Chapter 23: 23. Banquet, Fork Tricks
They spent the entire day clearing the surrounding waters.
In sync with the fishing tis of the Auridon villagers.
The duo of Lann and Bernie expanded the safe area of the village fishing grounds by approximately five kiloters to the east.
During this period, nearly twenty Water Ghosts were slain by the silver sword.
The process of each hunt was identical to the first: after landing, Bernie led the tracking, while Lann observed this craft from behind.
Upon encountering Water Ghosts, the Demon Hunter was responsible for the battle, and in the end, Lann still broke the corpse of the Water Ghost to pieces.
Twenty Water Ghosts together could easily massacre the villages in Velen.
But fortunately, these Water Ghosts were scattered, and the group of five seen for the first ti was the largest; otherwise, the young Demon Hunter would really have a headache.
When the sun was about to sink into the surface of Lake Fick, the two returned to the village together.
As Bernie’s small boat just approached the village harbor, this fisherman and hunter raised an eyebrow.
"Hey." He called softly, signaling the Demon Hunter sitting at the bow with his back turned to look back.
Under the dimming light, the village harbor was bustling with people.
Ordinarily, people should have gone ho by now, or gathered in the tavern, but instead, they were all gathered at the pier.
So were absent-mindedly weaving fishing nets, others sat on barrels swinging their legs. Old Allen stood at the front, puffing on his tobacco.
When people saw the small boat approaching, they cheered loudly, each dropping whatever absent-minded task they were engaged in.
They imdiately crowded over, each craning their necks to look into the boat.
Old Allen stood at the front.
"Water Ghost ears! So many Water Ghost ears!"
The stench and the dirty blood didn’t trouble him at all; his excited shout elicited a large cheer from the crowd.
This was the first ti Lann, in this world, was welcod ashore as if he were a hero.
Old Allen’s hand slapped hard on the young man’s shoulder armor.
"I never thought..." He seed a bit tongue-tied at this mont.
"I really didn’t think you were telling the truth!"
Even though Lann had tried hard to interact with them in a way that aligned with the local mindset, and despite doing this much preparation... the distrust of Demon Hunters still existed among the people.
This was caused by years and years of racial atmospheres.
But now... what does it matter?
The young man also heartily returned Old Allen’s gesture, the gloved hand slapping the old man on the back, causing him to cough.
But even so, the old man and the surrounding villagers still laughed loudly.
Trust had been established.
The yearning for a better tomorrow could dilute all sorts of baseless hatred and discrimination.
"Sorry, truly sorry, Lann." Old Allen had to shout close to Lann’s ear amidst the cheering to ensure he was heard.
"For my, for Auridon’s villagers’ doubts about you, co on, my friend, I have to buy you a big drink!"
"Royal Vizima?"
"Royal Vizima!"
So the n and won of the village laughed together and surged into that small tavern.
~~~~~~
The small tavern wasn’t large, so in the dim night, just a few candles were enough to provide illumination.
Usually supported by only a few fishern, today the little tavern welcod a crowded and lively business day.
Even a few won had brought instrunts from ho, and to Lann, the sound of these instrunts was similar to flutes.
The tune was cheerful and lodious, and even though it repeated, it didn’t feel annoying.
At the table, the young man downed a large gulp of golden Royal Vizima beer.
This beer’s ferntation was overseen by professional brewmasters from the Terian Capital—Vizima.
The tily addition of hops gave the perfectly fernted alcohol a touch of refreshing bitterness.
"Bang!" The half-full wooden beer mug was smashed onto the table, the young man licking at the beer foam at the corner of his mouth, not quite satisfied.
A voice echoed in his mind.
"Sir, if I may. I really didn’t expect anyone to want to add honey while drinking beer..."
"ntos, shut up!"
"Yes, sir."
The smart brain complied smoothly.
How many tis have I told you! Can you really call a stress response a unique taste?!
The interaction with the intelligence system ended quickly, and sitting opposite Lann, Old Allen held a glass of cheap homade wine, chuckling as he pointed out the bartender to Lann.
"Bill is cleaning the Water Ghost’s right ear you brought back."
The young man followed the direction of the pointing finger, seeing the bartender not only cleaning the ear but amusingly nailing the polished ear to the wooden wall behind him.
"When I ca in, Bill told
that this tavern would be called ’Water Ghost’s Right Ear’ in the future."
Lann raised an eyebrow, "What a pity, I can’t charge him royalties from this na."
Old Allen laughed heartily, then emptied his glass of wine in one gulp, letting out a long breath.
"Whew—I must head back now, the banquet won’t last much longer, and Bill’s stocks are almost drained. You can still catch a al if you return soon."
Lann shrugged indifferently, gesturing Old Allen to go ahead.
But the old man lifted his butt, then seemingly thought of sothing else, his expression conflicted as he again sat down, leaning closer to the young man.
"Lann, um... can you in the future... not perform your fork trick in front of my wife?"
"Fork trick? Oh, you an the ti I threw a fork at a rat?"
Bernie, standing not far away, keenly heard the words "trick" and took his seat beside them, eager to hear the fun.
"Trick? What trick are you guys talking about?"
The fisherman and hunter finally removed his long leather gloves.
Lann chuckled lightly, bringing the glass to his mouth, while Old Allen’s expression twisted a bit.
"He threw a fork and hit a rat during dinner yesterday."
"That’s it?" Bernie pursed his lips abruptly as if suddenly losing interest. "I could do that too. Though rats are slippery and delicate, I can still do it if I get a bit closer."
Old Allen continued to focus on Lann, ignoring Bernie.
"Oh yes, you could do it. But it wouldn’t be during dinner ti, nor would the rat be four or five ters away from your single candle at ho."
Bernie’s mouth slowly widened and his head gradually turned towards Lann beside him.
His hand holding the glass froze in mid-air.
The young man rely shrugged.
"I thought it would be quite entertaining."
"I do find it amusing indeed," Old Allen said with visible discomfort on his face.
"If there’s nothing to do, I could watch you throw forks all day... but don’t do this in front of Hibona again. She didn’t even dare to co to the gathering today and hung a rabbit’s foot by our bed."
"Hey, rabbit’s foot is useless against magic, curses, monsters... basically useless against anything."
Lann kindly reminded him.
Old Allen frantically scratched his head, "I know, but isn’t it just to give her peace of mind? Besides..."
"You’re a good person, Lann. We have no reason to be so wary of you."
The village elder continued scratching his head, but Lann’s drinking motion paused briefly.
Bernie, oblivious to everything, chid in, "Indeed, Lann, you’re a righteous person."
The slightly bitter beer at this mont felt to have a wonderfully sweet aftertaste in the mouth.
The young man’s lips unconsciously curled into a smile: "What else can I say? Old Allen, your rat truly is lucky."
"Haha! Then it’s all settled! When you get back, eighteen Water Ghost’s right ears, eighteen Auridon coins, cash on hand!"
Lann raised his glass, toasting to Old Allen.
Old Allen finally got off the bench, walking out of the tavern.
anwhile, in a corner of the tavern, a young voice pierced through the layers of noise, captured by the Demon Hunter’s senses.
"Isn’t it only natural for monsters to kill monsters? Earning money by swinging a sword, what’s the difference from being a murderer, a robber?!"
The voice carried a sense of resentnt.
In the Demon Hunter’s ears, that corner of the tavern fell suddenly silent for a brief mont upon hearing these words.
But soon after, seemingly trying to mask the young voice, other sounds in the corner began to speak loudly, laugh, sing.
Apart from this corner and the Demon Hunter, no one else heard such a statent in the tavern.
Lann’s lips pressed together while no one guessed a Demon Hunter’s hearing was this acute.
He could easily stand up now, pinpoint the source of that young voice.
The villagers who regarded him as a hero would certainly take his side too.
But he sighed, choosing not to do so.
Because he recognized that young voice, nad Little White.
The last surviving orphan of villagers killed by Bordeaux.
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