Wizard: I brought the wrong system.

Chapter 409 A Sleepyhead Meets a Pillow?

The Mannheim market has a separate street lined with simple stalls. Most of the stall owners are dressed in blood-stained leather armor, sitting on the ground with their swords and knives. Every now and then, passersby will stop to take a look or ask a few questions in hushed tones.

This environment felt strangely familiar to Yaro, somewhat like the corner street of the Owl Wizarding Academy.

But because he was too broke, Yaro had no interest in strolling around. He walked down the street and finally saw the tavern door at the end of the street.

Pushing open the heavy wooden door, a cacophony of noise, accompanied by a sweltering, oppressive atmosphere, rushed towards us.

The jarring sound of the wooden door opening attracted the attention of several customers at the tavern entrance. They glanced at Yaro and then went back to their own enjoyment, completely contradicting what the tavern owner Harvey had said: "Everyone knows your strength," or "There are definitely many hunting teams vying to take you in."

Even the bartender didn't serve him; instead, he stood inside and shouted, "If you want to come in, hurry up and come in. Stop blocking the door. Is it fun standing at the door?"

Yaro entered the room and asked with a smile, "Don't you recognize me?"

The bartender, a young man in his early twenties, glanced up at the glasses a few times while wiping them, seemingly clueless:
"I have to get up before dawn every day and work until late at night. I haven't seen what daytime looks like in ages. Why would I know you? What? Does knowing you get me a raise?"

Yaro laughed, "Of course not, I don't know your boss."

"That's settled then!" The bartender regained his confidence, lowered his head, and wiped the glasses even faster. "Do you want anything? If not, don't waste my time."

Yaro wasn't annoyed, and chuckled, "You're quite an interesting person... Alright, what kind of food do you have here? And what are the prices?"

Yaro lacked magic stones because he needed to buy purification potions, and he lacked gold coins because they were 'burned' by magic spells, but he had no shortage of silver coins.

Eating a few normal meals shouldn't be a problem.

Hmm... the key is that it's normal; he can't afford the high-end meals that start with magic stones.

The bartender, without looking up, said, "Monster meat..."

“Regular food will do,” Yaro interrupted.

“Spelt bran soup, 5 pence a serving; black bread porridge, 3 pence a serving.”

Wheat bran is the outer skin that comes off when wheat is milled into flour, similar to the red skin inside a peanut.

Spelt wheat, in the Viscount Corry domain, is used as horse feed.

The ingredients of Spelt bran broth are predictable.

Black bread, if made with a conscience, is made with a small amount of wheat flour mixed with a large amount of bran; if made with a less conscientious method, it will contain a large amount of sawdust, making it harder than wood when cooled, and it can be used as a weapon in an emergency.

Spelt bran broth served with black bread porridge – this level of cuisine would make even the most ordinary person weep.

Yaro frowned unhappily, leaned forward, and the metal arm armor hidden under his robe struck the gleaming bar counter with a dull thud.

pat!

"Do you have a peculiar habit of feeling uncomfortable unless you get beaten up?"

The bartender suddenly stood up: "What did you say...?"

Before he could finish speaking, a dejected middle-aged drunkard walked over in a few steps, chuckling as he said:
"Oh dear! Sorry, sorry! This brat broke up with his girlfriend today, haha, I told you, it's no big deal, he might as well drink..."

The bartender, looking indignant, said, "Uncle Hank, I didn't..."

"Shut up! Bring me one... or two glasses of single malt flamingo whiskey!"

The bartender said weakly, "No, the auntie said she can only sell you three drinks a day. You've already finished your three drinks, and if I sell you more, she'll blame me."

"You talk too much nonsense, you talk too much nonsense. Am I not going to pay or what? Give me the wine... the wine!"

The drunkard made a move to hit people, perfectly portraying the image of a drunkard going on a rampage.

Yaro noticed that the middle-aged drunkard was trying to distract the young bartender, but he was happy to see it happen. After all, the bartender's actions were minor.

On the contrary, the middle-aged drunkard gave off a sense of gunpowder to the battle-hardened Yaro.

It wasn't the kind of murderous intent directed at people; he didn't have the habit of observing people's fatal weaknesses.

Therefore, it is highly likely that he was an experienced hunter from the hunting team.

Would you call this a perfect match?
With that thought in mind, Yaro smiled and stopped the drunkard.

"It's nothing serious, let it go."

This statement refers not only to the drunkard, but also to events that occurred before.

Then Yaro turned back to the bartender and said, "Bring this uncle a glass of flaming whiskey and me a glass of juice."

Yaro's meaning was clear: he wanted to treat Uncle Hank to a drink.

"Hmm, and another... another roast lamb for this gentleman... put it on my tab!"

Uncle Hank shouted drunkenly... well, that sounded especially drunk, like he was about to stagger and fall over at any moment.

"Don't worry, I'm just short of money. I want to go to the Dark Plains to hunt magical beasts and I'm planning to find a hunting team to join."

There's nothing wrong with being short of money.

With strength and poverty, who would dare to harbor any wicked intentions?
They should be thankful that they didn't try to take advantage of others.

Then... Uncle Hank simply passed out drunk at the bar.

Just as Yarrow was about to help him up, a gentleman nearby, who was holding a wine glass and sipping it slowly, suddenly spoke up:

"Sir, we only dare to search for lone magical beasts on the edge of the Dark Plains, and we need to make long preparations before we dare to take action. With your strength, you don't need to join us at all. Besides... we are also resting and recuperating during this period, and we don't know how long it will be before we set off again."

Yaro glanced at him, then at the other patrons around him, and suddenly asked, "Is this your captain?"

Although it is a question, it is stated with absolute certainty.

This can be determined from their stance and subtle facial expressions.

“Uh…yes.” The gentleman paused for a moment, then nodded in acknowledgment.

“Alright,” Yaro stood up, “your captain is already ‘drunk,’ so you certainly don’t have the right to agree to my joining, right?”

Yalu emphasized the pronunciation of 'drunk'.

"...I'm sorry, that's indeed the case." The gentleman bowed apologetically.

Yaro pointed to the empty seat next to him: "Could you explain the situation in the Dark Plains to me? I'm very curious about it. Of course, I can also buy you a drink."

"This..." The gentleman's eyes were somewhat unfocused.

At this moment, Uncle Hank, who was already 'drunk' at the bar, twitched his fingers slightly...

“Of course! It would be my pleasure. Please, have a glass of gin.” the gentleman said with a smile.

Yaro quickly added, "Yes! There's also a glass of juice and a roast lamb..."

"Put it on this gentleman's tab, since he's already 'drunk'!"

(End of this chapter)