It was the height of summer, yet the bone-piercing cold wind that abruptly surged in from outside made the drinkers in the inn shiver despite themselves.
And when they looked with strange gazes toward the burly figure at the tavern entrance, they instinctively looked away again because of the icy, sinister aura he gave off, not daring to meet his eyes.
The noisy, boiling atmosphere, still carrying the lingering warmth of the Midsummer Festival, suddenly cooled.
Only the adventurers' deliberately calm whispers remained.
In the very center of the Tavern Hall, the men who had just been shoving and grappling with one another seemed to have been frozen solid by the cold wind, their bodies abruptly going still.
All the foul-mouthed curses came to an abrupt halt as well.
As if they had already communicated in secret, they made no unnecessary movements and left behind no resentful threats.
Even though the red-bearded dwarf's most treasured beard braid had somehow been snipped short by a small length during the fight, and the leading Calishite now had a purplish bruise in the shape of a fist around his eye, they merely separated their tangled limbs with remarkable tacit understanding and silently returned to their own tables.
"Bang."
Heavy, powerful footsteps came from the tavern entrance, gradually growing clear.
Chapton looked at the Barbarian before him, draped in a wolf-fur cloak, a stiff, businesslike smile on his face.
"Guest, what would you like to eat?"
"Two pieces of raw meat."
His thick Northern Territory accent made his voice sound as if it had come through a blizzard, blurred and indistinct.
His ice-blue eyes glanced warily at the black-haired youth not far away, and he answered.
"Of course, guest. Please wait a moment."
Chapton hurried off at a trot toward the kitchen.
Clatter was