Warriors will die if they charge.

Chapter 98 Tavern Brawl

The tavern was quite busy today, with local men drinking, adventurers from out of town, and mercenaries from the Visi family making quite a racket.

The four of them huddled around a long table, with Marcus and Erin squeezed together, while Bardin sat in a row with Victor.

When the pig lungs were served, Eileen looked at the steaming hot oil bubbling in the iron pot and swallowed hard.

This stuff is probably very spicy—in every sense of the word, it's not food that a lady should eat.

"Eat up. After a long day of work, all I need is a bowl of stew to perk me up." Marcus laughed heartily, serving Eileen a large bowl, then staring at her intently, his expression clearly saying she had to eat it whether she wanted to or not.

Eileen took a small bite; it was a little hot, but the texture was smooth and the flavor of the spices overpowered the offal taste—but why were some of the pieces of meat sour and astringent?

She didn't quite understand, but her rumbling stomach was very real, and she kept putting food into her mouth.

Young York served beer and fruit, and Marcus first poured Victor a full glass, flattering his patron: "Without your help, sir, we would have certainly failed on this adventure. A truly righteous act!"

Viktor clearly disliked such exaggerated flattery. He calmly downed most of his glass of wine and said deliberately, "Of course, without my leadership, you wouldn't even know where the monster is."

"What an old fogey." It was still Bardin.

After dinner, it was time for the card game. This time, Marcus chose to play against Victor. He needed to make sure the talkative priest knew not to interrupt during the game.

To accomplish this, a third person is needed—Bardin will act as an assistant to interfere with Victor's card skills, constantly grumbling and complaining that he plays terribly.

A long time passed, long enough that the bard repeated the original snow-white melody.

A glass clinked against the wooden table, spilling a few drops of the orange-yellow liquor. Having just lost a round of cards, Bardin stood on the bench, pointing at the bard in the center of the tavern who was singing vulgar jokes, and shouted, "Hey, don't you have any other tunes to sing?!"

The dwarf master's anger startled the bard, whose nimble fingers slowly stopped plucking the lute, and the noisy atmosphere in the tavern subsided.

Bardin complained loudly, seemingly venting something he didn't want anyone to notice: "Singing comes from the heart! Look at the rubbish you're singing, all you ever do is throw things and kick! You're going to deafen the dwarves!"

"Master Dwarf, if you would be so kind as to donate a few coins, I can sing some tough guy songs."

The poet muttered to himself that he was only a part-time poet who came to the tavern in the evenings to sing folk songs to earn money to supplement his family's income.

The mercenary sitting at the back table, his leisurely mood interrupted, was extremely angry. His tall and burly frame allowed him to look the dwarf in the eye even while sitting on the bench: "Dwarf women all have messy beards, and their sons are all stones. They don't know anything about throwing eggs or thighs."

Bardin stared at the mercenary for a moment, then suddenly began to sing a dwarven song in Common: "Where should I put him down at the foot of the mountain? Where shall we go, over these mountains?"

My love has crossed the mountains, somewhere on the horizon—

As if fueled by the alcohol, he stepped onto the long table, pushed off with his thigh, and jumped to the long table behind him, punching the mercenary hard in the face.

Hugging fangs fell off under the dwarf master's terrifying power, his face twisted in pain. Bardin laughed loudly, "Where does our king rule over the mountains, and where do my axe and shield lie?"

He sang a solo in the quiet air of the pub, then turned to Marcus and said, "Come on, man, sing along."

Marcus was feeling the effects of the alcohol and didn't hear what the dwarf was saying, but he saw the three people at the table behind him simultaneously throw punches at Bardin.

Without thinking much, he stood up along the edge of the table, turned around, and punched the skinny man in the face.

The force was so strong that he was knocked to the ground, his wine glass was overturned, and he fell unconscious onto the chair.

From the side, a fierce and sharp fist came flying, hitting Marcus squarely in the cheek.

The alcohol had made his vision blurry, and a bald man with tattoos on his head was staring at him menacingly.

"Our shovels dug to the end of the mountain, and the furnace in the mountain fortress burned brightly—"

Marcus licked his lips; this was life after the adventure was over.

He threw a punch forward, but the bald guy cleverly bent over to dodge it. Then he was hit in the stomach by a swift hook punch, almost making him vomit up all the wine he had just drunk.

"We want to be buried there in the mountain, to rest in peace with our ancestors!"

As Bardin's wild singing filled the air, the tavern gradually descended into chaos. People began to use their fists and feet as the closing act for the night, presenting Eileen with a chaotic and unrestrained hymn dance as she first stepped into Riverside Town.

Victor did not participate in the fight. He calmly protected Eileen, who was observing the chaos with great interest. He placed his longsword on the table, threatening anyone who dared to approach with several blows.

The proprietress, Nora, watched quietly as the tables and chairs were smashed, calmly wiping the wine glasses in her hands, and simply had someone notify the town magistrate.

Wei, you've got good results again tonight.

Leaning against the cold stone wall, Marcus rubbed his aching knuckles. After sobering up, he thought of Bardin's "Song of the Mountain Top" that he had sung the night before.

Looking back now, that tune wasn't cheerful at all; it was clearly heavy, like it was carrying a mountain.

But he didn't ask.

Asking about things the dwarves don't want to talk about is pointless; there's a long road ahead, and they'll find out eventually.

He watched as Badin lay fast asleep on the dry straw in the next cell, mumbling incoherently in his sleep in Dwarven language.

He simply yawned and lay down as well.

After spending a night in prison, paying a fine for "disrupting social order," and compensating for the tables and chairs at the Pig Lung Tavern, Marcus had 8 gold coins left.

Kuran was quite considerate of the locals; after figuring out that Bardin had started the fight, he insisted that it was the mercenaries' fault.

"Why would the Dwarf Master beat up a stranger for no reason? You must have angered him first. As for Marcus—he's an honest and kind man. How dare you bully the people of Riverside Town?"

In fantasy worlds, regional discrimination is even more severe; deserters are far more revered than dwarves in human society.

That sound was awful.

The responsibility will be split 50/50: the rye wine will pay one-third, the mercenaries one-third, and the adventurers who joined in the fun will also receive one-third.

As he walked out of the prison, he ran into Moraz, who had come to pick him up. Moraz had several bruises on his face that hadn't faded yet. He glared at Marcus and made a throat-slitting gesture, the meaning of which was clear—you'll see.

Marcus yawned. He had indeed lost control last night, beating the bald goblin black and blue, turning his handsome face into a pig's head.

Putting aside the facts, are you not at fault?

Hitting you is a sign of respect!

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