Chapter 1366: Chapter 90: Rebuilding Home and Country (17)

In Vernge County’s Oak Town, the lumber merchant Mikhail was well-known for his friendliness and ability to boast.

However, in front of the minstrel companion of the blond mercenary, this round-faced fat man seemed as shy as a maiden on her first trip abroad.

“Oh, merry drinkers.” The minstrel played a cheerful glissando, dancing around the blond mercenary’s table companions while singing with abandon: “Could you grant a drink to a guest from the world’s end, a writer of epic tales, the most favored color of the Muse goddess, and the most melodious long ballad between the mountains and the seas—your pitiable old friend? For his throat has long since dried.”

As the melody reached its end, the words were sung just right; the minstrel finished his performance with a high-difficulty leap and squat maneuver, holding a contorted pose at the dance’s conclusion, awaiting audience applause.

Gerard, the Majiya father and son duo, and Mikhail looked at each other, at a loss.

Seeing the audience forget to applaud, the minstrel repeated the finale, urging them with a slightly reproachful glance.

Siegfried turned his head expressionlessly, unwilling to glance at his companion any longer, his noble features subtly twitching from discomfort.

“The people you’re talking about…” Marcia craned his neck to look around, swallowed nervously, and carefully asked the minstrel, “Where are they all?”

“Right in front of you.” The minstrel proudly replied, “It’s all me.”

Having said so, the minstrel shifted from his high-difficulty dance ending to a normal standing position.

He leaned on the table, wiped the sweat off his forehead, and naturally reached for his companion’s wine glass.

Siegfried mercilessly slapped away his friend’s greedy hand, “This old gentleman only said he’d buy me a drink, not you.”

Hearing this, the minstrel immediately looked pleadingly at the old Dusack sitting opposite his friend, picked up the lute, and was about to start singing again.

“No, no, no, no, no…” Gerard hurriedly stopped the minstrel—after all, Mr. Old Mitchell was elderly and couldn’t bear to witness anything too pathetic: “Dusans, even if they don’t get drunk themselves, won’t let guests leave the table sober. Tonight, I’m treating; drink as much as you wish.”

“What a generous man, how could I repay him?” The minstrel’s eyes became slightly misty, holding the lute to his chest: “How about I…”

“Just drink with me.” Gerard insisted, pressing down the minstrel: “Rest your voice, young man.”

“Alright!” The minstrel laughed.

Without further ado, he thrust the lute into his companion’s hands, turned around, and disappeared among the noisy patrons.

Before anyone else could react, the minstrel was back beside them, holding a chair, and with a giant wine glass clamped between his teeth, acquired who knows where.

He placed the chair between his companion and the generous host, sat down with a thud, quickly wiped the wine glass with his clothes, then solemnly placed the glass before his companion, eagerly watching the latter.

Siegfried sighed, and after confirming with the old Dusack by glancing at him and receiving permission, he picked up the wine glass and poured wine for his friend.

“What did the tavern owner say about performing for lodging?” Siegfried asked casually.

“What else could he say? He reneged.” The minstrel shrugged, pointing at the surrounding patrons: “Look, the guests were clearly very satisfied listening to the performance, but he insisted there wasn’t enough applause—not holding up his end!”

Siegfried gave his friend a glance, “Understandable.”

“But still, the back door may be shut, but the front door can open,” the minstrel lured: “As long as you’re willing to make a small, insignificant sacrifice, the hostess agrees to lend us the best guest room upstairs, with a large bathtub, and provide meals…”

“Don’t even think about it.” Siegfried flatly refused, “Sacrifice yourself instead.”

“I’d love to sacrifice myself.” The minstrel removed his hat, combed through his thinning hair, and smiled cheekily: “But they’re not interested in me.”

“Enough.” Siegfried stopped pouring, saying coldly, “Let’s drop it.”

“Alright, alright, won’t mention it again.” The minstrel urged Siegfried to continue pouring wine for him, his face showing a gloomy expression: “Then tonight we can only sleep in the stable.”

Hearing this, others at the table couldn’t help but chuckle.

Gerard’s mind sparked an idea, tentatively asking the blond mercenary, “Young man, I do know a place that’s currently looking for someone skilled like you; what do you and your companions think?”

The so-called “Siegfried”, the blond mercenary, paused in his pouring, but soon resumed as usual.

“Apologies, old gentleman.” The blond mercenary responded without lifting his head, “I don’t currently have plans to join another war.”

Gerard didn’t feel disappointed, rather he was relieved, smiling as he asked, “Then you have someone you’re concerned about?”

Siegfried didn’t answer.

“No, I feel more and more upset, the stable can’t be slept in for free.” The minstrel abruptly interjected into the conversation, dissipating the awkwardness.

He mischievously encouraged his companion, “I say, the tavern owner is just jealous of you, so he reneged, even intending to withhold tonight’s performance’s payment. How about you go give him a good thrashing, then let’s run off, considering it as performing pay collected tonight. How about it?”

“Forget it.” Siegfried handed the cup, filled to the brim, to his friend, saying calmly, “Let’s not cause trouble anymore.”

“Listen, everyone.” The minstrel treasured the cup as if holding a rare gem, quickly bringing his mouth to the rim before the wine spilled, and savored a sip.