If it weren't for the demands of his profession, he would have wanted to close up shop for good.
With a sigh, the tavern owner grabbed a cup and gulped down the ale, heedless of the pale yellow liquid trickling from the corner of his mouth.
Draining the cup in one go, he set it down heavily and wiped his mouth, unable to stop himself from missing the ordinary days of the past.
Passing along intelligence, selling watered-down liquor, occasionally "cleaning up" the tavern by dealing with a few clueless petty thieves and troublesome customers, and chatting about life with the newly arrived flirtatious dancers.
Why did he have to spend every day entertaining these Outsiders now? Especially when the intelligence said these damned people couldn't be killed!
Shaking his head, the tavern owner forced himself to think differently.
On the bright side, as the tavern owner, even if he had to receive these Outlanders, he was at least unlikely to face any real danger to his life.
The agents lurking in Olyvendi-owned businesses, and especially those planted directly within the Lord's Manor, were the ones in the greatest danger.
From the orders issued by his superiors this time, he could tell that some major upheaval was likely about to occur among the Empire's upper ranks.
That was one of the Four Pillars of the Empire, an ancient family that had endured for thousands of years! Once this mission was carried out, fewer than one in ten would likely escape alive.
He had been the tavern owner here for over twenty years. This time, even a half-logistics man like him had received orders to cooperate with the operation. That alone showed how serious this matter was.
It was clearly a game between the high and mighty, but in the end,