CHAPTER 77: CHAPTER 77

When Clayton’s eyes met those glowing red ones, he froze. His entire body went rigid, unable to move—completely unaware that Old Man Wood was calling out to him from the doorway.

"Clayton?"

"Clayton?"

"Hey, Clayton!"

It wasn’t until the third call—and a tap on the shoulder—that Clayton finally snapped out of it.

"Ah—yes, Old Man Wood..." he replied awkwardly.

He turned back toward the doorway, only to find the red eyes had vanished. Confused, he began to wonder if he’d just imagined the whole thing.

"What’s wrong? You look shaken. Did something happen?" Old Man Wood asked.

"No, no... I was just lost in thought," Clayton answered quickly.

Wood let it go and motioned forward.

"Alright then, let’s head in."

"R-right, sir," Clayton nodded, still a little stiff.

They stepped into the yard of the rundown house. Clayton felt a deep discomfort settling in. His nerves were on edge. He tried to calm himself by observing his surroundings—but the eerie atmosphere only made the chills worse.

"What’s the matter?" asked a deep voice.

An elderly man stood in the doorway.

"Mister Vino," said Old Man Wood.

"You’re a master brewer, right? Always in need of top-quality grains. Well, I’ve brought someone who’s got exactly that!"

Clayton couldn’t take his eyes off the man—Vino, as Wood had called him. He was short and hunched, with deeply wrinkled skin. Though traces of muscle were still visible, they sagged with age. But what really unsettled Clayton was the smell—a pungent mix of sweat, alcohol, and a faint metallic tang that turned his stomach.

He stared so long he didn’t even notice that Old Man Wood had finished his introduction.

"Psst—Clayton..."

Startled by the whisper, Clayton quickly nodded. "Ah—yes, sir..."

Old Man Wood began to grow concerned about Clayton’s odd behavior. Thankfully, Vino didn’t seem to notice—or didn’t care—and gestured for them to come inside.

The interior was a disaster, as though the place had been ransacked. Clayton’s eyes widened in disbelief.

"Sorry about the mess," Vino said casually.

Clayton and Old Man Wood exchanged a quick glance, then nodded politely.

After weaving through cluttered hallways for several minutes, they reached the cellar—and to Clayton’s surprise, this part of the house was pristine. Rows of barrels were neatly arranged, and the air felt cleaner.

The stark contrast shocked him.

People really do care for what they love, he thought.

Not long after, Vino returned with several bottles of wine and a set of glass droppers.

"Now then, to make this conversation more pleasant—why don’t we sample a few of my blends?"

Clayton reached out to help pour, but Vino waved him off and carefully filled a row of small glasses.

"Go ahead," he said, pushing the drinks toward them.

Clayton hesitated, but Old Man Wood eagerly grabbed a glass of golden liquid and downed it in one smooth motion.

"Shhh... Ahhh! Mister Vino, your wine really is the best in town!" he praised sincerely.

"Haha, you flatter me. It’s just a simple brew,"

Vino replied with modest pride.

Encouraged, Clayton picked up a glass and took a sip.

The sensation wasn’t what he expected. Instead of burning heat, there was a gentle coolness that coated his throat, followed by a smooth, subtle sweetness. Then came a warm flush that spread from his stomach through his limbs.

Yes—it was definitely alcohol. But refined.

"How is it?" Vino asked.

"It’s amazing! I’m not much of a drinker, but even I can tell this is top-shelf."

"Then try another. I promise you’ll be pleasantly surprised."

Old Man Wood reached for a glass filled with a clear liquid. After drinking it, his face twisted into a strange mix of discomfort and delight. Curious, Clayton took a sip from a similar glass.

The burn hit instantly. His throat flared up, his eyes watered, and his nose stung—he almost coughed. But he held it in and focused inward.

His eyes widened.

"Holy... this helps my training like medicine! And without the side effects of potions!"

Vino gave a pleased nod. A quiet moment followed as they all let the drink’s effects settle.

Still curious, Old Man Wood pointed to a glass filled with red liquid.

"Mind if I try that one?"

"Please. It’s meant to be enjoyed."

Without hesitation, Old Man Wood drank it down. His face flushed—not from alcohol, but from a sudden burst of vitality.

Clayton recognized the effect.

A blood-energy boost, he thought. Especially useful for knights.

Tempted, he took a small sip—

—and immediately regretted it.

Despite its liquid form, it felt thick in his mouth. The taste was like iron, slightly sweet and oily, with a sharp, bloody scent that clung to his nose. He gagged—and couldn’t hold it in.

"Blegh!"

Old Man Wood was shocked. Vino looked stunned as his prized brew was rejected—violently.

Old Man Wood quickly stepped in to smooth things over.

"Hahaha! Looks like Clayton’s just not used to such intense flavors. Doesn’t mean he didn’t like it—young folks just have different palates!"

Realizing Wood was trying to save face, Clayton quickly added, "Yeah, please don’t take it the wrong way, Mister Vino. I’m just not used to such... classic flavors. People my age tend to prefer lighter, sweeter drinks..."

Vino simply nodded, though the gloom on his face revealed his disappointment.

The mood turned awkward and quiet.

Suddenly, a knock echoed from the front door.

The tension broke. Vino excused himself to check who it was.

As soon as he left, Old Man Wood leaned toward Clayton.

"What’s gotten into you today? You’ve been acting strange ever since we arrived."

Clayton offered an awkward smile and looked away. Wood sighed and returned to sipping his wine.

Moments later, Vino returned—with a guest.

"Sorry. Just a customer here to buy some wine," he explained.

Clayton and Wood didn’t mind. But from his seat, Clayton could just barely see the guest—still standing near the entrance to the cellar, not stepping in.

At first, Clayton didn’t think much of it. But something about the figure held his gaze.

There was something... familiar.

Then, he saw the face—Rodent.

Their eyes met.

A chill ran down Clayton’s spine.

Rodent’s eyes. That gaze. That red glow.

They were the same red eyes he’d seen behind the door earlier.