Chapter 1370: Chapter 91: Reforging the Nation ()_2

“Well done!”

Just then, an unexpected voice rang out by the table.

The musician excitedly slapped his thigh, like he’d just returned from another new world, and marveled at the people around the tavern table: “This writing is incredible!”

“The word choice is vivid, the sentences are clear, the plot is thrilling, the characters are lively—what’s even more commendable is, it even rhymes?” He asked, incredulous: “In this godforsaken place, someone actually understands the mighty power of rhyme?”

He fervently flipped through every corner of the booklet and finally found the author’s name on the edge of the last page: “Jacob Green?”

“Jacob Green?” The musician mouthed the name, slapped his thigh again, and said emphatically: “This person is worth meeting!”

Only then did the musician realize the atmosphere at the table was not quite right.

“What’s happening?” He asked a bit embarrassedly, glancing around at the faces of his tablemates, suddenly understanding: “Is there going to be a fight again?”

Before his companions could explain, the musician had already grabbed back his lute, kicked open a stool with one foot, and leapt up onto the table.

The series of actions were smooth and fluid, leaving Marcia gaping in astonishment.

The musician was cheering nonstop on one side: “What are we waiting for? Let’s start already!”

On the other side, Siegfried very reluctantly pulled the musician down from the table, awkwardly nodded to the others apologetically, and whispered a quick explanation in the musician’s ear.

“What?” The musician was very disappointed: “Just for this?”

He nonchalantly picked up the stool, sat back down obediently, then reached out to tap the table, asking the lumber merchant on the other side: “Hey, just because someone climbs over you, you’re not happy? There always has to be someone over you, right? What’s your dissatisfaction then?”

Mikhail was very embarrassed and didn’t know how to answer.

“Oh, I see.” The musician cocked his head, glanced at the gloomy old Dusack, then looked at the lumber merchant: “It’s not about having less, it’s about others having more than you—it’s because the people who originally climbed over you have replaced those who were originally on top, that’s why you’re unhappy.”

This remark left the lumber merchant not only embarrassed but ashamed enough to want to disappear. At the same time, he felt quite angry—because the person criticizing him was a trivial musician.

“Oh mere mortal, your name is foolishness.” The musician shook his head and sang a verse, then smiled at the lumber merchant: “Sir, if I were you, I would obediently follow ‘Blood Wolf’s’ orders without question.”

“Don’t talk big, musician.” Mikhail finally couldn’t hold back, showing anger, reprimanding the insolent fellow across the table: “You’re just a musician, what do you know?”

“Time, merciless lady, you take away people’s years yet leave not a trace of wisdom.” The musician plucked the strings, sang another verse, and looked at the chubby lumber merchant with pity, asking back: “If you consider yourself wiser than me, then please tell me, why have you, your fellow townsmen, this old Dusack, and other free men from the Newly Reclaimed Land—why have you been gathered here today?”

“Of course, it’s for the free men’s assembly.” Mikhail answered perplexedly: “The New Reclamation People all know.”

“No, no, no.” The musician shook his finger, still smiling the infuriating smile at the lumber merchant: “I meant, what is the purpose of those over your heads calling for a ‘free men’s assembly’?”

The lumber merchant couldn’t answer, yet stubbornly snapped back: “I don’t know, do you?”

“You finally said something right.” The musician replied smugly: “Not only do I know, I know the cause and effect.”

“Enough boasting!” The lumber merchant angrily slapped the table.

The blonde mercenary beside frowned, for the third time placing his hand on the sword hilt.

The musician patted the blonde mercenary’s arm, signaling to his companion to calm down.

He stood up, taking a deep breath, and shouted.

The shout pierced the clouds and cracked the rocks, immediately drowning all other sounds.

With that, not only the table where the musician was but the attention of the entire side hall’s patrons was drawn.

With one foot on the stool, the musician picked up the lute, played a little melody, as if setting the stage for himself.

After ending the performance with a pluck, he gazed around, singing his question: “People of the Alliance, do you know why the Alliance is the Alliance?”

The patrons, back to their senses, started to boo, clueless as to what this whimsical musician was trying to say.

Facing the tide of jeers, the musician was not intimidated but sharply countered: “Though the customs of Various Republics differ and the people vary, at least in ignorance, you are remarkably consistent.”

The boos grew louder, interspersed with unpleasant curses.

A cup flew from the corner, aiming to strike the musician’s back of the head.

Just as the cup was about to hit its target, Siegfried caught it mid-air.

The blonde mercenary placed the cup upside down on the table, glanced at his unaware friend, and sighed helplessly.

“Take your son and leave quickly.” The blonde mercenary kindly advised the middle-aged veteran across the table: “Things are about to get unsafe here.”

“No way!” Marcia still wanted to watch the excitement, how could he agree. He pleaded with his father: “Listen, listen to what he’s going to say.”