"Next!" The clerk had just taken the beer mug and was turning to pour the drink when he realized the barrel was empty; barely a few drops ca out even when he shook it.
"What's going on! Where's my beer?" The sailor sounded agitated; he had been waiting in line for quite so ti.
"The barrel's dry, sir. Please wait a mont, I'll bring up more from the cellar right away." The clerk then asked tentatively, "Our tavern has a better kind of beer, just one copper coin a bottle. Would you like to try it?"
"Hurry up and bring it!" The man imdiately slapped his coin purse, the clinking of coins making his aning unmistakable.
Without further ado, the clerk turned and went into the back. When he re-erged, he wasn't carrying a barrel or a mug, but a glass bottle fitted with a simple wooden stopper.
The tavern's beer wasn't the haphazardly fernted fruit concoction with only a slight alcohol content; it was a true brew made from barley.
Ordinarily, one copper coin bought two large glasses of beer, each glass holding about five hundred milliliters. That ant one liter of beer cost only a single copper coin.
This way, workers could buy a glass after their shift, sit around bragging for half the day, and even make the drink last for two days.
But this new beer was double that price. Needless to say, it was expensive, and most ordinary folk would balk at spending half a day's wages on a drink.
For the sailors, however, it was different. They weren't short of money, and beer was their lifeline.
Besides, everyone nearby was looking at him due to the earlier situation. He couldn't back down, or he'd be the butt of jokes for a lifeti.
Without another word, he fished out a copper coin, slapped it on the table, and took the bottle from the clerk's hand.
But as soon as his hand closed around it, he felt a surprising chill. It's cold! he thought. Pulling the wooden stopper, he heard a soft POP! A faint aroma of wheat, carried by escaping bubbles, wafted from the bottle's mouth.
Already sweltering and having waited so long, he didn't hesitate, tilting the bottle back for a large swig.
At that mont, as the icy liquid slid down his throat, it was as if he could feel the oppressive heat being doused. Every pore on his body seed to open, releasing the stifling warmth. An unprecedented sensation made him shiver with delight.
"How is it?" a nearby sailor quickly asked, curious about the taste of this more expensive beer.
But the man couldn't be bothered to answer. Instead, he took large gulps of beer, quickly finishing the whole bottle in full view of everyone. Then, he let out a satisfied burp and couldn't help but exclaim.
"Refreshing!" The man took out another copper coin and called out, "Another bottle!"
"I'm sorry, sir, but there's a limit of one bottle per custor," the clerk said with a smile, taking the empty bottle. "We've only got about a dozen left in storage right now."
Seeing his reaction, the others were tempted too. They could certainly afford one copper coin.
"Get a bottle too!"
"I want one as well!"
Similar calls for the new beer erupted around the room.
Watching their curious faces, the clerk turned and went to the backyard. There, he pulled up a basket of beer from the deep well using a rope.
Outside, the temperature felt like it could be over thirty degrees Celsius, perhaps even reaching forty. But the water in that deep well remained cool. Although not refrigerator-cold, it was enough to make a significant difference.
He brought up one batch and then lowered another, ensuring a fresh supply would be ready in half an hour.
It was the sa beer, just bottled during ferntation and then chilled in well water, yet the price had doubled. The Lord sure knows how to make money, the clerk mused.
This simple chilled beer instantly conquered the sailors. They had frequented countless taverns, but this experience was a first.
Who wouldn't want to enjoy an ice-cold beer on a hot sumr day, even if it was a bit pricey?
The Romani people, as if drawn by the aroma, soon made an appearance. They contacted the tavern owner and began performing right there in the tavern. Won danced with alluring sways while n perford acrobatics, drawing waves of cheers and a shower of copper coins tossed onto their makeshift stage.
「」
While the tavern buzzed with the sailors' approval, Amanda encountered trouble.
Unlike the common Romani, as their nominal leader, she knew the organization's ship was also among the fleet.
She was responsible for eting a group of Romani and planned to oversee the handover.
It should have been an ordinary task, but she was outright blocked from boarding the ship, not even allowed to set foot on it.
"I am Amanda! I'm the organization's leader in the imperial region," Amanda fud. Now anyone can look down on !
Those Romani clutching their caravans and preparing to leave... it doesn't matter if they don't respect . They're leaving anyway—out of sight, out of mind. But to be stopped from boarding a ship belonging to the organization itself? How can being a leader be this stifling?
"How do we know if you're the real deal or an impostor?"
"Exactly, we've never seen you before. What if you're a fake?"
The two won on either side openly scrutinized Amanda, their eyes filled with a hint of mockery.
Amanda knew. They weren't ordinary sailors—won don't do that kind of heavy lifting. That ans these two are sothing else. Are they trying to put in my place?
Neither of them is even a Transcendent, judging by their agile figures. They're more like dancers, clad in small, adorned vests that reveal their supple waists, yet they're also ard with daggers tucked at their backs.
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