Chapter 25 | My Tavern-Keeper Boss Is Secretly an Ascended Immortal

Lu Mao read the quest description to himself once more in his mind. After confirming there were no additional conditions other than "obtain the badge," he finally snapped back to reality.

Balen had already squeezed his way to the front of the bar. Standing on his tiptoes, he peered at the liquor shelf, complaining, “How is there not even any dwarven spirits?”

Chen Jiu unhurriedly took down a coarse clay flask from the shelf and slid it over. “Premium Stinky Wine, one gold coin.” Hearing this, the dwarf's eyes went as wide as the flask's mouth.

Rayne stood behind Balen, his gaze passing over the empty air above the dwarf's head to land on the tavern keeper, whose features differed slightly from ordinary humans. His gaze lingered for a brief breath before he withdrew it, asking no questions.

Balen stared with wide eyes, looking first at the clay cup in his hand, then at Chen Jiu's nonchalant face behind the bar. His beard quivered three times.

“One gold coin?! You want a gold coin for just a flask of stinky wine? Are you running a tavern or committing highway robbery!”

Although he cursed fiercely, his hand clutching the cup never loosened.

After all, the party had just finished fighting an Elite-tier magical beast, and their throats were bone-dry. At this point, let alone one gold coin, he would have paid ten if he had to.

“Alright, Balen, this round is on me.”

Rayne took a somewhat deflated pouch from his waist and pushed it half an inch toward Chen Jiu.

“How many rounds will this buy them?”

“Enough for you to drink until someone starts singing.”

Chen Jiu swept the gold coins into a drawer and slid over two more clay flasks.

Balen snatched one of the flasks, filled his cup to the brim, and took a massive gulp.

Then, at a speed visible to the naked eye, his entire face flushed the color of a ripe pig's liver.

“What—cough, cough, cough—is this alcohol or cooling water from a dwarven forge?!”

He choked out the words while taking a second gulp. His eyes turned red from coughing, yet he never put down his cup.

Gerak took the other flask, poured a small half-cup, brought it to his nose to sniff, and then handed it to Misha.

The cleric took a small sip. Her brow furrowed slightly, then quickly relaxed—as the liquid went down her throat, an incredibly subtle warm current spread through her meridians. Her completely depleted mana felt as if it were being gently lifted by a warm hand, starting to slowly recover on its own.

She looked down at the amber liquid with fine bubbles at the bottom of her cup, then looked up at Chen Jiu.

“What's in this wine?”

“Trade secret.”

Chen Jiu didn't even look up.

“Trade secret.”

Lu Mao spoke almost in unison with him, then startled himself.

The first time he had stepped into this tavern, he had nearly ascended to the heavens from choking on this very flask of stinky wine.

Now, standing on the outside of the bar, watching Balen choke until tears welled up while still stubbornly clutching his cup, he suddenly found the scene excessively heartwarming.

He picked up the clay cup in front of him and took a gulp, his throat feeling as if it had been scraped with sandpaper.

“Is this stuff... actually meant for human consumption?”

【Resistance +1】

The system's notification tone suddenly rang out. Lu Mao's expression contorted for a fraction of a second before he stabilized.

By the time he came to, he was already drinking heartily.

Balen wiped his mouth with his sleeve and slammed his empty cup onto the bar.

“Another cup! Damn, it's a choker, but this wine really packs a punch—the cut on my arm doesn't even hurt anymore!”

Seeing such a strong reaction from Balen and the others, Elliot skeptically poured himself a small cup.

He raised the cup to his high-bridged nose. A sour, stinky odor rushed straight to his head, instantly twisting his brow into a knot.

He stared at the amber liquid with fine bubbles at the bottom of the cup, as if negotiating with his taste buds through his gaze. He tried his best to convince himself that the head on his shoulders wasn't just for show.

Then, he took a sip.

The mage's expression underwent a complex evolution within a few short seconds: frowning, closing his eyes, his Adam's apple bobbing, lips tightly pursing, his brow slowly relaxing, and finally settling into a subtle expression somewhere between confusion and enlightenment.

He moved the cup away from his lips, looked down at the dregs of wine at the bottom of the cup, and spoke in a tone that even he wasn't entirely sure of.

“What a magical wine. There is definitely some kind of special, High-Tier material in here—it's truly, truly...”

For a moment, Elliot didn't know how to describe it.

“It's basically a simplified version of a Panacea!”

His gaze toward Chen Jiu was suddenly filled with awe.

“Even the royal brewers in the Famlok Royal Capital couldn't possibly brew such a miraculous wine! For you to stay cooped up in such a small dungeon is a complete waste of your talent!”

Excitedly, Elliot took another sip, closing his eyes to savor it carefully before speaking with some hesitation:

“It has the mineral fishiness of Earth Dragon bone marrow extract, but the aftertaste carries a hint of sweet Ambergris Grass... No, Ambergris Grass cannot withstand high-temperature fermentation. It must have been neutralized with Shadow Moss.”

He held the cup up to the moss lamp, watching the tears of amber liquid slowly trickle down the sides. His eyes narrowed slightly as if he were rapidly flipping through some heavily worn pharmacological text in his mind.

“I can't taste the other ingredients, but I can be sure that it contains materials from at least three types of High-Tier magical beasts—one gold coin is far too cheap! This is practically charity!”

“It's only natural you can't taste them.”

Chen Jiu rarely looked up at him, his lips twitching slightly, but that was all.

After several rounds of drinks, Balen had to be dragged off the bar by Rayne.

Even as his feet left the ground, the dwarf was still muttering, “Another cup.” Blown by the night breeze, he let out a loud alcoholic burp and blearily opened his eyes.

“Are we in Rhode City yet?”

“We haven't even left the dungeon yet.”

Rayne set him down. Balen swayed a couple of times before steadying himself.

“I just dreamed that the tavern keeper gave me another free cup—”

“Just now, you got drunk and fell asleep hugging a troll's shin. It couldn't resist giving you a whack with its club. What you dreamed of might have something to do with that.”

Gerak walked past him, leaning on his short axe. Thanks to the combined effects of the stinky wine and healing magic, the injury on his right leg was mostly healed, leaving him with only a slight limp.

“Bullshit! I clearly dreamed of—”

“Stop arguing, you both dreamed of wooden clubs.”

Misha walked in the middle of the group, leaning on her staff. Her cheeks still carried the flush of the half-cup of wine Balen had forced on her, and her voice was a bit softer than usual. “Elliot, what have you been muttering about this whole time?”

“Earth Dragon bone marrow extract should be paired with Ambergris Grass instead of Shadow Moss. While neutralizing it with moss can mask the mineral fishiness, it sacrifices the nourishing effect of the marrow itself.

“If I were to concoct it, I would use at least three different herbs for layered extraction, rather than blindly using Shadow Moss to suppress the flavor.”

Elliot walked at the very back of the group, wrapped in his mage robe. His steps were floaty, but his speaking speed was as rapid as ever.

“Of course, I admit the effects of this wine are stronger than any recovery potion I've ever seen.

“It's only right that the owner refuses to share the recipe. A brewing technique of this level, if brought to the Famlok Royal Capital, would have three alchemist guilds brawling in front of the King.”

“Then why didn't you argue with the tavern keeper back at the bar?”

Misha glanced sideways at him.

“It's not that... I just felt too embarrassed to keep talking. Didn't you notice the look in his eyes?

“When he said 'It's only natural you can't taste them,' he looked at me like I was an apprentice who had just learned to tell the difference between salt and sugar.”

Misha burst out laughing.

It wasn't her usual reserved cleric smile; she was genuinely amused, her shoulders shaking with laughter.

Gerak glanced at her sideways, his ears twitching. He didn't speak, but the corners of his mouth curled up slightly.

Balen had already started singing a dwarven mining song in his out-of-tune voice. The lyrics were filled with "forges" and "slag"... and seemed to mention someone's mother.

Rayne walked at the very front, not participating in any of the conversations, but his back looked slightly more relaxed than usual in the twilight.

Thus, chatting and laughing, they walked out of the dungeon entrance.

The setting sun rested at the edge of the wilderness, painting the entire gravel path a deep rust color.

In the distance, the walls of Rhode City were merely a blurry silhouette in the twilight, like a giant beast napping on the horizon.

A dry evening breeze blew from the wilderness, carrying the scent of dust and dried grass roots. To those who had just climbed out of the dungeon, this breeze was already a reward.

The six of them walked, chatting and laughing, to the first fork in the road outside the dungeon.

A person was standing at the fork.

Clad in a black cloak, his hood was pulled extremely low, revealing only a small patch of pale skin on his chin.

Tall and thin, he stood right in the center of the fork, the hem of his cloak completely still in the evening wind, as if he had been standing there for a long time.

He was waiting for them.

Balen's mining song ground to a sudden halt.

“It's him...”

Misha whispered, “The one who issued us the quest.”

Rayne set Balen down from his shoulder, placed his hand on his sword hilt, and stepped forward.

His steps were lighter than usual, his boots making almost no sound on the gravel. The moment he recognized the figure, his drunkenness vanished completely.

“Just in time.”

Standing firm in front of the stranger, his tone was steady. “We have destroyed all the altars on the eighth and ninth floors of the Blood Fiend Dungeon. As agreed—”

“Agreed.”

The man repeated the word.

His voice was soft, carrying a tone that was hard to define—perhaps mockery, perhaps curiosity—as if he were savoring an amusing word spoken by an ignorant child.

Rayne's sword remained unsheathed—his hand refused to obey his commands.

Without anyone noticing, a dark purple light had already spread to his feet, silently weaving through the gaps in the gravel like a thin layer of ice, locking the ankles of all six of them in place.

Misha's staff had barely lit up with half an inch of golden light before it dimmed, the crystal at its tip making a faint cracking sound.

Elliot's fingers had already pinched the wax seal of the scroll in his sleeve, only to find he didn't even have the strength to tear it open.

Balen's axe was only half-drawn when the entire blade was enveloped by the purple light, forcing it back against his own chest.

Gerak's knees buckled slightly, but he grit his teeth and forced himself to stay standing.

Standing at the rear of the group, Lu Mao was also pinned to the spot by the purple light. He stared at the man's back, instinctively letting the system scan him. Rows of information popped up:

They were all question marks.

Level: ???. Race: ???. Skills: ???. The only discernible detail was a suffix shrouded in gray mist: Servant of ■■■.

The man did not look at them again.

He turned and walked toward Rayne, his steps slow as if he were taking a stroll. He paused as he passed by Rayne's side, speaking in an extremely flat tone, as if talking to himself or passing on a message for someone else.

“The matter of the altars, there is no need for you to investigate any further.”

Then, he raised his hand and spread his fingers. A brilliant burst of purple light exploded simultaneously from beneath the feet of all six of them.

There was no sound, no impact—only a coldness that spread outward from the very depths of their bones.

The moment the coldness spread, his consciousness began to blur. The system panel at the edge of his vision flashed warnings frantically, but Lu Mao couldn't make out a single word.