Wizard: Start with Biological Transformation to Grind Experience Chapter 799 - 15: Return to River Town

Saladin Kingdom, River Town.

Lynch pushed open the slightly weathered wooden door and stepped into the tavern called "Resting Place," a place from his mories. He habitually scanned the interior, but the scene before his eyes was starkly different from the bustling and lively night over two hundred years ago.

Empty.

This was the most direct impression. The original wooden long tables and benches in his mory were still there, with so old knife marks visible on the tabletops, as if narrating the hustle and bustle of the past.

But at this mont, all the tables and chairs were sparsely placed, covered with a thin layer of dust.

No boisterous sailors, no cunning rchants, no rcenaries engaged in grand discussions, and no minstrel’s lodious music. Inside the tavern, there was only one burly, bearded man, turned away from the door, quietly wiping a wooden cup behind the bar.

When Lynch first left the Shadow Tower and entered the human world, he spent a night of indulgence here and had so interesting little incidents, like the sailor nad Grupa who dread of adventure.

Over two hundred years of change, he didn’t expect this small town tavern to still be in business. Passing by, he decided to stop in, as a form of reminiscing past tis.

However, this anticipated "reliving of old dreams" was shattered by the desolation before his eyes.

Lynch walked to the bar and sat on the smooth wooden high stool. The bartender behind the bar was still a bearded man, and this familiar appearance gave Lynch a fleeting illusion of ti reversal, as if seeing the owner from back then.

But his formidable spiritual power instantly discerned that the person in front of him was not the sa as the one in his mories; his life force was much younger, and the soul’s aura was entirely different. He was likely the descendant of that owner.

"Not much business today?" Lynch broke the silence in the tavern.

The bartender looked up, revealing a weathered face. He glanced at Lynch’s attire and deanor, different from the locals, and a trace of doubt flashed in his eyes, "An outsider?"

Lynch nodded, casually fabricating a story, "Ca from the Putane Kingdom."

Upon hearing this, the bartender’s doubts deepened. He shook his head, speaking with a plain yet sowhat corrective tone, "Putane Kingdom? No one uses that na anymore. Since their last king was burned to death, it’s been renad ’Third District.’

Lynch showed a faint, nostalgic smile, with a hint of imperceptible magic power in his voice, calmly saying, "I’m a bit of a nostalgic person, used to the old nas."

The trace of magic power, like gentle ripples, eased the bartender’s doubts. The confusion in his eyes quickly faded, no longer entangled with the issue of naming.

Lynch then took out a finely crafted gold coin from his pocket, its tempting sheen shimring under the candlelight, and set it lightly on the smooth bar surface, making a crisp sound.

"A glass of rye," he said, the tone just like in the past.

However, the bartender’s response made him slightly surprised.

"We don’t sell alcohol here." The bartender’s tone was flat, continuing to wipe the wooden cup in his hand.

Lynch was genuinely taken aback and couldn’t help but ask, "A bar not selling alcohol?"

The bartender finally stopped wiping and looked up at Lynch with a gaze that seed to hold an unspeakable numbness, explaining:

"Three months ago, the town’s Church issued a prohibition order. From then on, no alcohol is sold here."

His voice echoed in the empty tavern, carrying an indisputable, cold aning. The once malt-scented, sweat-filled, hearty laughter-filled "Resting Place" now left only the monotonous sound of wiping cups and an irrefutable edict from the Church.

Upon hearing this, Lynch fell into montary silence.

Though he had long known the rule of the Freemasonry Church was far from benevolent, and that the common people lived in hardship, he was nonetheless speechless to find a prohibition law so harsh that it deprived mortals of basic leisure could be enacted. It was as if leaving no joy of life.

Suppressing the thoughts within, he continued, "Then just so water, please. By the way, I’d like to inquire about sothing." Saying this, he pushed the gold coin a bit forward.

The bartender’s gaze fell on the gold coin, not rejecting outright this ti. He picked up the coin, skillfully checking its quality with a gentle bite, then the numbness and caution on his face slowly gave way to a sincere smile, though it still carried a hint of shrewdness and wariness.

"Alright, please wait a mont." He turned and poured a cup of water, placing it before Lynch, then said, "Go ahead, ask. My family has been living here in River Town for generations; there’s nothing about the docks or the streets I don’t know."

Lynch raised the cup, taking a seemingly casual sip, then began asking what truly concerned him:

"Is there... any news about Wizards here?"

"Wizards?!"

The word was like a hot iron, instantly making the tavern keeper flinch! His face changed dramatically, the smile just forming froze, and quickly disappeared, replaced by fear and vigilance.

He instinctively took half a step back, eyeing Lynch shrewdly with an almost imperceptible tremor in his voice:

"Why... are you asking about that?!"

The doubt, initially fading under Lynch’s gentle spiritual influence, surged back like a tide, even more intense, laced with rejection and unease.

Lynch felt a slight interest, curious at the strong reaction to the word "Wizard." Such intense primal fear and rejection, strong enough to resist my spiritual suggestion?

He showed no abnormal behavior, simply infusing his voice with a more powerful yet gentle and irresistible spiritual force, like warm water lting ice, calmly explaining:

"Oh, nothing, just pure curiosity. I’m a scholar traveling from place to place, interested in tales and curiosities from all regions."

Under Lynch’s continued comforting and guiding spiritual power, the intense fear and rejection in the tavern keeper’s eyes gradually cald, like ripples being smoothed over. His tense expression softened slightly, though his voice still reflexively lowered, carrying the caution of discussing taboo topics:

"Those... evil beings," he used the Church’s official term for Wizards, "since their lair in the Ancient Forest was destroyed, they’ve been like rats scurrying, fleeing and hiding, not daring to show their faces."

As he spoke, he subconsciously used the cloth to repeatedly wipe the already spotless bar, as if seeking so security in the action.

"However..." he paused, seemingly recalling and weighing his words, but ultimately continued under the dual effect of the gold coin and Lynch’s spiritual power, "you ca at a good ti. Just recently, when the Libra Knights were out patrolling in town, they captured a Witch!"

He raised his gaze briefly at Lynch, as if trying to see sothing in his expression, then continued with a tone carrying a hint of secret-revealing:

"I heard... she’s a remnant of the ’Tavendish’ Wizard Family. It’s a big catch, currently locked up in the dungeon on the town’s west side, waiting for soone from above to co for an interrogation."

"Tavendish?"

Upon hearing this utterly familiar surna, Lynch’s hand holding the glass slightly paused, almost imperceptibly. Although his composed expression did not collapse, a sharp gleam flickered montarily in the depths of his gray eyes, like a flash of electricity beneath a calm lake surface.

This surna acted like a key, abruptly opening a carefully guarded box deep in his mory.