Inside the Dwarf Alliance's office at the Caster Association, the atmosphere was extremely tense.
A group of dwarves reeking of alcohol looked like potato mines poking their heads out of the ground, primed to explode at any moment.
Put that way, it did not seem quite so tense anymore.
Jia Xiu was not trying to mock the dwarves. It was simply that a bunch of round, freshly drunk dwarves with rosy red faces really did look like potato mines.
He felt that dwarves as a race had been born with a talent for comedy.
The delicate standoff lasted several seconds.
Jia Xiu did not know what the procedure was supposed to be now.
He had never been through this before.
Just as he wondered whether he ought to say something, Ambassador Thorin spoke again.
"Let's do it by the old rules!"
Old rules? What old rules?
Jia Xiu had absolutely no idea what rules dwarves had.
Was it a passionate one-on-one duel, or an anything-goes brawl? But given the dwarves' traditionally wild ways, it could not possibly be something like a slap-fighting contest, could it?
Though, come to think of it, dwarves were not entirely incapable of inventing a competition that absurd.
Yet several dwarves carried over enormous barrels, about as tall and as thick as themselves, and set them down heavily on the floor with several thuds. Liquid sloshed inside.
Jia Xiu had a bad feeling about this.
"You must prove yourself to the God of Fine Wine," Ambassador Thorin declared loudly. "Prove that you, you sinister Iris man, did not come here to do evil!"
"Uh—Ambassador Thorin, we should not just assume every Iris person is sinister."
Jia Xiu had not expected it to be such a traditional method: negotiations at the drinking table.
He could not accept