63: Chapter 45 Chapton 63: Chapter 45 Chapton During the nighttime on the Aifala Continent, at least for the vast majority of humans living on it, it is tranquil and dangerous.

Apart from some large cities with sufficient armament and solid defenses, “bustle” and “prosperity” are difficult to associate with human settlements under the night sky.

After all, no one can assure you that the ravenous night demons wandering outside won’t be attracted by the lights in your home.

Of course, for River Valley Town, especially the street where the adventurer association is located, that’s another kind of scenery.

“Wow…

hahaha!”

“Another drink!

Another drink!”

“Where’s my rat meat platter, why isn’t it served yet!”

The warm, bright lights seem to become faint beneath the haze of alcohol and food aromas in the air.

The crystal-clear liquor splashing out from cups, the reddish-orange flames swirling in the fireplace, and even the sweaty, inexperienced server weaving among the drinkers…

The White Sparrow Tavern at night is almost another world.

Bang—

A wooden chair flipped over, and a bearded barbarian with his upper body bare, showcasing robust muscles, suddenly jumped onto a table.

Ignoring the food sticking to his leather boots, he clutched a wooden cup and awkwardly swayed his scarred body to dance a traditional tribal dance to the cheers of those around him.

Beside him was an equally enthusiastic minstrel, leaning back in his chair with crossed legs, playing his twist stringed instrument quite suavely to accompany him.

At the next table, a dwarf with auburn braided whiskers clenched his teeth, arm muscles solid as steel bulging, as he arm-wrestled with a stout human opposite him.

The onlookers behind them occasionally made a ruckus, causing the faces of the two at the table to flush red, fearing they would lose face in front of these boisterous drinkers.

The tavern’s main hall, behind the bar.

Chapton diligently polished the glass in his hand.

His fingers pressed the soft cloth from the bottom up along the body of the glass, carefully scraping off stains and fingerprints; then he ventured into the interior, using wrist strength to clean every corner within.

Despite the noise outside the bar, he didn’t lift his head, focused and earnest, as if caressing a lover’s hand.

Only occasionally did the barbarian’s leather boots stomp the table heavily with dance steps, or when the dwarf won the arm wrestling, his large palm landed excitedly on the table.

Only then did his bushy mustache quiver slightly, barely noticeable.

The scene before him played out almost every evening since the White Sparrow Tavern was established.

As the tavern’s owner, Chapton was well aware and had long gotten used to it.

Running a tavern, though seemingly simple, is not easy, and while difficult, it isn’t overly complex.

First, you need to research the local competition’s business conditions and the identity and spending power of the main clientele before selecting a good plot of land.

In this regard, Chapton felt he did well.

The White Sparrow Tavern’s excellent location, adjacent to the adventurer association, and the array of drinks and food from expensive “status symbols” to affordable “value for money” options.

Allowing both professionals, whose single piece of equipment could cover their annual income, and low level adventurers living day-to-day hunting goblins to spend a relatively pleasant evening in the tavern.

Second, you must get along well with those closely connected to the tavern.

Ranging from town law enforcement officers and advanced adventurers to cleaners responsible for waste disposal.

Gold Coin paves the way, benefitting you in all aspects.

Otherwise, who knows when you might find a toxic demon carcass suddenly appearing in your kitchen, or a drunken and disruptive adventurer tearing your tavern apart.

Finally, most importantly, and what Chapton wished young people aspiring to this line of work would know—

Don’t kill the mood when adventurers, desperately needing alcohol and social interaction to unwind after a day of dangerous and grueling tasks, are blowing off steam.

Otherwise…

consecutive years of financial loss and the huge expenses on Healing Potions will tell you why.

Of course, when certain adventurers become overly exuberant and unruly, his annual three-digit “management fee” isn’t paid for nothing.

Someone else will handle it for him.

Gently placing the clean glass back into the wooden cabinet.

Ignoring the increasingly loud noise in the main hall.

Chapton took out a new cloth and polished the bar counter, pondering in his mind:

“Ms.

Edwina at the ‘Green Grass Cauldron’ seems to have a new potion out lately, I should send a couple of ‘Molten Lava Sighs’ her way next time.”

“Mr.

Fran’s son has a birthday next month, I’ve heard a professional has been invited for special training, a Good One Handed Sword should make an excellent birthday gift.”

Creek—

The friction of the wooden door’s hinges emitted a sluggish sound, accompanied by a chilling cold wind seeping through the door crack, bringing Chapton back to reality.

He instinctively looked up.

Caught in his sight was a tall, black-haired young man.

His neat short hair slightly messy from the evening breeze outside, with thin, clear lip lines, narrow yet elongated pitch-black eyes, reminiscent of the deep night outside the wooden door.

His facial features carried a sharp, cold impression at first glance.

Seemingly just returned from an adventure, visible cracks could be seen on the leather armor, and his clothes bore faint traces of blood.

Carrying a long and a short weapon on his back, the longer one revealed an iron-gray blade beneath the sword sheath, while the shorter one was tightly wrapped in bandages, obscuring its look.

“A Dual Swordsman?”

Chapton mused to himself.

Somewhat puzzled.

It was evident from both the time and his attire that he had just finished a task.

Yet the young man lacked the fatigue and difficulty Chapton associated with adventurers after enduring long journeys and numerous battles.

On the contrary.

He appeared energetic, in top form.

As if he had been resting in town for several days.

“Did he rest during the day and then travel by night?”

“That can’t be right, with Mist Forest being so dangerous, who would dare travel at night?”

After a brief contemplation, finding it impossible to understand.

Chapton decided not to dwell on it.

After years of running the tavern, he’s seen all sorts of strange people.

And the countless stories from the drinkers have repeatedly told him, for those in the adventurer profession—

Don’t prattle.

However, knowing this doesn’t mean everyone understands.

The young man with black short hair attracted some attention.

Just as he stepped into the tavern, approaching the bar.

A tipsy figure clutching a drink staggered up to him:

“Boy, are you new here?”