Brennan Garrilando had not the slightest awareness of his role as owner of the Red Crow Tavern. He paid no heed whatsoever to the incessant complaints of head waitress Big Sister Louise, and instead crouched on the ground with several sheets of parchment, rummaging through the parcels, satchels, rolled hides, and rattan trunks that
"Two sheets of black-scaled rhinoceros hide—this is what Tom at the armory shop needs…"
"Five red-eyed black fox pelts—old Burke at the leather goods shop placed an order…"
"Three black-gold python skins—Johnson at the weapon shop needs them for sword scabbards…"
"A bundle of striped wildebeest sinew—Kreis needs it for bowstrings…"
…
"What's this?" Garrilando held up a grayish-white bone roughly a meter long.
"The arm bone of a legendary Sharp-Beaked Owl Dragon, made into a bone club by the natives of Lemando in the Ruins Archipelago. Lightweight and incredibly hard. Sir Malev wants it for his collection." Lorist set down the roast goose in his hands and answered.
The Sharp-Beaked Owl Dragon was said to be a large flying creature artificially created by mages thousands of years ago using night owls and dragon blood—vicious and combative, it had long since gone extinct. A century ago, a complete skeleton was discovered in the Ruins Archipelago, which had once been a mage nation, and scholars gave it its name based on its enormous fanged beak.
Sir Malev was one of the more distinguished regulars at the Red Crow Tavern. He seemed to be a nobleman from some duchy who had grown tired of political struggles and come to
"Oh." So it was for Sir Malev—that explained it. Garrilando set down the grayish-white bone and picked up a leather case containing seven glass vials shaped like test tubes, each holding a different-colored liquid. "And what is this?"
"Seven types of blood from magical beasts of the Ruins Archipelago. Professor Simpson from White Rose Academy wants them. He says he found an ancient book and asked me to procure the blood of these seven Ruins Archipelago magical beasts. He wants to test whether he can replicate a magic potion recipe from the book." Lorist explained.
Only then did Garrilando notice a small label pasted beneath each glass vial, bearing the name of the magical beast: "Black-Gold Python, Blue-Backed Demon Wolf, Black-Scaled Rhinoceros…"
"That old fool Simpson has too many gold coins and nowhere to spend them. Replicate magic potions? I can't believe he even thought of that. There are no mages anymore, no mana—how could anyone make magic potions?" Old Tom shook his head dismissively from the side.
"Then what's this?" Garrilando shook a thick bamboo tube about a meter long, sealed tight, apparently containing liquid that sloshed around inside.
"Uh…" Lorist looked a bit embarrassed, hesitated for a moment, then answered: "This is… Earl privately asked me to bring him some Terence donkey whip…"
Terence donkey whip—a specialty of the Ruins Archipelago, a legendary aphrodisiac held in the highest esteem, beloved by nobles and men suffering from impotence and premature ejaculation alike.
"Pfft—" The moment she heard it was Terence donkey whip that Earl had privately asked Lorist to bring, Big Sister Louise clapped her hand over her mouth, unable to stop laughing.
Garrilando's face turned green: "Outrageous! That little bastard is young—why on earth does he need an aphrodisiac? His cultivation hasn't progressed at all, all he does is chase after women all day, and he can't even produce an egg! I'm going to teach him a lesson he won't forget! Leave that thing with me—if Earl asks, tell him to come see me."
Earl—full name Brennan Evanport. The gang boss of the three surrounding neighborhoods, a Silver Two-Star swordsman, and also Garrilando's own nephew, his only living relative.
The table was a mess of cups and plates. Lorist raised his wine glass toward Chef Fatty Mai, drained the remaining fruit wine, and let out a long, satisfied burp. "Big Sister Louise, check if old Luke at the back door has any customers. If not, have him come give me a shave and a trim. Also, get me a room upstairs and some hot water—I want a bath and then a good long sleep. And the clothes in my rattan trunk and what I'm wearing now—could you take them to the laundry and then go to Aunt Misha's dress shop and buy me a suitable new outfit? Put it all on my tab."
Old Luke arrived quickly. At this hour, his little barbershop behind the Red Crow Tavern had no customers, and the moment he heard Lorist was asking for him, he packed up his tools and came right over. First he draped a black linen cape around Lorist's shoulders, then set a gleaming silver plate on the table that Big Sister Louise had cleared off—it served as a mirror—and held up a small pair of barber's scissors and a comb carved from walrus ivory. "Same style as always?"
On the Galentea Continent, apart from certain nations where nobles had specific hairstyles to display their lofty status, everyone generally styled their hair according to personal preference. Though sometimes trendy fashions came and went—wavy perms, ponytails, and the like. On this point, Lorist felt that aside from the rather primitive barbering tools, there was no difference from his previous life.
Lorist had always preferred his hair cut short—a buzz cut, essentially. Partly this was the influence of seven years of military service in his previous life, and partly because it was easy to maintain and quick to wash.
"Mm, same as always." Lorist straightened up in his seat.
Old Luke clicked his tongue. "You know, Little Lock, with hair as black as yours, you really should grow it out. Look at that—such pure black, so beautiful. If you grew it long and tied it in a ponytail, plenty of girls would fall for you."
"Forget it. Long hair means washing it every day—too much hassle. Oh, Old Luke, tell me—anything new in the last six months?"
Old Luke was the type who loved to chat while cutting hair. He always had some piece of local news, big or small, to share.
Old Luke rubbed his chin thoughtfully while working on the hair. "Not much, really. Two months ago, the fruit seller Lindy at the street corner had his stall knocked over by a spooked horse, but he got four gold Forde in compensation, so he made a small fortune. Last month, the butcher Watt's promiscuous wife was caught in the act with a mercenary—that
"If you're asking about big news—three months ago, the papers reported that the northern war has finally quieted down. After two years of tireless effort by the Commercial Alliance, the warring parties finally reached a peace agreement. The papers say the trade routes to the north are shining with gold—these past two months, every issue has been full of recruitment notices for mercenary escorts or investment opportunities for trading expeditions north. Though they've also printed plenty of stories about northern trade caravans getting robbed by bandits."
"Oh? The Krisen Empire up north has stopped fighting?" Lorist was genuinely surprised. He'd spent half a year in the Ruins Archipelago, and the Galentea Continent had undergone such a historically significant event. As for the papers claiming the peace was achieved through the Commercial Alliance's efforts—nobody actually believed that. The powerful empire to the north had been the Forde Commercial Alliance's mortal enemy for over a hundred and sixty years, with three major wars fought between them. Six years ago, when the old emperor died and three princes fought for the throne, the Commercial Alliance had been overjoyed. They were lucky it didn't pour oil on the fire—nobody expected them to actually help bring about peace.
"So tell me, what are the terms of this peace agreement?" Lorist was curious about what conditions the Commercial Alliance had offered. The three princes and some-odd grand dukes of the northern empire had been fighting each other for nearly six years, tearing apart a vast and powerful empire until it was shattered, its people impoverished and its armies depleted—even the great nobles were living on borrowed money. Nobody believed for a second that the Commercial Alliance hadn't been pulling strings behind the scenes.
"Ah, I didn't really pay attention to the specifics. You know me—I'm just a barber, I've never cared much about national affairs…" Old Luke looked a bit sheepish.
"I know this one!" Old Tom was only too happy to chime in. As a retired postal official, commenting on national affairs had always been his favorite hobby. "It mainly comes down to three points. First, the empire has been divided into three kingdoms and seven grand duchies. In other words, the Krisen Empire that once loomed over the Commercial Alliance is gone—there will be no more northern invasions. Second, trade routes must remain open. Whether kingdom or duchy, the trade tax is one-tenth. And the various trading companies under the Commercial Alliance are free to establish shops and conduct commerce in any lord's domain. Third, the Commercial Alliance will provide loans of varying amounts to the three kingdoms and seven grand duchies, at interest rates of roughly seven to thirteen percent."
"Little Lock, I seem to remember you're from the north, aren't you? The carriage that brought you to the academy ten years ago had a coat of arms on it—you must have been at least a minor noble? Now that the north is at peace and the trade routes are open, don't you want to go back and take a look?" Chef Fatty Mai across the table seemed to recall the first time he'd met Lorist at the academy gates a decade ago, and upon hearing everyone talking about the north, he spoke up.
"Little Lock, you're from the Krisen Empire? And you're a noble?" Old Luke was full of surprise.
When the old emperor was still alive, he had periodically ordered border troops to launch raids on the Mana Hill Plains where the Commercial Alliance was based. Especially those empire nobles who took advantage of the chaos—their private soldiers inflicted great harm on the Alliance's people. As residents of Morant City, the Alliance's capital, while they wouldn't shout for the blood of every Krisen imperial they met, they harbored absolutely no good will toward those empire nobles.
"To be precise, I'm from the Northland of the Krisen Empire—a northern highlander. It's several thousand li from here. The northerners never came down to the Mana Hill Plains to fight the Commercial Alliance—it was too far. The march alone would take two or three months. My father is a baron, with his fief in the far north. I'm the second son—I have an older brother above me and a younger brother below. Inheriting the family title and lands was never going to fall to me. Coming to Morant City for school meant the family had written me off. Though the north fought for six years, my family and I lost contact seven years ago, which meant I had to make my own way. So now, I'm a citizen of Morant City. I have no connection to the Northland, no connection to my family." Lorist explained.
"Mm, many nobles, to avoid future disputes among their children over fiefdoms and titles, besides focusing resources on the heir, handle the rest through exile, minor grants, or marriage alliances. Cases like Little Lock's are quite common, after all—his family's title is only a barony." Old Tom nodded in agreement.
Old Luke worked quickly. Not only did he finish the haircut, but he also produced a sharp razor blade and shaved the fine hairs on Lorist's face and the stubble on his chin until they were perfectly smooth. Finally, he applied a bit of oil to protect the skin.
Lorist rubbed his smooth chin with satisfaction and generously gave Old Luke a small silver coin. He then instructed Fatty Mai to serve Old Luke and Old Tom each a mug of blackberry wheat beer, putting it on his tab. He picked up the two swords of different lengths from the table and followed Big Sister Louise upstairs.
The second floor of the Red Crow Tavern contained eight guest rooms, four on each side. At the end of the hallway was the staircase leading to the third floor.
The moment they reached the second floor, hoarse sounds of a man and woman enjoying themselves drifted from a room on the left.
Lorist asked curiously, "Who's that? Still going at it at this hour?"
Big Sister Louise didn't even turn her head. "It's Jumili. She took on the Three Black Bear Brothers this afternoon for seven big silver coins. They've been at it for over three hours now—doubt she'll be able to get up tonight."
Short-distance escort work, running errands for hire. The three brothers were tall and broad, dark-skinned and brawny, earning them the nickname "Three Black Bear Brothers," which over time had become their actual name.
The guest room Big Sister Louise led Lorist to was the first one on the right at the end of the hallway. A large bathing tub had already been set up inside, filled with hot water.
Lorist set down the two swords, pulled two daggers from his boot sheaths, removed the wrist-crossbow from his left arm, and eagerly stripped himself bare before climbing into the tub.
Big Sister Louise handed him a pink bar of soap with a floral scent, placed a white linen towel beside the tub, tidied up the clothes on the floor, and laid out his coin purse, sword clasp, waist pouch, and belt on the table. Just as she was about to leave, she remembered something and turned back to the tub. "Little Lock, are you free three nights from now?"
"Don't know—why, something going on?" Lorist lifted his face from the water and let out a long breath.
"Well, three nights from now, a girl from my village is coming to work as a waitress at the tavern. It's her first time and she wants a good price—two gold coins. You've done well for yourself on this trip, Little Lock. Do your big sister a favor, will you?"
"Hm? The tavern already has you, Jumili, Sara, and Nina—why hire someone new?"
"Nina went back home to get married last month. She's not coming back. The girls from my village tend to work at the tavern for two or three years, save up some money, then go home to get married. I promised I'd find her a handsome and well-off young man for her first time. Little Lock, will you help me out?"
Lorist answered evasively, thoroughly embarrassed. "We'll see…"
And he sank back beneath the water.