Warhammer: Hail to the Void Lords!.

Chapter 1053, page 9 of 1052: "The Broken Wheel Tavern"

The location of the tavern recommended by Poniatowski is absolutely superb.

It sits on the only road connecting the small town of Stutzianchi to the bustling capital of Volshar, like an old man who has seen it all, quietly welcoming and seeing off travelers.

Whether you arrive weary from your journey or leave laden with treasures, you will inevitably pass by this quaint three-story building.

The business inside the tavern was so good that even the open space outside was filled with tables, so much so that a wooden fence about half a person's height had to be used to barely demarcate the tavern's territory.

Before entering the tavern, Horatio's gaze was drawn to the wooden sign at the entrance, adorned with wreaths: Broken Wheel Tavern.

The signboard depicts a broken carriage wheel covered in moss in realistic strokes, with a circle of vibrant, winding roses stubbornly twining and growing around the broken part of the wheel.

Although the name sounds a bit quirky and even a bit outrageous, when Horatio followed Poniatowski into the place, a wave of heat mixed with the aroma of roasted meat, the fragrance of ale, the dampness of wood, and the noise of people hit them.

The place is bustling and lively, yet it retains a retro elegance that belongs to the old era amidst the noise.

In the lobby on the first floor, dozens of heavy oak tables and semi-enclosed booths are densely packed together.

On the walls, the candlelight of each candlestick flickered tirelessly, illuminating the entire space with warmth and brightness.

People gathered in twos and threes, drinking heavily, tearing into the roasted meat on their plates, banging on the table, and playing a few rounds of dice for fun. The curses of the losers and the laughter of the winners mingled together, and then the unwilling and greedy sides began to place a new round of bets.

"Welcome! Oh, Mr. Poniatowski! It's been quite a while since you've been back!"

A tavern waitress with a perfectly proportioned, voluptuous figure, wearing a brightly colored floral dress and a white apron around her waist, walked past Horatio and Poniatowski carrying two large trays piled high with beer glasses.

She greeted the regular customers warmly, but her feet never stopped. With an incredible, dance-like grace, she gracefully passed through the narrow gap between them.

The wine on the two huge trays in her hands swayed slightly, but not a single drop spilled.

Horatio's gaze swept over the tray, on which lay at least five or six heavy, overflowing oak glasses.

Considering the weight of the thick wooden tray that could be used as a shield, the fact that she could maintain such a light and agile movements suggests that this woman's strength must be quite astonishing.

“Just got back, oh, Satalin, I’ve missed this place so much!” Poniatowski opened his arms as if to embrace the air. “By the way, let me introduce you, this is a buddy I met on the battlefield, Horatio Cochrane.”

Because neither of them was wearing military uniforms, but instead had changed into a slightly flamboyant Rococo-style casual outfit that conformed to local trends—Horaceau even wore tight woolen stockings on his legs—Poniatowski's behavior also became more unconventional.

He patted Horatio on the shoulder enthusiastically and introduced him loudly.

Horatio Cochrane... umm.

Upon hearing the name, the waitress's carefully drawn eyebrows furrowed slightly.

The pair of fluffy horse ears on her head also turned slightly.

“I feel like I’ve heard this name somewhere before… maybe from the mouth of a drunkard, or maybe from the radio in Nest City. But I really can’t remember.”

She quickly gave up thinking and her face lit up with a warm smile again. "However, since he's your friend, he must be no ordinary person. The first drink is on me! Pick whatever you want to drink! There's nothing I don't have, only things you can't imagine."

“That’s not very nice, ma’am. We’re here to spend money, how can we let you spend your salary…” Horatio politely shrugged and declined.

"Hmm~" Before he could finish speaking, the waitress, upon hearing this, mischievously glanced down at her own attire, and her horse ears wiggled playfully.

She grinned and deliberately showed off her arm muscles, which were as solid as rocks.

Horatio quickly confirmed his guess by looking at those muscular upper arms; those powerful arms belonged to a 'dragon rider-like woman'!
"I'm the owner of this shop. I own it, so don't give me those polite, aristocratic platitudes." She laughed magnanimously.

“That’s right, buddy, don’t let her appearance fool you, Satalin is the owner of this shop,” Poniatovsky chimed in. “She has a monopoly on Stutzianchi, no, no, the best ale in all of Polaberia! Only she knows where to get these top-quality goods. I’m the nominal lord here, and I don’t know her connections. But without exception, they’re all top-quality!”

“I see. Then I shall respectfully accept your offer. Do you have any recommendations?” Horatio asked, looking at Poniatovsky.

"First round, two glasses of chilled Tangesk rye. Second round, Stutzianchi vodka." Poniatowski ordered with practiced ease.

"Poniatovsky, are you sure your good friend can handle such a tough guy in the second round?" The woman grinned, her bright red lipstick gleaming, and looked at Horatio's sculpted physique with interest as she asked.

"I am sure."

"Private room or the 'same old way'?"

"Let's have a private room," Horatio said, looking at the noisy crowd around them playing dice.

Before he could finish speaking, Poniatowski interrupted him with a look.

He leaned close to Horatio's ear and whispered, "No, no, no, buddy, only hardcore drinkers go to the private rooms. The lobby on the first floor, with its mix of all sorts of people, is where you're most likely to overhear something. Don't assume that everyone sitting there is just a nobody. At Broken Wheel Tavern, if you're lucky enough and it's a good harvest season, you might even run into the Minister of the Interior of the Sector with his entourage tasting this year's new brew."

Then, he turned his head and gave the tavern owner a bright smile: "The usual."

"Alright! You two, by the wall in the lobby!"

Horatio followed Poniatowski to a booth against the wall.

Almost as soon as they sat down, the female owner steadily placed two glasses of rye wine, almost overflowing, in front of them from a tray.

The liquor was as black as ink, topped with a dense layer of fine, constantly bubbling bubbles. Even so, not a single drop spilled out.

"To our cause! And to your health! Cheers!" Poniatowski eagerly tore off the silk scarf wrapped around his collar, which was making him feel suffocated, and raised his glass in celebration with a broad smile.

"cheers."

(End of this chapter)