Chapter 45: Chapton

The nights on the continent of Effara, at least for the vast majority of humans living upon it, are quiet and perilous.

Aside from a few major cities possessing sufficient military readiness and robust defenses, terms like “noisy” and “bustling” rarely correlate with human settlements beneath the shroud of night. After all, no one can guarantee that the ravenous, nocturnal magical beasts roaming the wilderness won’t be drawn directly to the light inside your home.

Of course, for Riverbend Town—and especially the street where the Adventurer’s Association resides—it is a completely different landscape.

“Wah… Hahaha!”

“Another cup! Another cup!”

“Where’s my rat meat platter? Why isn’t it out yet!”

The warm, bright lamplight seemed to blur faintly under the dense haze of alcohol and food aromas floating through the air. The crystal-clear liquor spraying and splashing from tilting mugs, the orange-red flames leaping and curling within the fireplace, and even the sweat-drenched, greenhorn waiter weaving back and forth between the drinking patrons…

The White Chickadee Tavern at night was practically another world.

Bang-thud—

A wooden chair was flipped over as a bearded barbarian, stripped to the waist and revealing a torso packed with lean, powerful muscle, suddenly leaped onto a drinking table. Heedless of the scraps of food clinging to his leather boots, and amidst the roaring cheers of the crowd, he clutched a wooden mug. Awkwardly swaying his scar-ridden torso, he began to dance a traditional tribal dance.

Beside him, an equally high-spirited bard leaned back with legs crossed, casually and gracefully plucking a gittern to provide the accompaniment.

At a neighboring table, a dwarf with a braided, reddish-brown beard gritted his teeth, his arm as solid as iron bulging with blood as he engaged in a fierce arm-wrestling match with a burly human opposite him. The surrounding onlookers jeered and cheered from time to time, causing the faces of both competitors to flush crimson, desperately afraid of losing face before these spectators who loved nothing more than a good spectacle.

In the main hall of the tavern, behind the counter.

Chapton was focusing all his attention on wiping down the glass in his hand. The tip of his finger pressed a soft cloth from the base along the body of the glass, carefully scraping away the smudges and fingerprints following its curve. He then reached into the interior, utilizing the rotation of his wrist to clean every single corner inside.

Faced with the clamor outside the bar, he didn’t even lift his head, acting with a meticulous care that looked as though he were caressing the hand of a lover. Only when the barbarian’s boots stomped heavily on the table in step with the dance, or when the dwarf who won the test of strength slammed his fan-like hand enthusiastically onto the surface, did his handlebar mustache twitch imperceptibly.

Scenes like this had played out almost every single night since the establishment of the White Chickadee Tavern. As the proprietor of the establishment, Chapton understood this perfectly and had long since grown accustomed to it.

Running a tavern was simple yet far from easy; it was difficult, yet not entirely complex.

First, you needed to investigate the business conditions of your local competitors beforehand, as well as the identities and spending capacities of your primary clientele, before selecting a prime piece of land.

Regarding this point, Chapton believed he had done quite well.

The White Chickadee Tavern enjoyed a superb location immediately adjacent to the Adventurer’s Association, and the food and drink inside ranged from expensive options meant to “reflect status” to cheap items “pursuing cost-effectiveness,” catering to every need. This ensured that whether they were ranked professionals whose single piece of equipment was worth a year of his own income, or bottom-tier adventurers who scraped by a living hunting goblins, everyone could spend a relatively pleasant evening inside the tavern.

Secondly, you had to maintain good relations with those whose lives were closely intertwined with the tavern. From the town’s magistrates and high-ranking adventurers down to the cleaners responsible for waste disposal.

Greasing the wheels with gold coins made everything smooth sailing. Otherwise, who knew if a poisoned magical beast’s carcass might suddenly materialize in your kitchen one day, or if some drunk, rowdy adventurer might tear your tavern apart.

Finally, the most important point—and the one Chapton most wished those young people wanting to enter this trade would understand—was this:

Do not rain on the parade of adventurers when they have just endured a whole day of dangerous, exhausting missions and desperately need alcohol and socialization to vent their energy. Otherwise… consecutive years of deficit ledgers and exorbitant expenditures on healing potions would teach you why.

Of course, when faced with the overly ecstatic or radical behaviors of certain adventurers that crossed the line, the triple-digit “management fee” he paid annually wasn’t for nothing either. Someone would naturally come to handle it for him.

He gently placed the freshly wiped glass back into the wooden cupboard.

Ignoring the increasingly loud din in the main hall, Chapton pulled out a brand-new rag to wipe down the surface of the counter, pondering silently in his heart:

“Madam Edwina of the ‘Green Grass Cauldron’ seems to have a new potion launching soon. I should send two bottles of ‘Lava’s Sigh’ over in a few days.”

“Mr. Fran’s son has a birthday next month. I heard they’ve already hired a professional to provide him with special training; a finely crafted one-handed sword should make an excellent birthday gift.”

Creak—

The sluggish friction of the wooden door hinges, accompanied by a biting, cold wind seeping through the gap, summoned Chapton from his thoughts back to reality.

He instinctively looked up.

Entering his vision was a tall, black-haired youth. His neat, short, messy hair was slightly disheveled by the evening wind outside, his lip line was thin and distinct, and a pair of narrow yet far from short, pitch-black eyes seemed to carry the deep night sky from outside the wooden door.

A single glance at his facial features gave off a sharp, chilling impression. He looked as though he had just returned from an adventure; the cracks on his leather armor were glaringly obvious, and a few stray bloodstains clung to the clothing between his arms and shoulders.

He bore two weapons on his back—one long and one short. Through the scabbard of the longer one, the iron-grey blade could faintly be discerned, while the shorter one was tightly wrapped in bandages, making it impossible to capture its exact appearance.

“A dual-wielding swordsman?” Chapton noted secretly in his heart.

It was a bit strange. Whether considering the current timing or the youth’s attire, he clearly bore the appearance of someone who had just concluded a mission. Yet the youth himself entirely lacked the fatigue and hardship that, in Chapton’s memory, adventurers typically displayed after a long journey and countless battles.

On the contrary, his spirit was brimming, and his state was absolute. It looked as though he had already rested and recuperated within the town for many days.

“Did he rest during the day and travel by night?”

“That shouldn’t be right. The Mist Forest is so dangerous; how could anyone dare to travel at night?”

After pondering for a moment and finding it truly impossible to make sense of, Chapton no longer obsessed over it. Having run the tavern for many years, he had seen all manners of eccentric individuals. And the stories circulating among the patrons had told him countless times that when dealing with those in the adventuring trade—

Do not pry.

However, just because he understood this logic didn’t mean everyone else did.

The youth with the short black hair had clearly drawn the attention of a few individuals. He had barely walked into the tavern and arrived before the counter when a reeking, alcohol-laden figure, clutching a mug, staggered over to intercept him.

“Hey kid… you new here?”

(End of Chapter)