Ephara Continent, calling it a continent-wide carnival wouldn't be an exaggeration.

And as adventurers who walked on tightropes year-round, with considerable income but uncertain futures.

Naturally they couldn't miss such an important annual festival.

White Sparrow Tavern.

Different from the solemnity and gravity at the central square, this entertainment venue already full of alcohol and music was especially noisy today.

The originally spacious hall was almost completely filled with adventurers. Waitresses carrying trays with food and drinks busily shuttled between tables, sweat almost soaking through the apron uniforms on their bodies.

The tavern owner had quite a marketing mind.

Occupying the prime location near the Adventurers' Guild, with booming business, on Midsummer Day he even held special celebration activities.

"White Sparrow Drinking Contest"

A large cup of alcohol mixed with special spices—if you could finish it in one go, the challenger would receive a reward of free meals all night;

If you failed, you'd need to pay a bill as high as "1 silver coin" for the special alcohol.

Honestly, one silver coin, for the vast majority of adventurers, wasn't particularly expensive spending.

After all, it was only the price of staying one night at an inn.

In comparison, the free meal reward's temptation was actually greater.

Once the news got out, nearly half the town's adventurers moved at the news, crowding and surging into the tavern, then falling one after another.

The special spices mixed in the alcohol seemed to possess some kind of intense stimulation.

After a few mouthfuls, that smell even more pungent than Sichuan peppercorns from the Grimm region's specialty products would make you unable to stop yourself from spitting out the alcohol in your mouth, violently coughing and choking.

Of course, after all he was a proper businessman whose shop would continue operating in the future.

The tavern owner grasped proportions just right.

Not everyone failed. Occasionally a few adventurers with strong physical fitness or not so sensitive to smells could still win the reward.

About one or two out of every ten challengers.

And whenever someone obtained the free meal, the tavern owner took advantage of the opportunity to loudly publicize it, making another large batch of observers unable to resist participating.

Right now, another challenger seemed about to succeed.

It was a tall, thin man wearing loose robes.

He tilted his head back, eyes tightly closed, Adam's apple rolling. His withered hands gripping the cup trembled with exertion. Crystalline liquor dripped down from the corners of his mouth; his rough face from years of wind and sand was flushed red, nostrils flaring from the alcohol's intense stimulation.

As if the next second he'd be unable to stop himself from choking and coughing, yet persisting with tenacious will.

"Calimshan person?"

My gaze swept across the man's hair and skin as I speculated inwardly.

This knowledge I'd crammed these days gave me somewhat more understanding of this world's geography and culture.

Calimshan was a region in the continent's south, with desert and wasteland as the main terrain.

Slave trade, date palm trees, spices and mercenaries...

Year-round scorching sun and raging sandstorms gave people living there generally brown skin and curly, dry black hair.

Plus the gem rings on the man's fingers and metal hair rings at his hair ends—highly directional cultural symbols made it not difficult to identify his "desert people" identity.

Nothing strange about it.

River Valley Town, as an important adventure town in Panyun Province, could see adventurers from all over the continent coming to strike it rich year-round.

Calimshan people, though not common, weren't completely absent.

"Xia Nan, how about it—want to come play?"

Seeing me walk into the tavern, owner "Chapton" invited with a smile.

Having stayed at the tavern so many days, we'd naturally long known each other's names. The relationship couldn't be called particularly close, but could barely count as ordinary friends.

Regarding this, I just smiled and waved in refusal.

"Don't earn money from me with this. Give me a number three combo."

"Haha, sure thing!"

Memories from my previous life made me all too familiar with this kind of commercial routine. Painful experiences of being harvested like leeks by major merchants again and again naturally meant I couldn't fall for it after crossing over.

I casually found a corner with relatively fewer customers and sat down.

At the bar, the tall thin man challenging the special alcohol also seemed about to succeed.

His already high-tilted head suddenly jerked back, pouring the last bit of alcohol in the cup into his mouth.

"Bang!" The empty cup was fiercely smashed on the table. The man's chest heaved violently, the pungent alcohol smell making him almost unable to breathe.

"Congratulations! Another customer successfully challenged—tonight's free!"

Tavern owner Chapton applauded and congratulated loudly.

The drinkers watching nearby also cheered along. You could obviously see several among them eager to try.

The man used his sleeve to wipe liquor staining his mouth corners. Facing everyone's congratulations, his rough, gaunt face couldn't help showing a bit of pride.

Suddenly, a voice carrying some questioning meaning came from the crowd.

"Boss, for this activity of yours—people can drink antidote potions beforehand?"

A stocky red-bearded dwarf wearing light leather armor, glaring with his bell-like eyes, questioned dissatisfiedly.

Paying attention to the scene, after he said this, I belatedly reacted.

"No wonder when passing by earlier I smelled a strange odor—so it was this."

I understood inwardly.

The antidote potion's main ingredient was a small plant called "Bug Shell Flower."

Normally it was fine—at most looked a bit strange.

But after cooking, Bug Shell Flower would emit a sour stench similar to fermented sweat.

A few days ago when I went to "Green Grass Crucible" to purchase, Miss Edwina happened to be brewing a batch of new antidote potions.

That smell... almost smoked me out.

"What, what antidote potion?" Before tavern owner Chapton could speak, the tall thin man who'd just successfully challenged, facing the dwarf's questioning, immediately jumped up emotionally. "I don't know what you mean!"

"Hey, playing dumb with me, huh?"

Originally just wanted to seize the opportunity to have Chapton pour him a few more mugs of ale.

The other party talking back like this instead provoked the dwarf's temper.

"That Bug Shell Flower stench on you—I could smell it from two streets away!"

"I just like this smell. Got a craving today and drank a couple mouthfuls before coming. So what?"

The tall thin man grinned, making excuses.

Seeing the dispute between both sides seemed to have an increasingly intense trend, tavern owner Chapton, who usually rarely participated in interference, couldn't help reaching out to pull the indignant dwarf:

"Forget it, just give me face. Today's Midsummer Festival—rein it in."

"Jem, three large mugs of ale for this table!"

Must be an old customer at the tavern. With Chapton's persuasion, the straightforward, upright red-bearded dwarf also quieted down. Finally glaring at the other party once more, no longer entangling.

The tall, thin, brown-skinned Calimshan person knew he was in the wrong. Originally just wanted to pull a little trick to freeload a dinner.

Being publicly called out by the dwarf like this, too embarrassed to stay longer at the tavern, he turned to leave.

Perhaps also feeling he'd lost face in public, with a dark expression and gloomy look, he muttered something:

"Slag pile, acting all..."

His speaking voice wasn't particularly loud, but perhaps because their dispute attracted other people's attention in the tavern, making the originally boiling lively environment quiet down for a few seconds.

Making even me sitting in the hall's corner but paying attention to them faintly hear his muttering and judge the content from his mouth shape.

"Whoa, good heavens, this really won't end now."

"Slag pile"—for dwarves on Ephara Continent, this was an extremely discriminatory, extremely vile epithet.

—Alluding that the dwarf race was forged by their father god, the 【Soulforger】 Moradin from volcano furnaces.

To a certain extent, it even extremely weakly and subtly poked at their main god.

For dwarves who'd always taken pride in their bloodline and racial mythology, this was almost an unacceptable term.

I'd once personally seen a drunk who'd unintentionally said those three words while boasting—not even directed at anyone—and been beaten with broken legs by several dwarves drinking at the neighboring table and thrown out of the tavern.

Sure enough, the instant those words "slag pile" slipped out.

The red-bearded dwarf who'd already been persuaded by Chapton back to his seat—his expression suddenly changed!

Grabbing the cup on the table, he threw it forcefully at that loose-lipped tall thin man.

"Damn sand rat, how dare you!?"

Blowing his beard and glaring, his rough face covered with thick hair flushed red as he cursed. His stocky body pounced forward like a stone pier.

"Wind servant! Calimshan maggot!"

Sounds of tables and chairs colliding and overturning, pained cries, cursing... the area before the bar immediately fell into chaos.

I sat somewhat farther to the side, scooping a spoonful of the cream mushroom soup just served by the waitress, my expression quite leisurely.

At a tavern—this kind of thing happened several times every evening. Long used to it.

Just while watching the two brawl, I analyzed and recalled the terms the dwarf used for the tall thin man.

Many people often said that when learning a language, besides simple greetings, the first things you learned were curse words.

I'd rested in River Valley Town so many days, sitting in the tavern every night listening to adventurers boast.

To say I'd learned any secrets—definitely not.

Instead, I'd learned quite a few various scandals and gossip, unbearable dirty language.

"Sand rat" probably referred to Calimshan people living long-term in the desert, being as cunning as rats when doing business;

"Wind servant" was because the Calimshan region was once ruled by wind genies, mocking their ancestors as elemental creatures' slaves.

"Calimshan maggot" I didn't really understand—didn't know if there was some allusion or if it was just a simple combination of abusive vocabulary.

The two brawling together—one tall and thin, one short and stocky.

The former relied on height and long arms. Before the red-bearded dwarf touched him, he'd already taken a kick and two slaps;

The latter had a stocky build with high muscle density, an extremely stable lower body. Moreover, because of the epithet his blood rushed up. Enduring the Calimshan person's punches and kicks, he tackled and pinned the other party to the ground.

No one broke up the fight.

Drinkers on both sides watching the excitement consciously formed a circle centered on the battlefield, clamoring and jeering.

"Right, hit the face—kill this date-mouth!"

"Already said it's a stone stomach—why still hitting there? Do you even know how?"

"Hahaha, biting now, biting!"

Some with active minds even called out bets among the crowd.

Even tavern owner Chapton who'd just been amicable didn't try to stop them.

Just hands on hips, looking at the tables and chairs fallen in a heap on the ground, standing helplessly to the side.

At the same time mentally pondering whether to charge double or triple compensation later.

I watched even more enthusiastically, unconsciously eating several more bites of dinner.

Temperature gradually rising.

Actually originally the two were fairly restrained. Although cursing each other and physically tangling, they were just bare-handed brawling without using combat skills or anything.

But with others jeering, plus a string of extremely insulting vocabulary from the dwarf's mouth.

The tall, thin Calimshan person, after taking another forceful punch from the other party to his face, finally completely lost it.

Suddenly standing up.

Whoosh—

Abruptly drawing from his waist a curved blade glinting with cold light, his face covered in bruises showed an uncertain expression.

The dwarf's explosive temperament—already full of fire. With things developing to this point, naturally couldn't back down.

"Ptui!"

Spitting a blood-tinged gob toward the floor beside him, his right hand gripped his heavy forging hammer.

Taking a deep breath fiercely.

His body instantly swelled two sizes larger, his skin surface taking on a metallic luster.

And just as the two tensely confronted each other at a critical moment.

"Creak."

The tightly closed door was abruptly pushed open.

Whoosh—

Clearly in the hot summer weather, everyone in the tavern simultaneously felt a bone-chilling cold wind howling and surging in from outside.

Burly and robust, a silent figure almost filling the entire door slowly walked in.

Hair pressed to his scalp, slightly blue-tinged strands stood up like steel needles; his three-dimensional, deep features like ice sculptures carved by north wind. In the shadows cast by his deep brow ridge were his pupils like cold pools tempered—deep blue.

As if carrying some invisible oppressive force, the originally noisy, boiling tavern instantly quieted down.

Only the light sound of bone fang necklaces colliding at the man's neck remained in the air.

I instantly lowered my head, fiercely scooping two mouthfuls of mushroom soup, focusing wholeheartedly on eating.

On the field, the two originally at odds simultaneously put down the weapons in their hands.

As if all previous boldness and anger had been devoured by the bone-scraping cold wind.

Without saying a word, each helped up tables, chairs and benches fallen on the ground, sitting back in their original positions.

As if everything that had just happened was only an illusion.

Chapton stood behind the bar, a stiff business smile squeezing onto his face as he carefully greeted:

"Welcome to White Sparrow Tavern. Guest, what would you like to eat?"

With cold, imposing aura, the barbarian was silent, not responding.

His ice-blue eyes slightly turned, gaze sweeping across the tavern hall.

Fixing on a certain corner.

Thick thighs moved, frost-white fur on the wolf skin cloak gently swaying.

The burly body's shadow cast under lamplight shrouded the black-haired youth eating with lowered head.

"You, you're Xia Nan?"

New Year's Eve! Wishing everyone a Happy New Year!