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Chapter 91 "Mad Dragon" Stark
Chapter 91 "Mad Dragon" Stark
In the "Stonehammer and Spirits" dwarf tavern, the afternoon sun streamed through the high windows, casting patches of light on the thinly dusty oak tabletop.
The air was still filled with the aromas of ale, stew, and wood, but compared to usual, the tavern lacked its usual boisterous and enthusiastic atmosphere that could almost lift the roof off.
Behind the counter, the dwarf shopkeeper was repeatedly wiping a silver wine glass that was already as shiny as new with a rag, his thick eyebrows furrowed into a knot.
He glanced at the deserted hall, where only two tables of regular customers sat, and couldn't help but sigh heavily again.
"Damn the Adventurers' Guild's ban!" The dwarf slammed his wine glass on the counter with a thud, his voice muffled as if it came from a cellar. "Business is getting harder and harder."
The tavern business is getting slower and slower every day. If this continues, to be honest, I'm going to lose all my savings!
'
He grimaced and jabbed his finger into the sturdy wooden counter: "Those adventurers, those lovely guys with jingling pockets who would empty their purses for my good wine and roast meat—they're practically starving now!"
"That ban from the association, frankly, is going to be the death of the dwarves!"
At a table by the window in the hall sat Tagan, Charlin, and the halfling Ezio.
To support their old friend's business, they had indeed been frequenting the tavern these past few days, but no matter how much they spent, it couldn't compare to the previous tavern's popularity.
"Don't worry, dwarf boss," Ezio mumbled, taking a spoonful of thick, creamy seafood soup. "That 'tin cans' that stormed into the guild the other day," he continued, "looked so impressive, their gear dazzling. They've been gone for days now, haven't they? I bet it won't be long before things are settled, the ban lifted, and your tavern will be packed again! The clinking of coins in the cash register will make you laugh until your beard curls!"
After he finished speaking, his nimble tongue moved in his mouth, and a whole oyster shell was pushed out of his lips with the tip of his tongue, spun in the air above the soup plate, and then gently fell back to the edge of the soup plate.
Then came the second, the third—the seashells twirled, rolled, and leaped lightly on his tongue, like a silent acrobatic performance.
This is his daily "exclusive training," supposedly to keep his tongue flexible and sharp—which seems quite reasonable for a nomad who often needs to pick locks, dismantle traps, and even "persuade" people at crucial moments.
Xia Lin watched from the side, a slight thought stirring in her heart.
To be honest, this training method is quite similar to the "one thousand times" basic training method he knew in his previous life in terms of the concept of "focusing on one point and repeatedly honing it to the extreme".
However, Ezio clearly requires more special talent and skills.
"Really? That's great news!"
The dwarf raised his voice even higher, stretching out his short, stubby hands, fingers spread wide, and waving them vigorously in front of everyone. "Ten whole days! My friends, ten days! Not a single decent fart has come back from the forest! And the association? Besides waiting patiently, they say 'no comment'! Where's the good news?"
Um?"
He turned to Targen, who was silently drinking his golden barley, and asked for confirmation: "Targen, our old teammate Lance, who came and went in a hurry that day, didn't even finish a drink to catch up."
What was his estimate again? Five days, right? At most five days to see some progress, if I remember correctly?
Targen put down his oak wine glass, nodded, and acknowledged that the dwarf had a good memory.
"He did mention it once," Targen's voice remained steady, but a hint of worry lingered in his eyes. "But that mixed church and association team moved too quickly, and the situation is clearly more complicated than we anticipated."
"When will that be?" the dwarf practically wailed. "Ten days? Twenty days? A month? Or a year? Believe me, if another month passes and those lovely adventurers still can't go in to exchange money with their goblin lovers, I might become penniless myself before my tavern goes completely out of business!"
He pounded his forehead hard, his tone dejected: "Honestly, sometimes I really wish a stupid troll would come along, or even a brain-dead dragon would just fly in and tear this lousy tavern down!"
At least that way, I won't have to worry about staring at an empty table every day, and I won't have to pay that greedy landlord a full penny of rent! That's ten lovely gold coins! Ten!
"We can't earn a single penny, and we still have to spend money. What kind of situation is this!"
His complaints echoed in the somewhat empty tavern, carrying the ruggedness and despair characteristic of dwarves.
As if in response to his "devout" wish, the heavy wooden door of the tavern creaked open from the outside.
This is almost the first time in the past few days that a "new guest" has walked in outside of mealtimes.
Everyone instinctively looked in the direction of the sound.
But the visitors were clearly not there for the dwarves' treasured spirits or signature roast meat.
In the light and shadow at the doorway, there stood a person, or rather, a human figure that could barely stand.
His armor, which might have been a shiny standard plate armor, was now badly damaged, covered with deep scratches, dents and charred marks, with several joints twisted and broken, revealing a lining soaked in dark red blood.
His face was a mixture of mud, scabs, and a deathly pallor. One eye was so swollen it was almost impossible to open, while the other was wide open, its empty gaze sweeping over the people in the tavern, as if he had not yet escaped from some nightmare.
He swayed precariously, his left hand hanging limply at his sides, while his right hand clutched tightly to his abdomen, fresh blood seeping from between his fingers and dripping onto the wooden floor he had stepped on, like clusters of brightly blooming roses.
Xia Lin even suspected that he would collapse to the ground and go to see the god he believed in at any moment.
"Team—team—" the man managed to squeeze out a single sound, shouting with his last ounce of strength, "Failure—we—encountered—dragons—so many—dragons—"
Before he could finish speaking, his body went limp and he collapsed forward.
"What?!" Everyone exclaimed and stood up in surprise.
Tagan reacted the fastest, rushing forward and catching the man before he completely lost consciousness and "fell asleep".
"Do you know Lance? The one in the silver armor, Lance from the Order of the Church! How is he? Is he still alive?" Targen asked urgently, patting the other's relatively unharmed cheek forcefully.
The injured man's lips moved as if he wanted to say something.
But at this moment, there was no need for him to utter any weak sounds to confirm it.
It wasn't that his injuries were too severe to allow him to speak; if he had received prompt medical attention, he might have been able to recount the entire story of the squad's attack and destruction, much like a roadside bard.
Because, the next moment—
A louder, more ancient, and more domineering terrifying sound, like a tangible shockwave, suddenly shattered the tavern windows, pierced everyone's eardrums, and slammed heavily into their hearts!
The sound seemed to come from the direction of the Loran Forest, but a moment later it arrived in the town and rang out above everyone's heads!
It transcends the roar of ordinary beasts, containing indescribable magic and pressure, directly stirring up the primal fear of the apex predator rooted deep in the souls of humans and many other intelligent races.
The sound was low and rumbling like muffled thunder, yet at its highest point it tore through the sky, carrying the scent of sulfur and flames, as if announcing the prelude to destruction.
The roar of the dragon!
That terrifying roar instantly echoed throughout the entire town of Elwyn, freezing the color from every face in the dwarf tavern.
"My dwarven god! I've won the lottery!"
The dwarf's wine glass fell to the ground with a clatter and rolled to the corner of the wall.
His mouth gaped open; all his previous complaints about business were now crushed by this terrifying reality.
Outside the window, the town's tranquility was shattered, with screams, cries, and the tolling of bells mingling in a chaotic cacophony.
As in previous years, the celebrations for the harvest season were very "spirited" and "lively".