Red Raven Tavern (Part 1)

Red Raven Tavern (Part 1)

Norton Lorist had a large shoulder bag slung diagonally across each side, a bulging double-strapped pack on his back that was as wide as his shoulders and hung to his knees, a straw-yellow wicker trunk in his left hand, and a huge, long roll of animal hide balanced on his right shoulder. He kicked open the double redwood doors painted with a white wine cup and squeezed into the tavern entrance—normally wide enough for two burly men to pass through at once—with the difficult, waddling gait of a foolish bear that had wandered into a thicket of iron-toothed briars.

Three in the afternoon was the quietest time at the Red Raven Tavern. There were only three people in the spacious hall. Old Mike, the red-nosed minstrel, had drunk too much cat piss at noon and was sleeping soundly with his head on the table. Old Hope, whose family ran a leather boot shop, and Old Tom, a retired postal officer, were playing cards at a table by the fireplace to pass the time. Both stared wide-eyed in astonishment at Lorist as he entered.

Nodding to Old Hope and Old Tom, Lorist unloaded everything he was carrying and tossed it onto the floor before the long tavern counter. Backpacks, shoulder bags, trunks, and the hide roll formed a small mountain. He took off his bearskin hat and flung it onto a nearby table, then removed his black leather coat. Pulling the two swords of unequal length from his waist, he placed them on the table as well. Letting out a long breath, he slapped the counter and called, "Old Gar, Old Gar! Where are you? Did someone carry off the wine barrels or something?"

"Gods, it's Little Locke..." Old Tom had finally recognized Norton Lorist after he took off his leather coat.

Old Hope leapt to his feet impatiently. "Hey, Little Locke, why did this trip take so long? It's been over half a year. We were worried something had happened to you. Did you get the Star-patterned Deer Hide I wanted?"

Pointing at the hide roll on the floor, Lorist said, "Three pieces. They're all wrapped inside. Take a look yourself."

A tall, skinny old man with a limp emerged from the small door behind the counter. When he saw Lorist standing there, a trace of a smile flashed across his gloomy face. "You're back?"

This old man was Brunan Garilando, owner of the Red Raven Tavern—Old Gar, as Lorist called him. Despite his inconvenient limp, who would have imagined that this stern, expressionless old man, who usually stayed behind the tavern counter, was a Gold One-star Swordsman? Even the neighbors who often came to the tavern for amusement took him for an ordinary tavern owner.

"Ah, Old Gar, get me a mug of Blackberry Mead to wet my throat first. And wake Fatty Mai in the kitchen and have him make me a feast. I've spent more than half a year sleeping rough and eating whatever I could find. I've missed the food here to death." Lorist was utterly unceremonious.

"Got it." Garilando ladled a large mug of mead and set it before Lorist. "Have a drink first. I'll go wake Madoff."

"Oh, right, Old Gar. Help me take inventory later. I brought back everything everyone asked for this time. See if it all matches the register." Lorist drank his mead while watching Old Hope rummage through the hide roll.

Garilando grunted and disappeared through the small door.

"Ha..." A sleepy woman appeared in the doorway, yawning. "Who is it? Don't they know everyone needs an afternoon nap right now? Coming to eat at this hour and not even thinking it's late—what's wrong with them?"

Her ample chest strained the fitted maid's uniform tight. This was Louise, the head waitress of the Red Raven Tavern.

"Urk..." Lorist immediately choked on a mouthful, his face turning a little red. Anyone would feel somewhat uneasy when facing the first woman they had ever slept with. Lorist was particularly afraid of Sister Louise. After all, on his twentieth birthday, he had gotten drunk at the Red Raven Tavern and Sister Louise had taken his virginity, claiming it was her coming-of-age gift to him. Several years had passed, but Lorist still felt lingering fear whenever he saw her.

"Oh my, our Little Locke is back! It's been half a year—I missed you so much! Come here, give your big sister a hug first." At the sight of Lorist, Louise's eyes lit up. Her sleepiness vanished without a trace as she spread her arms and pounced toward him.

Across the counter, Lorist and Sister Louise shared a token embrace, and he let her plant two fierce kisses on his cheeks.

"You just got back? Poor Little Locke, only half a year and you've gotten thinner and darker. Everyone talked about you all the time. We were worried something might have happened to you. We hadn't heard a word from you for so long—we were afraid you'd come to harm..." Sister Louise began to nag.

"Well, I'm back now, aren't I? This time I went to the Ruins Archipelago. There was no way to communicate across the sea. Besides, everyone knows ships only go there once every six months, so what was there to worry about? At least have a little faith in my strength."

"With your Black Iron Three-Star strength? Plenty of Silver Swordsmen have died in the Ruins Archipelago. We hear about things like that all the time in this tavern." Sister Louise gave Lorist no face at all.

"Uh, but this Black Iron Three-Star has never lost to a Silver Swordsman..." Lorist rubbed his nose, looking slightly embarrassed.

"Those were academy matches, not life-or-death fights with magical beasts. They were going easy on you. I really don't understand why those old men at your academy picked you to be their bodyguard on an expedition when they passed over so many Silver Swordsmen." Sister Louise felt that sending Little Locke, with only Black Iron strength, to do a Silver Swordsman's job was practically unforgivable.

Lorist smiled bitterly. Sister Louise meant well, but how could she understand the anguish of having his battle qi stalled at the Black Iron Tier for more than three years, unable to advance? This time, when the academy organized an expedition to investigate and explore the Ruins Archipelago, he had pestered the old academy head, Levens, until he was forced to sign several unfair agreements that put him at a great disadvantage. Only then had that old man agreed to let him accompany the expedition to the Ruins Archipelago as a life support assistant.

Without the strength of a Silver Swordsman, going to the Ruins Archipelago was tantamount to suicide. This was a well-known fact among all adventurers on the Galintea Continent. Naturally, scholars and researchers under protection were exceptions. Though Lorist had gone as a life support assistant responsible for several academy professors, the things he did were no fewer than what a Silver Swordsman would do. He had faced risks he should have taken and risks he should not have taken, even encountering dangers beyond a Silver Swordsman's ability several times.

The round trip had taken nearly two months, and he had spent four months in the Ruins Archipelago. His gains had been immense. Lorist could feel it himself: fighting magical beasts to the death and surviving several life-threatening trials had indeed greatly increased his strength. His swordsmanship had become sharper, his movements more agile, and even his instincts more acute. Yet his original hope of using life-and-death training to break through the Black Iron rank of his battle qi still could not be fulfilled. He remained stalled at the peak of Black Iron Three-Star.

What a mistake. How had he ever come up with the absurd idea of trying to use the qi circulation methods from his previous life's qigong practice to circulate battle qi? One involved meridians and the other blood vessels; one was internal and the other external. They had nothing whatsoever to do with each other. Only someone whose brain had short-circuited would have tried such a thing. And now look what had happened: he had practiced this body's inherited high-level Blazing Flame Battle Qi incorrectly. For over three years, he had been stuck at the Black Iron rank, unable to advance to Silver Swordsman. He had fallen from the academy's admired swordsmanship prodigy to one of its biggest jokes.

"Hey, Brother Locke, you're finally back! Seeing you makes me so happy..." The fat man interrupting Lorist's self-pity was Madoff, the Red Raven Tavern's chef. He was tying a mottled blue linen apron around himself while struggling to squeeze his enormous belly through the small doorway and behind the counter.

"Hi, Madoff. I'm happy to see you too." Lorist raised his mug of mead. "Is there anything to eat? I'm starving. I didn't have breakfast or lunch—I only gnawed on a rye stick on the ship..."

"Gods, Little Locke, why didn't you say so earlier? Don't just drink. Drinking on an empty stomach will ruin it. Madoff, hurry and think of something that can be served right away!" Sister Louise said.

"Well, there's roast goose in the smoker, though it hasn't been seasoned yet. There are pork ribs stewed with potatoes in the big pot, but they've gone cold and need reheating. Those will take a while. Oh, the lamb meatballs steaming over there on low heat can be served. They're still hot. Louise, go to my room. There are two cream-white loaves in the birchwood chest by the bed. Bring them to Locke first. I was saving them as an afternoon snack." Madoff was clearly reluctant to part with the two cream-white loaves.

Sister Louise hurried off energetically.

"Mm, then bring me a roast goose, a bowl of pork ribs stewed with potatoes, and fry me a herring, Madoff. I'll also have a plate of green pea blood sausage, steamed egg with rice shrimp, fried mushrooms with Qingganlan, and a bottle of fruit wine. That'll do." Lorist continued ordering.

"That much? Can you finish it?" Madoff looked at Lorist doubtfully.

"I'm so hungry I could eat a cow. Go make the food. When you're done, we'll sit down and have a drink together."

Just as he sent Madoff away, Sister Louise returned carrying a large steaming platter of lamb meatballs and two cream-white loaves. "Eat quickly. Don't let your stomach starve."

"Oh, Little Locke, you're wonderful! This is exactly the hide I wanted. Look at those beautiful starry markings..." Before Lorist had even swallowed his bread, Old Hope's praise rang out from behind him. He was holding the three deer hides, each as large as a tabletop, unable to put them down as he examined them by the firelight and showered them with compliments.

"Oh, right, I'll go home and get the money now. I'll be right back." At last, Old Hope put down the hides and rushed out of the tavern with agility wholly mismatched to his age.

"Uh, why is he in such a hurry..." Lorist shrugged at Louise across the table, chewing a lamb meatball as he spoke indistinctly.

"For the past two months, Old Hope has been going on about you in the tavern. I thought he was worried about you out of kindness. Turns out he was just thinking about the hides you promised to bring him..." Old Tom, the retired postal officer, raised his mug of mead toward Lorist.

When Sister Louise served Lorist his green pea blood sausage, Old Hope came rushing back, drenched in sweat. He panted his way to Lorist's table, tipped fifteen gold Fudes from an exquisite patterned leather pouch, and carefully lined them up one by one. Then he impatiently reached for the three Star-patterned Deer Hides.

"Hey, Old Hope, wait. Are you sure that's the right price?" At some point, tavern owner Garilando had appeared in front of Old Hope and pressed his hand down on the three hides on the table.

"Garilando, what are you doing? Little Locke didn't object, did he?" Old Hope looked at Garilando.

"Little Locke not saying anything doesn't mean he has no objections. The current market price is seven gold Fudes and eight large silver coins per Star-patterned Deer Hide. You want to take these three fine hides for fifteen gold Fudes? That's a little hard to justify."

Old Hope's face reddened. "But I placed the order half a year ago..."

"When you reserved them from Little Locke half a year ago, you never agreed on a price. You only said it would be at market price. Half a year has passed, and you still want to use the old market price? You've got some nerve. Star-patterned Deer Hides are getting rarer and more expensive. If we took these three fine hides outside, someone might even offer eight gold Fudes each. You can make ten or so pairs of boots from them, enough to earn you dozens of gold Fudes. If you don't make up the difference, then there's no deal. I'll sell them outside for Little Locke myself. I don't believe no one will pay a high price."

"Exactly. Didn't those two mercenaries say a couple of days ago that buying Star-patterned Deer Hides in the Ruins Archipelago now costs five gold Fudes apiece, and even then the quality isn't very good? Old Hope, aren't you plainly taking advantage of him? Little Locke brought three good hides all this way for you. Aren't you ashamed to make him go through all that for nothing?" Sister Louise rolled her eyes at Old Hope, her face full of contempt.

Old Hope returned to Lorist's table resentfully and took seven gold coins from his money pouch, placing them on the table. "I didn't bring any large silver coins..."

One gold Fude was worth twenty large silver coins. Old Hope still owed four large silver coins.

Lorist waved his hand generously. "Forget it."

Watching Old Hope hurry away with the hides, Sister Louise was deeply dissatisfied. "Why be so generous? You let that old bastard off cheap. Four large silver coins could buy ten good meals."

Lorist smiled. "What's wrong? Did Old Hope offend you?"

Sister Louise immediately exploded. "That old bastard, that miser! He takes advantage of the waitresses every day at the tavern, but never leaves tips... He can nurse a five-copper mug of mead all afternoon, taking up a seat without spending a damn thing..."

Uh, tavern waitresses were there to let customers take a little advantage. Flirting, teasing, a squeeze of the breast, a pat on the backside, taking a bit of liberty—none of that was a big deal. But customers who took advantage of waitresses without leaving tips were hated by everyone. They were the least welcome sort, and deserved to get hit by a carriage the moment they stepped outside...