Bravehearts Bar

After settling the plan of action and the evening meeting time with Owen, Cyrin Gray returned to 93 Weldi Street. He still needed to make some preparations, find a way to get himself some weapons, and find other ways to make money.

Robbing a gang was just a spur-of-the-moment idea; it wasn't a sustainable business. He just wanted to earn whatever he could, and taking the opportunity to complete his "Apprentice" acting was the core objective.

He already had some leads on a real way to make money and intended to try his luck in a little while.

"If Roselle hadn't walked every path a transmigrator could possibly take, I wouldn't have been reduced to the point of coaxing someone into robbing a gang with me."

"Roselle, the lifelong nemesis of all transmigrators. At the same age, I'm still scrambling for a living, while he was already engaged in deep exchanges with noble ladies and misses."

"Damn it all..."

Amidst his resentful mutterings, he saw the door to the washroom at the end of the second-floor hallway pushed open from the inside.

A young man with black hair and black eyes, thin and cold, with quite handsome features, stood behind the door frame, looking at him expressionlessly. No, there was still a hint of expression—the helplessness, habit, and disdain of an honor student looking at a slacker.

If you ignored his attire and temperament, he looked ninety percent like Cyrin. If you factored in the temperament, only fifty percent remained.

Cyrin Gray's twin brother, the only honor student in the family, Haven Gray, a student in the Physics Department at Backlund University.

"Why aren't you at school attending classes?"

Cyrin looked at him in surprise. He remembered that his twin brother's curriculum was very heavy, which was why he would occasionally let Cyrin take his place in class so he could sneak out to relax.

Haven Gray, standing behind the doorway, put the gold-rimmed glasses he was holding back onto his face. His gaze swept up and down over Cyrin quickly, and the expression on his face relaxed slightly:

"I ran into Professor Fells at school, and that was how I found out the life you lead while home alone is so exciting. You even used that as a pretext to get such a long leave from Professor Fells."

"You'd best not go to that club again. Father and Mother are still in East Chester County and won't be back until the end of the month at the earliest, so they've decided to have our elder sister come back to look after you for a while."

Haven deliberately emphasized his voice when saying "look after." Although it was Cyrin who had caused the trouble, this supervision was clearly aimed at both of them. The free life with parents and their eldest sister away from home was about to vanish.

"..."

Familiar faces flashed through his mind, and Cyrin sighed silently in his heart... In the end, he still had to face the problem he wanted to avoid most. No wonder transmigrators liked being orphans so much.

He paused, skipped the topic, and asked casually: "So you didn't go to class because you skipped?"

Haven: ...

Cyrin waved his hand and changed the subject again: "Forget it, do you have any money? Lend me some."

Haven looked at him with an "I knew it" expression: "How much do you want to borrow?"

Cyrin pondered and stated a conservative number: "100 pounds?"

The expression on Haven's face stiffened visibly for a moment before he said calmly: "Repeat your last sentence."

Cyrin: "Lend me some money?"

Haven: "No, goodbye."

Having said that, without giving him a chance to speak again, Haven walked past him quickly, went downstairs, and left the house.

Cyrin watched his rapidly disappearing figure and opened his mouth, finally exhaling silently.

He had actually wanted to ask if the other could use his connections with the professors in the Physics Department at Backlund University to get a pistol, or perhaps assemble a thermal weapon himself using materials.

But thinking that he didn't have a suitable reason and that it might arouse suspicion later, he didn't say it in the end.

"Sigh, this brotherhood isn't even worth 100 pounds~"

With a sigh, he returned to his room, performed some substandard camouflage, took his only savings of 10 pounds and 13 soli, and went out.

Iron Gate Street in the Backlund Bridge area, Bravehearts Bar.

Just as he reached the center of Iron Gate Street, he saw a seemingly heavy black wooden door and a giant nearly two meters tall with arms crossed.

He didn't know if it was the powerful memory brought by his own uniqueness or Adam's help, but even the details he had skipped over when reading books in the past were now exceptionally clear.

For instance, the exact location of Bravehearts Bar.

After the Twilight Hermit Order gathering ended last night, he had been thinking about making contact with the Beyonder circle as soon as possible. When he thought of Bravehearts Bar and the old gentleman "Eye of Wisdom," the address had just popped into his head.

Seeing the nearly two-meter-tall giant acting as a guard at the bar entrance, Cyrin's heart skipped a beat. As an Easterner, he really hadn't seen someone of this build face-to-face before.

Even though he was already a Beyonder, he still felt that the other could knock him out with one punch.

He swept a calm glance at the man, then walked straight past him and pushed open the door to the bar.

The giant guarding the door didn't react, just like a stranger passing by on the road, though his throat moved subconsciously when he smelled the thick aroma of malt ale wafting from behind the door.

The bar was very quiet at this time of day. At the bar counter, there was a bartender wiping a glass repeatedly and a Grey-robed Man drinking the most ordinary beer as if it were high-end red wine. In the corner, there were two drunken guests, as well as a staff member arranging tables and chairs.

To be honest, this was the most backward, or even dilapidated, bar I've ever been to. I had originally thought a bar in another world might have a unique charm, but never mind that now.

Thinking this, Cyril managed to keep any expression of disgust or discomfort off his face as he walked to the bar and pulled up a random stool to sit.

"A glass of South Wales Beer."

He only remembered a few types of alcohol, and in a bar like this, high-end products like Olmier Red Wine or Sonia Blood Wine were impossible to find.

"5 pence," the bartender answered expertly.

Cyrin handed over a 1-soli note. The bartender took it and returned 7 pence in change along with a large wooden mug filled with golden liquid.

Cyrin only took the drink. He didn't take the 7 pence the bartender handed over, but asked with a light smile:

"I want to purchase some unconventional items. I heard there are such channels here."

"Sir, you might have been lied to. This is a legitimate bar."

The bartender replied while placing the 7 pence in notes in front of him.

The smile on Cyrin's face froze. This development wasn't right; shouldn't he be directed to the person in charge of the gray business here?

While he was stunned, a hoarse, low voice with a hint of fatigue sounded from the side:

"Heh, 10 pounds, and I'll take you."

Cyrin looked in surprise at the Grey-robed Man sitting two stools away. The face under the grey hood was so pale it didn't look alive, and deep malice was hidden within his brown eyes. The whole person exuded a touch of madness and repression.

As he focused his attention, he suddenly saw the thick, restrained spirituality on the other man.

A Beyonder, and not a low sequence one at that. He must have a way or ability to hide his own uniqueness, otherwise, I wouldn't have just noticed his dense spirituality now.

He paused and asked with a hint of scrutiny: "Do you know what I want?"

The other curled his lips imperceptibly: "Of course, reckless newcomer."

Cyrin nodded slightly, then reluctantly took out the only 10 pounds he had and pushed it toward the other.

He was a little worried about whether the other would cheat him—not worried about a trap, of course, but worried that his only 10 pounds would go down the drain. As for encountering danger, although an "Apprentice" wasn't good at fighting, they were top-tier at running away.

Under Cyrin's gaze, the Grey-robed Man put away the 10 pounds, then chuckled with a touch of pleasure:

"You're in luck. There happens to be a gathering at noon today."

Cyrin nodded slightly and brought the mug of aromatic, tempting beer that had cost him 5 pence to his lips.

It was crisp and bitter with a hint of fragrance, but he wasn't used to it. He had almost never drunk beer in the past; he preferred fruit wine or sake, categories that could be considered alcoholic beverages.

It cost me 5 pence, after all; I can't waste it.

Thinking this, he took another large gulp, then set the mug on the bar counter with a frown. He still couldn't get used to this kind of alcohol, which he considered somewhat inferior.

Looking at the more than half-full mug, he thought with bitter optimism: Now there's one more reason to make money—so I don't have to drink inferior alcohol in the future.