Chapter 273: Act 40 – The Silver Mine (Part 1)
In the center of Schafflund, there was an inn called “The Trout in the Woods.” The owner was an unremarkable middle-aged man, but the excellent taste of the ale he sold drew many regular customers.
Most of these patrons were local workers who labored six days a week, returning to the town on Sundays to relax. The miners coming down from the mine were drenched in sweat, with loud, boisterous voices, caring little for the opinions of others as they gathered in groups to comment on the figures of some serving maids.
If a barmaid smiled and tossed them a flirtatious glance, it would surely provoke a round of catcalls.
In a corner of the bar, several young men were drinking quietly, casting sidelong glances at the others while quietly discussing their own matters. Most of them had parents who worked in the mines, and naturally, they did too. However, the restless energy unique to youth made these young men unwilling to waste their lives here; they had already started planning to leave this place and venture into the wider world.
Yet, they had lived in this small town since birth, with experiences only extending to the nearby forest, and could only imagine the outside world through the vague stories told by adventurers.
After a brief discussion, they had just agreed on a time to leave when a sudden cold snort from nearby startled them. The young men turned to look, guilt written on their faces, and saw an elderly dwarf sitting at another table not far away.
As described in most fantasy tales, this old dwarf had a prominent nose and a long beard that reached down to his waist, braided and fastened with iron rings. His arms and calves were thick and appeared strong. However, unlike the healthy reddish-brown skin typical of the local hill dwarves, his skin had a pale gray hue.
The young men’s expressions changed in unison upon seeing the dwarf. This old fellow was named Odum. No one knew where he had come from, but he was said to be quite capable and had secured a management position favored by the local authorities.
However, his temper was notoriously foul; he was rigid and stubborn, never giving anyone a pleasant face. Moreover, his own situation was rather unfortunate—many had seen the old dwarf drinking alone in a morose manner. While dwarves loved to drink, they rarely drank to drown their sorrows.
Unlike this old fellow, who would get even grumpier after drinking, sulking with a scowl that made him ignore everyone around him.
Furthermore, he was extremely proud, looking down on everyone. Some had even heard him speak ill of the clerk. Yet when this old dwarf got angry, he would dare to curse at kings, making such matters go unnoticed.
Seeing him put the young men on edge, one of the more astute among them quickly said, “Old Odum, it turns out you’re here—”
The old dwarf shot a glance at the young men: “What, am I bothering you?”
“N-no,” the quicker one replied immediately, “how could that be? We wanted to invite you for a drink, but…”
Odum huffed through his nostrils: “Who cares about your trivial matters? Just a word of warning, young men, the outside world isn’t as simple as it seems. Be careful not to come back with your heads cracked open.”
Immediately relieved, the young men stammered a response, then fumbled to pay their bill and hurriedly left through the front door.
As they left, they couldn’t help but feel unlucky for having encountered this old coot. Fortunately, this old man had poor relations with most people in town. Otherwise, if he told their parents, the young men would surely face severe repercussions.
Odum watched the young men exit and shook his head. The outside world wasn’t so easy to traverse; these young men were just a bunch of hot-blooded fools. He had intended to return to his solitary drink but paused when he noticed three men and four women entering the tavern.
In fact, when Brendel pushed the door open, everyone in the hall brightened up.
Beautiful girls—
Medisa, a pure-blooded silver elf princess, was undeniably stunning. Although she had not yet fully matured, and retained a softness characteristic of young girls, she drew even more attention.
Romaine and Xi were no less striking; the Merchant Miss always carried a special aura that made others want to look at her twice, significantly aided by her pair of dark, swirling eyes.
Moreover, the way she held her leather bag against her chest and looked around made her exceedingly endearing.
Yet, it was Xi’s flaming amber eyes that captured the most attention. As she entered the tavern, her brows furrowed slightly, her eyebrows raised with an air of danger that made her seem unapproachable.
The Thunder Spear was disassembled and strapped to her back. The young girl lifted her head slightly, allowing her long crimson ponytail to fall back as she surveyed her surroundings with a vigilant expression.
However, it was the comparatively less striking Juliette among them who provoked loud cheers from the patrons. The mercenary captain’s tall and busty figure caused everyone present to instinctively whistle, with several suggestive gazes landing on the captain’s ample bosom.
Juliette seemed unfazed, merely offering a cold huff in response.
Brendel couldn’t help but chuckle.
He often encountered such scenes in fantastical tales—indeed, taverns were one of the most important settings in such stories: adventurers quietly discussing their plans, boisterous patrons loudly playing games and drinking, mingled with flirtatious exchanges with barmaids.
If only there was a poet here, it would be perfect.
With such unrealistic thoughts, Brendel turned around, and the tavern owner had already walked over; just an unremarkable middle-aged man, but he had discerned the hierarchy among the few patrons.
When the men, deciding with their lower halves, shifted their gazes towards the ladies, the middle-aged man paid closer attention to the subtle details of the demeanor displayed by Brendel and the others—despite the two angelic attendants following closely behind the young men, he did not linger on them.
As the owner of this bustling establishment, he had long honed a unique way of observing people.
In particular, he noticed the modern confidence exuding from Brendel, which closely resembled that of the scions of noble families in this era who had grown up with elite education; thus, he instantly recognized this young man among the others.
“This is a noble young master!” thought the innkeeper, forcing a smile on his face and instinctively adopting a more respectful tone. “What can I do for you, gentlemen?”
Brendel raised his head, spotting a wooden board listing the types of ale for sale hanging in front of the bar. He pointed to the most expensive one on the list and ordered a glass—of course, Brendel wasn’t particularly interested in it; he was merely putting on a show.
Except for Medisa, the other women requested a fruit wine, mildly sweet and slightly sour. The ghost didn’t require food, merely standing quietly behind everyone, while Xi noticed her and quietly asked, “Can’t you eat anything?”
Medisa paused, shaking her head. “It’s just unnecessary.”
“Then why not give it a try?” Xi played with her long ponytail from behind. “Not ordering anything here would seem too conspicuous.”
“Not really,” Romaine interjected seriously, “a true lady wouldn’t snack randomly in such a messy place—!”
Xi looked at the Merchant Miss, who said this, but still held her glass of fruit wine with both hands, inevitably rolling her eyes at her. “Aren’t you drinking too?” she asked begrudgingly.
“I never claimed to be a lady,” Romaine replied, wide-eyed, as if it were obvious.
Medisa simply chuckled at the exchange between the two.
As for the two angelic attendants, they ignored the chattering of the girls entirely, following Brendel with impassive expressions. This confirmed for the middle-aged man the distinctions between companions and attendants. He glanced at them and, with the acuity typical of a businessman, asked, “Are you all from outside?”
Xi paused, raising her eyebrows warily.
Brendel knew that there was no need to hide such matters. Although this man might not exactly be a local big shot, he seemed to have met many people and perhaps knew everyone in town. Therefore, to deliberate conceal instead left a hint of doubt, so he simply nodded.
“Just trying our luck.”
Brendel did not speak the whole truth.
The middle-aged man thought this might be a noble offspring out for a wander—such individuals were quite common in Erluin, though typically they were from families of some means.
“So, you’re planning to go into the forest? Do you need a guide?” he pondered, asking.
“Very considerate service,” Brendel thought to himself that the most expensive drink in his hand had worked its charm; places like this were often hubs of information, and the owner frequently doubled as a purveyor of news. However, most of the information relied on hearsay and needed to be sifted through for accuracy, the main advantage being that the price was included with the drinks.
They wouldn’t charge you extra—
As Brendel ordered the most expensive drink, the middle-aged man naturally appeared quite eager.
However, Brendel shook his head: “I don’t need a guide, but I would like to know what the situation is in the forest.”
“The areas around the town are not dangerous, but venturing deep into the woods may encounter beasts, and perhaps even magical creatures,” the middle-aged man replied. “Additionally, to the north is the mining area. If you go that way, you might encounter patrols from the mining garrison, and it wouldn’t be good to be mistaken for someone with ill intentions.”
Seemingly afraid that this young man might act recklessly due to his status, he hurriedly added, “Even though this is within Duke Toniger’s territory, the true owner of the mines is Count Rendener.”
Brendel raised his brow.
He took a sip of his drink, the spicy flavor surged down his throat and then burned back up into his nasal passages, nearly causing the young man to choke. Brendel frowned; he was not good at drinking, and it seemed pretending to be so was not a wise course of action.
After managing to suppress the taste in his mouth, he resolved not to touch the drink any further and raised his head to ask indirectly, “So where should I avoid, then?”
“Just don’t go north,” the innkeeper replied. “If you don’t go north, you won’t run into trouble.”
“But if I don’t go north, how will I find the silver vein? How will I get to the legendary open-air silver mine?” Brendel feigned a frown, deliberately pressing the issue.
The middle-aged man glanced at him, thinking that he had indeed come for that reason.
(PS. Recently, there have been doomsday cultists causing trouble in the comments section.)(To be continued. To know what happens next, please log in; more chapters await. Support the author and legitimate reading!)
