The Swordfish Bar.
"Everyone heard you just now. You said you'd treat me to the special cured meat to thank me." A burly man with a blue-green tattoo on his head sat beside a young man dressed in Loen fashion, slinging an arm around him with a hearty laugh.
"When did I ever say that?" The young man's face flushed red, his voice trembling slightly with anger.
"Just now. Isn't that right, everyone?" The burly man tightened his grip and looked around. The sailors nearby burst into knowing laughter, and some even whistled.
"I... I..." The young man from Loen knew he was being extorted, but he was so nervous he could barely speak.
The young man clenched his teeth, then finally lowered his head in defeat. "Fine... I'll pay."
On someone else's turf, he had no choice but to swallow the loss.
Lorne had just entered the bar when he witnessed the scene.
Strong-arm sales. Those were the first words that came to mind.
This was what happened without a Market Administration Bureau.
That little plate of cured meat was worth two soli at most, yet they wanted five pounds... Life at sea was even darker than he had imagined.
Before even reaching Bayam, Lorne had already learned the law of survival at sea: outsiders were lambs waiting to be slaughtered.
The Vilan was taking on supplies at a nearby port, so Lorne had taken the opportunity to go ashore and experience the local customs. He hadn't expected to witness something like this right away.
This bar was far too unscrupulous... As an outsider himself, Lorne had no desire to linger.
"Huh, why are so many people gathered over there?"
Not long after leaving the bar, he spotted a crowd around a noticeboard.
"Is there an announcement?"
"Excuse