Recommendation (Part 1)

While Romon went to the Adventurers' Guild to complete the formalities, Barnel, the leader of this small caravan, was speaking with his son Fezia in a room at the Kramp Trading Company.

Fezia was a young man with pale golden hair and a prominent aquiline nose. His well-proportioned build showed that he had some warrior's training.

"Fezia." Barnel looked at him kindly and called his name. "What do you think of Romon, that young Druid?" There was a probing note in his voice.

"Father!" Fezia did not answer at once. Instead, he frowned and pondered for a moment before saying in a very certain tone, "He is a highly gifted person, and he is also very worldly in the way he handles matters and people. I heard that he once worked as a clerk in Motte's shop. Perhaps he learned something during that time."

A trace of satisfaction appeared on Barnel's face, but it quickly vanished. "So, Fezia, you think highly of his future?"

Fezia froze for a moment, then immediately answered, "Yes, Father, I do think highly of his future. A gifted young man who is worldly in his dealings—so long as misfortune does not come knocking at his door, he will succeed."

Barnel smiled with satisfaction, this time no longer concealing it. "Dealing with a lion cub is far better than facing a full-grown lion. Fezia, since you think highly of Romon's future, invest in him like a merchant would."

As he spoke, Barnel took a roll of parchment from his robes. It was securely sealed with wax, bearing the mark of Barnel's caravan.

Fezia's gaze fell upon the index finger of his father's right hand. There was a ring there that served as the caravan's seal, its face still bearing traces of wax.

"Master Sackville in the city is a respected mage and an old friend of mine. Some time ago, he came to me and asked me to find him some junior priests or Druid-type spellcasters. He needs people to make a batch of healing potions for him. After all, mages can make most potions, but they cannot make healing potions. Now, Fezia, because of your judgment, I have decided to recommend Romon to him. Give this letter of recommendation to Romon yourself. Romon is short of money right now. I trust you can make him feel your goodwill."

Barnel solemnly handed the letter of recommendation to his son.

Fezia nodded, accepted it, and carefully put it away. "Father, I'll go to the Adventurers' Guild and find him now."

Barnel nodded. "Go on, then."

As Fezia reached the door, he heard his father mutter softly behind him, "They say fine wine is the touchstone of character, while women are the weights on the scales that measure sin."

Warmth rose in Fezia's heart, and a smile appeared on his face. It was a bright, sunlit afternoon.

By the time Romon walked out of the Adventurers' Guild, crimson clouds in the western sky had already covered more than half the heavens.

"Romon!" A voice called out to him.

He came back from his thoughts about the future and turned around. A young man stood there, waving at him.

Romon knew him. He was Fezia, the son of Barnel, the caravan leader.

In Romon's impression, Fezia was a very seasoned merchant. That was likely thanks to Barnel's tutelage. The only thing about Fezia that truly belonged to youth was the ambition deep within him, tinged with a touch of fantasy.

"Hi, Fezia." Romon waved back.

"Romon, how about we find somewhere to have a drink?" Fezia walked over naturally.

Having once been part of the working world, Romon naturally understood the meaning beneath Fezia's words: Romon, I have something to discuss with you.

"Sure. I heard an old man say that wine could cure wine." Romon laughed heartily and walked over.

"Really? I heard Old Vilen's tavern has a home-brewed fruit wine that tastes quite good." Fezia licked his lips. "To celebrate your becoming an adventurer, how about I treat you this time?"

"Then I won't stand on ceremony." Romon patted Fezia on the shoulder.

By the time the two arrived at Old Vilen's tavern in the east of the city, the sky had already grown faintly dark. There were not many people inside. Perhaps the adventurers would not come here to drown their sorrows until later.

A plump, bald old man behind the counter greeted them warmly. "Hey, two young lads, what'll you have?"

"Old Vilen, bring out your fruit wine. Two cups." Fezia held up two fingers and said with a grin. Then he found a table farther inside and sat down, casually pulling out a chair for Romon.

Romon sat down with a smile, but inwardly he was somewhat shaken. The old man standing behind the counter and greeting customers with a smile had a thin layer of aura around him. It was blood-red, like fresh blood. It showed the owner's powerful vitality, while the scent of slaughter within that bloody aura indicated that this man had fought his way through countless battles in his younger days.

Having permanently acquired Detect Aura, Romon knew very well that this old man should be a level-five warrior.

Once he realized this, Romon looked around again. Most of the few people in the tavern were dressed like adventurers, but compared to the adventurers he had seen before in the small shop run by Motte and his wife, their expressions indeed carried a greater sense of deliberate restraint.

Romon pondered briefly, then suddenly smiled at Fezia. "Uncle Vilen must have been quite an extraordinary figure in his youth, right?"

A look mixing surprise and admiration appeared on Fezia's face. "How did you know?"

Romon smiled. "You know, I used to work as a waiter in a tavern. Adventurers always like to make noise, but when I came in just now, I found everyone here somewhat restrained. Then I observed them for a while and noticed that they kept looking toward Old Vilen behind the counter. So, after taking a closer look at Old Vilen, it was not difficult to reach that conclusion."

Fezia clapped softly. "Perhaps only someone as perceptive as you can receive nature's blessings."

Romon smiled. In truth, once one knew the outcome, tracing back the clues that had come before was as simple as looking at the lines in one's palm.

At that moment, a tall waitress brought over two cups of wine.

"Romon, would you like something to eat?" Fezia asked. "Perhaps it would be a good idea to have this charming young lady recommend the house specialties. By the way, lovely girl, what is your name?" Fezia turned toward her with a man's smile.

"Yvette, honored guest." The waitress playfully lifted the hem of her skirt and gave a slight curtsy. In an instant, the snowy whiteness before her chest dazzled both men's eyes. She seemed to be wearing nothing underneath.

"Oh, you are truly enchanting, just like a princess." Fezia said extravagantly.

Romon smiled faintly from the side. After graduating from university in his previous life, he had briefly worked as a junior office employee and had accompanied his superiors through all sorts of pleasure houses. This scene stirred a faint, elusive melancholy within him. He raised his cup. "A toast to lovely Yvette."

"A toast to lovely Yvette!" The few customers in the tavern actually joined in, raising their cups amid jeering laughter.

The atmosphere in the tavern immediately became livelier. Wine and women always made men unrestrained.

"Handsome boy." Yvette leaned close and lightly pecked Romon on the lips. "Compared to your sweet talk, I prefer shiny golden coins."

The jeering grew even louder.

At that moment, a shrill voice rang out. "Yvette, you slut! You actually took a liking to this pretty boy!"

Romon looked at the young man who had shoved open the tavern door and stormed in, beside himself with rage. He could not help touching his own face with a bitter smile. What was this supposed to be? In Rika, that narrow-minded priest Tennis had misunderstood me. Was the same scene going to play out again in a little tavern in Aps?

Old Vilen stopped wiping the wine jug. He slowly came out from behind the counter, conveniently blocking the newcomer's path.

"Listen, young man. My Yvette is free. Whoever she likes or does not like is her freedom. She does not like you pestering her, so Old Vilen does not welcome you either."

"You lowly tavern owner, how dare you speak to me like that? Do you know who I am? I, Jacob, have taken a liking to your daughter—" The young man seemed to have been enraged, but he could not finish his next words—Old Vilen simply stretched out one hand, seized Jacob by the neck, and flung him outside onto the gravel road, tossing a young man of over a hundred pounds as easily as that.

Gloating snickers rose from inside the tavern.

Romon, however, abruptly stood up. Just outside the tavern, a surge of magical power was violently transforming into the power of flame, accompanied by bursts of incantation. This was...

Yet Old Vilen reacted far faster than Romon. He rushed out through the door. In Romon's special vision, the blood-red glow around Vilen suddenly leaped like flames, trailing a red afterimage behind his charging figure.

The ground trembled slightly. A scream rang out, then stopped abruptly as though someone had seized the man by the throat.

Old Vilen's rough voice sounded out. "A level-one rookie mage dares to cast Flame Palm and run wild in our Aps? Didn't you bother asking who Old Vilen is?"

This man is no ordinary person. In Aps, he has drawn the lines of the camps in one stroke. Flame Palm? A level-one spell? Romon lowered his head and took a small sip from his wooden cup, thinking, Sure enough, if adventurers want to survive battle and enjoy a pleasant old age, muscles alone are not enough.

Fezia whistled. "A beautiful charge, finished with a perfect stomp. Old Vilen is still as fierce as he was in his youth. Aren't you going out to take a look?" He nodded toward the tavern patrons who had swarmed outside to watch the excitement, then said to Romon, "After all, that poor Mister Whatever-his-name met such a tragic end because he was jealous over you."