Cashmere Rusty Nail Tavern, main hall.
Horako sat in a corner of the hall. The dining bowl on the table before him had long since been cleared away by a server, replaced with two bubbling cups of ale.
The dwarf Solding sat across from him.
The tavern had not prepared chairs especially suited to their race, so the wooden chairs that let ordinary people sit with their entire upper bodies visible were clearly ill-suited to this stocky, short fellow.
If he sat normally, the edge of the wooden table almost reached his chest, and he had to lift both hands slightly before he could place them on the tabletop properly. His whole body looked as if he were propping himself up on the table with both hands.
As he shifted, the chair creaked under his stocky, dense build, making him look rather comical.
But perhaps he had long since grown used to it, or perhaps he was simply broad-minded by nature. Solding did not care at all and merely kept gulping down the ale in front of him, mouthful after mouthful.
Clearly, to him, being able to drink so freely early in the morning was something deeply enjoyable and pleasant.
Nor did he need to worry that drunkenness would delay the mission or cause any mistakes.
With the physical constitution of a Level 4 [Shield Warrior], a drink with such a low alcohol content was, to a certain extent, basically impossible to get him drunk even if he drank it like water.
It was purely to satisfy his craving.
By contrast, Horako at the other end of the table was far less bold.
By the time Solding had poured three cups into that stone stomach of his, the liquor in the rich merchant's cup had only gone down by a