Iron Hammer barged into the tavern. He was a towering, broad-shouldered man with a bushy beard, nearly as tall as the tavern's doorway. A heavy black bear pelt hung from his shoulders, and steam billowed from his bald head. The ugly face, deeply gashed by a heavy blade, twitched now and then, its thick scar writhing like a many-legged centipede.
At the sound of Lin Qi's shout, Iron Hammer—brawnier than a Northern Ice Bear—let out a raucous laugh and strode toward him. He scooped Lin Qi up around the waist and tossed him into the air. Lin Qi yelped. Iron Hammer nearly flung him into the ceiling, but fortunately he was nimble and quick-witted; he braced both hands against the tavern ceiling. Otherwise, he would have smashed his head open for sure.
"Young master, it's wonderful to find you here!" Iron Hammer gave his nose a hearty wipe, then turned and roared at the bar, "Ladies, get me a good drink! I'm warning you—if anyone puts even a drop of water in it, I'll break every bone in her body!"
The maids on both sides of the counter paled. Working at the Cripple's Shop, they had seen all kinds of tough customers from every trade in the dock district. But in both size and sheer presence, Iron Hammer was undoubtedly more terrifying than any of the toughs they had encountered before. They had no doubt that this brute, who looked anything but kind, would do exactly what he said. If he threatened to break every bone in their bodies, he could certainly do it.
Lin Qi and Iron Hammer embraced fiercely, and Lin Qi burst into laughter. Turning to Enzo, he introduced them. "Enzo, this is Uncle Iron Hammer, my first Combat Technique teacher. Uncle Iron Hammer, this is Enzo, my good brother and right-hand man—a first-rate swordsman!"
Enzo stared at Iron Hammer in shock. From the burly man in the bear-pelt coat, he sensed a power as hot as fire. Even with the wind and snow howling through the doorway, standing before Iron Hammer made Enzo feel as if his whole body were burning, as though he were facing a red-hot iron ingot.
Iron Hammer gave Enzo a long look. Enzo felt a sudden heat in his chest, as if he had taken a blow from a sledgehammer. He staggered, nearly stepping backward, but tensed every muscle and held his ground. Iron Hammer nodded in approval and slapped his bald head with a hearty laugh. "Young master, your brother's pretty good. He's got this much strength at such a young age—pretty good!"
Iron Hammer turned and kicked the tavern's heavy wooden door shut with a resounding bang, then bellowed at the bar. "Ladies, are you deaf? Good booze! Bring me good booze! It's freezing out, and a customer's come in—especially one who's an old friend of your boss! You're not even going to serve me a drink?"
Iron Hammer's roar was like the howl of a Magic Beast. Bottles and glasses rattled and clinked behind the bar, and several maids trembled so hard they nearly collapsed onto the floor. The bravest among them shakily grabbed a mug large enough to hold a liter of spirits and hurriedly poured an entire bottle of strong rum into it.
With a satisfied grunt, Iron Hammer flicked his hand from seven or eight meters away. A small iron chain, no thicker than a little finger, whipped from his sleeve with a shrill whistle and swept up the big mug, bringing it right to him. He drew in a deep breath of the liquor's aroma, raised the mug, and shouted, "Young master, Iron Hammer's glad to see you in good health!"
In one gulp, Iron Hammer drained the liter of liquor. He let out a contented belch, dropped heavily into a wooden chair beside him, and rummaged in his clothes until he produced an envelope, which he handed to Lin Qi. "Young master, you haven't been home in three whole years. The master says you have to come back this year during your winter break, no matter what."
After another satisfied belch, Iron Hammer pulled a leather tobacco pouch from his sleeve, grabbed a fistful of tobacco, and stuffed it into his mouth, chewing vigorously. As he chewed, he mumbled, "The master has something for you to do. Uh, young master, now that you're a university student, the master's proud as can be. He wants you to come home and make him look good in front of those rich country bumpkins!"
Swallowing a mouthful of spit, Iron Hammer turned and yelled at the maids again. "Where's the Cripple? If he's not dead, tell him to get out here and welcome an old friend! Ah, it's been three years since I saw him, and I've really missed that old villain! Hahaha, nobody's crippled him yet, has he?"
At Iron Hammer's roar, the Cripple emerged soundlessly from some shadowy corner of the tavern. He looked at Iron Hammer in feigned surprise, spread his hands, and cried, "Well, well, who's this? Why, if it isn't Iron Hammer! How's life with the Berreley Garrison hunting you down? Hahaha, you come to Berely, and the only place you dare go is my turf, huh? When did you get off the ship?"
Iron Hammer chuckled oddly, then stood and embraced the Cripple with a hearty squeeze.
The Cripple asked earnestly, "How's Blackbeard doing?"
Iron Hammer smacked the Cripple's shoulder with a smug grin. "The master's as strong as ever. Mm, it's just that the harvest hasn't been good lately, so he's not in the best mood!"
While they talked, Lin Qi opened the envelope and read the letter written in his father's own hand. The familiar handwriting was still as rigid and deliberate as ever, each stroke seeming to have been hacked down with a heavy blade, brimming with a wild, unrestrained force. Looking at those characters, Lin Qi could almost see his father: a rugged, wild man as burly as a bear.
Curious, Enzo leaned over beside Lin Qi to look at the letter. He knew a little about his boss's family. According to Lin Qi, his father was a miller in Dunkirk, the empire's third-largest port city, and dealt exclusively in flour. He controlled nearly all of Dunkirk's flour imports and exports, and his mills supplied flour to at least three northern provinces of the empire.
From what Lin Qi had said, he ought to have come from a comfortable family that had been in business for generations. But how could the son of an honest, respectable business family have built an organization like the Iron Fist Brotherhood in just three years?
Glancing sideways at Iron Hammer, Enzo was even more curious about how an honest miller could have an expert like him working for him. A wanted man by the Berreley Garrison, no less—ordinary little bandits didn't even qualify for the wanted list.
The Cripple was picking up where he had left off, asking Iron Hammer, "How could that be? The empire's had good weather and bumper wheat harvests for the past few years. Blackbeard's business should be booming!"
Iron Hammer threw his head back with a helpless sigh and shook it. "Wrong, wrong, Cripple. The better the weather, the worse the master's business. There's too much flour, and it won't fetch a good price! What the master wants most is for the empire to suffer disasters every year, with famine breaking out everywhere. Then our wheat could sell for a fortune!"
Iron Hammer pointed a thick middle finger straight at the ceiling and roared, "I curse the gods! If you don't bring a few years of drought to the empire, the brothers will have nothing to eat! The boss has twenty warehouses full of wheat. When's he ever going to sell it?"
The Cripple sighed in deep agreement and hurriedly called for the maids to bring out liquor and meat.
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