Wizard: Start with Biological Transformation to Grind Experience Chapter 63 - 003: Interesting

River Town, located in the southeastern part of the Saladin Kingdom, is a small town nad after the Rhine River, a vital inland waterway running through the territories of three nations.

Around ten o’clock at night, Lynch arrived in this riverside trading hub renowned for its bustling comrce.

The market would start at three in the morning, still a ways off from now. ditating or cultivating wouldn’t last long enough, and being interrupted would only sour his mood. After a mont’s thought, Lynch decided to find a tavern to pass the ti.

At this hour, most shops on the streets had already closed. The only places still open were the taverns near the docks, which, conveniently, was exactly where Lynch was heading. He walked into an establishnt nad Resting Place.

The mont he stepped inside, he was greeted by a mix of scents—barley malt, tobacco, and the faint aroma of smoldering charcoal. Dim candlelight spilled from copper chandeliers hanging above, illuminating the cozy, warm interior of the tavern for Lynch to take in.

The layout was charmingly unrefined: sturdy wooden tables and benches with a natural sheen, so marked by knife cuts of varying depths from restless patrons over the years.

Each table hosted a vibrant mix of characters: oil-streaked sailors were loudly chugging mugs of dark rye beer; shrewd rchants whispered secrets of the market and their next big opportunities; and leather-armored rcenaries entertained their companions with tales of their thrilling exploits in the wilderness.

At one corner of the tavern, an elderly minstrel gently strumd his harp, the lodic notes blending with his soulful voice to recount ancient legends and heroic epics, drawing the quiet admiration of many listeners.

"Welco, stranger! Care for sothing to light up your spirit?"

The bartender, a burly man with a bushy beard, addressed Lynch enthusiastically, his callused hands expertly mixing drinks as he spoke.

Lynch walked over and tossed a few silver coins onto the counter. "Bring sothing to eat."

He glanced at the drink the bartender was preparing. "What’s that?"

The bartender smiled knowingly, impressed. "Fla Kiss—one of our signature drinks. Only the bold dare try it."

From a nearby table, a group of rowdy patrons started jeering:

"Think you’ve got the guts to try?"

"Or are you running back to your mommy for her milk? Hahaha!"

"Pretty boy, careful! One drink and you might wake up in so duchess’s warm bed! Hahaha!"

Lynch barked confidently, "Sure, I’ll take it."

"Attaboy!"

The bartender exclaid in approval and slid a brimming oak mug over to him. Without hesitation, Lynch grabbed the mug and drained it in one go.

A fiery liquid coursed down his throat, sharply burning all the way to his stomach. It felt as if a fla had ignited within, spreading a fiery warmth through his veins, making his blood feel like it was boiling.

Lynch slamd the mug down with a grin. "That’s the stuff!"

"Well done!"

"Didn’t expect such nerve in soone so young!"

The tavern patrons banged their tables and benches in uproarious approval, filling the room with clamorous cheers. In this world, where taverns were stages for small glories, downing a Fla Kiss in one gulp was akin to earning a badge of honor.

The infectious energy of the mont ignited Lynch’s own sense of camaraderie, his boldness swelling amid the praise.

"Clink! Clink!"

Embarking on a whim, he scattered a handful of Gold Coins onto a nearby table. "Tonight’s tab is on !"

To punctuate his display, he plucked a single Gold Coin and flicked it toward the corner minstrel. The coin arced gracefully through the air and landed neatly in the hat on the minstrel’s table.

"Play sothing lively! Stir up the fun!"

Throwing a rock into still water couldn’t have caused a bigger splash. The tavern erupted in deafening cheers.

The regulars praised Lynch’s generosity, thumping their tables and stomping on the floorboards. The bartender’s face lit up as he bead ear-to-ear, his eyes sparkling like polished gems. Taking his cue, the minstrel hopped up on a table and, with his weathered voice, launched into a robust, foot-stomping ballad.

"Superb!"

Downing another mug of Fla Kiss, Lynch roared his satisfaction.

Wasn’t he worried about attracting trouble with such theatrics?

Hah.

If anything, Lynch hoped for so mischief. Alas, the patrons here didn’t seem to include the greedy and lawless types often found in tales.

The truth was simple: Lynch had been bottling up too much for too long.

By nature, he wasn’t soone who conford to rules. Reality had forced him to tread carefully, but now that he had a rare chance to cut loose, he intended to indulge fully.

Just then, a wiry man entered the rowdy tavern.

Clearly a regular, he greeted a few nearby patrons, though most were too absorbed in the festivities to notice him. Annoyed by being ignored, he called out to another table, only to be overlooked again.

"Bunch of fools! Did treasure just wash up in the river or sothing?"

Unaware of what had sparked the commotion, the man couldn’t help but feel slighted by the lack of attention.

Resentful of being sidelined, he decided to stir things up to steal the spotlight.

But how?

As he pondered, he approached the bar.

The spot next to the bar was already occupied, blocking his way. Seated there was a young stranger—clean-cut, strikingly handso, with pale, delicate features that scread "pampered rich kid out on an adventure." The man’s eyes glinted with a sudden idea.

He scowled and barked at the youth, "Move it! You’re in my way!"

The tactic worked. As soon as his words fell, the boisterous tavern hushed. All eyes turned toward him—taverns loved a spectacle.

Relishing the spotlight, the man raised his voice, his words more brash: "Unless you’d prefer a swim with the fishes in the river!"

Lynch had been enjoying his drink, montarily lost in the hubbub of the tavern, and hadn’t noticed the man until those sharp words cut through. He calmly set his mug down and lifted his gaze.

"Were you talking to ?"

"Hah!"

The man laughed loudly, thrusting a fist into Lynch’s view. "You planning to test the strength of this? It’s the fist that once fought a sea demon! Around here, the na Grupa, the Water Knight, is well-known."

In the Human World, knights represented the apex of combat prowess, which was why so many sought to glorify themselves by adopting the knightly title.

"Interesting."

A faint smile curved Lynch’s lips.

Without a word, he picked up his oak mug and began tearing it apart, right in front of the man’s shocked eyes.

Made from solid, aged oak, the mug was crafted by hand, its walls over a centiter thick—a thickness tough enough to double as a shield.

Yet here it was, in Lynch’s hands, being shredded like re paper. The crisp snapping of wood echoed through the tavern as the mug splintered into strips under his effortless grip.

The tavern fell deathly silent.

The man stood frozen, utterly dumbfounded.