Steel, gunpowder, and spellcasters

Chapter 499 Rebuilding the Nation (XV)

Gerard Mitchell didn't like sharing a table with strangers, but he looked around and saw that all the other tables were full, so he nodded to the blond man.

After receiving permission, the blond man nodded his thanks and then sat down diagonally opposite Girard.

However, he did not order any food or drink. Instead, he sat upright with his left hand lightly resting on the hilt of his sword, his gaze wandering between the harpist and the other guests in the center of the side hall.

He seemed out of place in the noisy, dirty tavern.

The voluptuous tavern owner swayed as she walked by, drawing sidelong glances from the patrons along the way. She winked at the blond hunk, her voice almost cloyingly sweet: "Little brother, what would you like to order?"

“No.” The blond man crossed his arms, turned his gaze away, and answered expressionlessly, “Thank you.”

"Really don't want it?"

The blond man replied firmly, "I don't need anything."

"Alright then." The proprietress was quite disappointed. She glanced at the counter in the distance—the tavern owner had almost wrung water out of the oak countertop. Then she bent down slightly, deliberately exposing half of her chest, and breathed hot air into the blond man's ear: "If you want anything, you can come to me anytime."

The blond man's cheeks flushed.

The proprietress chuckled, swaying her rounded hips, and went to serve other customers.

It took Mr. Mitchell quite a while to recover from the shock.

He shook his head self-deprecatingly and joked with the young man on the other side of the table, "So this restaurant has a mistress? I've been here for so many days, and every time I've been served by the waiters."

“No need to belittle yourself, sir.” The blond man glanced at the cap placed on the table by the other guest and replied humbly, “If you’d like to try, I think that lady with such a good appetite wouldn’t refuse a strong Dussac.”

Girard paused for a moment, his gaze following the blond man's as it landed on his cap.

Old Dussac laughed heartily and turned to call out to his waiter, "Bring another glass! Another bottle of wine—bring the best!"

Turning back, Girard smiled and asked the young man in front of him, "Are you also Dusak? Then we should have a drink together."

“Thank you for your kindness, but I am not Dusak.” The blond man maintained his aloof attitude. He pursed his lips, and although embarrassed, answered frankly, “I don’t have money to buy alcohol either.”

Girard found the young man in front of him increasingly interesting.

The waiter quickly brought over new glasses and wine. Girard poured the wine himself and placed it in front of the young man: "Could you give this old man a chance to buy you a drink?"

Unable to refuse such hospitality, the blond man bowed deeply in thanks, then picked up the large wooden wine glass and gently sniffed it.

"Too strong?" Girard said apologetically. "Outsiders are generally not used to the liquor from the newly established areas."

“No,” the blond man replied casually, “not strong enough.”

Girard chuckled, unconsciously adopting a touch of elder's authority: "Young man, don't boast. Don't let the shabby appearance of this shop fool you; their liquor is the strongest in Maplestone City."

“In some places, people can separate extremely pure ‘alcohol’ from drinks. That stuff can’t even be drunk directly; it has to be diluted with water, otherwise you’ll die.”

The blond man calmly stated, "Only liquor of that strength deserves to be called strong liquor. Naturally fermented liquor like this, even with simple distillation, is ultimately not strong enough."

After saying that, the blond man downed the tavern owner's most prized vintage wine in one gulp, then calmly put down his glass.

Girard couldn't help but slap the table and cheer, laughing loudly, "Finally, I've found a worthy drinking buddy in Maplestone! I really want to drink to my heart's content with you."

But immediately, Girard's lips drooped again, and he said regretfully and dejectedly, "But I have to go home tonight, so I can't drink too much."

“That means someone is waiting for you.” Upon hearing this, the blond man’s expression turned somewhat melancholy. He sincerely said to old Dussac, “That’s something to be envied. I envy you, sir.”

“Yes, it is indeed a great stroke of luck.” Girard, having been struck by what he thought, also remarked with emotion.

But he quickly regained his interest, pouring drinks for the young man while saying with a smile, "But drinking a few less drinks won't be a problem. At most, you'll just get a few complaints."

"Judging from your accent, you're from the north?" Girard asked curiously.

Once again, his accent gave him away, and the blond man couldn't help but sigh: "Is it that obvious?"

“Not obviously, you speak the Paratulu dialect very well—better than I do.” Girard said with a smile, “But I also come from the north, and I find your voice familiar, which is why I asked you.”

The blond man narrowed his eyes, scrutinizing old Dussac: "I've heard that thirty years ago, a group of Dussacs belonging to the Imperial Guard were captured by Lord Ned Smith and then swore allegiance to the Cenas Alliance. After the war, Lord Ned Smith settled them in..."

“We’ve been resettled on the newly reclaimed land.” Girard pointed to himself and said frankly, “That’s right, I’m one of them.”

Girard countered, "You're a soldier too, aren't you?"

The blond man nodded.

"A nobleman?" Girard asked again.

The blond man became wary, remained silent for a moment, and then reluctantly nodded.

“Exiles?” Girard continued to ask.

This time, the blond man didn't answer. He smiled noncommittally: "Old sir, are you perhaps considering marrying your daughter to me?"

At the mention of Scarlett, a thousand worries welled up in Girard's heart, and he couldn't help but sigh deeply: "Well, that would have to be her choice."

Upon hearing old Dussac's words, the blond man picked up the bottle and poured half a glass of wine for the latter, then poured half a glass for himself: "Your daughter is very lucky to have a father like you."

“You’re wrong, young man,” Girard said wistfully. “For a father, his daughter is the most precious gift God has ever given him.”

A bitter smile involuntarily appeared on the blond man's face: "Perhaps, that's true."

“For every good father.” Girard raised his glass.

The blond man also raised his glass: "To every good father."

The two clinked glasses loudly and then drank it all down in one gulp.

Meanwhile, the musician was singing the climax of the story, which seemed to be about the protagonist's life-or-death battle with the King of the North on the battlefield—Gillard wasn't listening carefully.

The musician sang with great enthusiasm, but the patrons couldn't stand his loud, rough voice and started to jeer.

However, the more the audience cheered, the louder the pianist sang.

Seeing this, the blond man silently placed his left hand on the hilt of his sword again.

Girard stared at the pianist wearing an exaggerated wide-brimmed hat and asked the young man in front of him, puzzled, "Your employer?"

“My friend,” the blond man replied.

“That makes sense.” Girard said with relief, “I knew it. How could a pianist who sings so badly afford a talent like you?”

The blond man, who had previously been as calm as ice, showed a hint of shame upon hearing this. He explained sheepishly, "Actually... the real singer is someone else. However, she has a place to stay tonight, so it's just the two of us performing."

“Then you should definitely stop him from singing.” Girard looked around at the disgruntled patrons. “If he keeps singing, not only will he not be able to earn enough for tonight’s accommodation, but you’ll also have to pay for the tables and chairs.”

The patrons' discontent intensified as the musician ignored them, and they began banging on the table, booing, and yelling for the musician to get out.

People threw things at the musician, but he skillfully dodged them all while the music continued.

“If I could have stopped him,” the blond man sighed softly, “we wouldn’t have had to resort to busking on the streets.”

The sounds of slamming the table gradually coalesced into a series of muffled, rhythmic thuds.

"What the hell are you singing?" someone yelled. "It's fucking awful!"

"Get out!" someone shouted.

"Beat him up!" someone shouted. "Beat his mother!"

Amidst the deafening, chaotic noise, a timid, hoarse voice drifted in from the doorway: "Who is Siegfried? Why sing about him? Can't you sing something else?"

However, no one expected that this almost completely muffled sound would actually make the pianist stop.

The pianist took a deep breath and shouted, "Quiet!"

The deafening roar nearly blew the roof off, instantly silencing the patrons who had just been jeering.

Seeing that everyone around him was covering their ears in pain, the pianist nodded in satisfaction.

He took the hat in his hand, revealing his slightly sparsely haired head, and bowed gracefully towards the entrance, asking in a friendly tone, "What would you like to hear?"

Three men, two old and one young, stood at the entrance of the tavern. The one who had just spoken was the youngest of them, a boy who was only half a teenager.

"I want to hear the story of the Blood Wolf!" the boy mustered his courage and shouted, "I want to hear 'The Battle of the Styx'!"

Upon hearing this, the patrons all chimed in, "That's right! Listen to Blood Wolf!"

"Uh." This time it was the pianist's turn to be embarrassed. He said awkwardly, "I don't know 'The Battle of the Styx'."

The boy was quite disappointed and asked again, "What about 'The Battle of Blood Mud'?"

"A bloody mud fight is fine too!" the patrons chimed in.

The pianist was even more embarrassed: "I'm sorry, I don't know 'Battle of Blood and Mud' either."

"Everyone else knows it, so why don't you know anything?" The boy's eyes already held a hint of disdain as he shook the booklet in his hand: "The latest one? 'Escape from the Tiger's Mouth,' do you know it?"

The drinkers immediately became interested.

You should know that the most popular story in Maplestone City right now is "Escape from the Tiger's Mouth".

This story, originally published in "Communications", became very popular as soon as it was published.

As a public notice, each issue of the "Newsletter" was posted on bulletin boards in various cities, towns, and villages in the newly reclaimed land.

When it was first published, local governments had to assign people to guard the bulletin boards where the bulletin board was posted because people often stole it.

However, as time went by, the novelty wore off, and nowadays very few people steal the "Communications".

Those who wanted to take the newsletter home to read it carefully mostly resorted to copying it on the spot or simply buying a separately printed booklet.

However, ever since "Escape from the Tiger's Mouth" was published in the "Communications", the "good days" of the past immediately returned.

Due to the limitations of paper size, "Escape from the Tiger's Mouth" could not be published in one issue of "Communications" and had to be published in chapters.

This really hit the nail on the head for the people of the newly reclaimed land. The "Newsletter" posted on bulletin boards in various places would be posted one and then thrown away, two and then a pair would be thrown away.

There was even a funny incident where "before the messenger responsible for posting the 'Newsletter' arrived, several groups of people who wanted to steal the 'Newsletter' had already started fighting in front of the bulletin board."

The magazine's distribution department had to urgently remove "Escape from the Tiger's Mouth" from the magazine and print it separately.

Storytellers in markets around the world have recently stopped telling the old, tired stories of the "Hydal Kings" and have started telling the story of "Escape from the Tiger's Mouth".

The most famous theater company in Maplestone is also starting to rehearse a new play based on the story of "Escape from the Tiger's Mouth".

So when the young boy asked, "Can you tell me about 'Escape from the Tiger's Mouth'?" the drinkers immediately became interested.

However, the pianist disappointed everyone once again: "I also don't know 'Escape from the Tiger's Mouth,' which you mentioned."

"Then what can you do?" the patrons retorted angrily. "Get out! Get out!"

Spoons, forks, wine glasses, rotten fruit, hard bread with teeth marks... once again, they flew under the roof of the tavern.

"Wait!" the musician shouted, dodging and weaving while covering his head. "I'll tell you the story of 'Reynard the Fox and the Lioness'."

Upon hearing the word "lioness," the tavern quickly fell silent. The patrons understood and stopped making noise.

"Let him speak!" someone said.

"Speak!" the crowd shouted in a chaotic chorus.

The boy standing by the door asked the middle-aged man beside him curiously, "Dad, what's the story of Reynard the Fox?"

The middle-aged man, whose face was as hard as granite, looked somewhat uneasy and said awkwardly, "It's a little too early for you."

“Hey, Brother Majiya,” another chubby middle-aged man said with a smile, “It’s getting late, it’s time to let Raul know what he needs to know.”

After saying that, the middle-aged man looked at the teenager and teased, "Didn't you want to know the story of Reynard the Fox? Why don't we find a seat and listen to it?"

At the same time, the lute player cleared his throat, strummed his lute, and began to tell "The Untold Story of Reynard the Fox and the Lioness" with an exaggerated expression.

The blond man turned his head, covered his face, and pretended not to recognize the pianist.

Girard laughed heartily.

Just as Girard was about to pour the young man another drink, a fawning voice sounded beside him.

Girard looked up and saw that the trio of two elderly people and a child who had been standing at the door had come to his table.

"Brother, all the other seats are taken." The chubby middle-aged man asked with a smile, "Could we sit at the same table as you?"

[Today, "The Tale of Reynard the Fox" is a well-known children's book distributed all over the world.]
However, in the Middle Ages, the original version of "The Tale of Reynard the Fox" contained numerous 18+ content, including but not limited to adultery, rape, NTR, etc.
[Today's Reynard the Fox is to the original Reynard the Fox just as today's Grimm's Fairy Tales were to people in the Middle Ages and Renaissance, the original dark fairy tales told by the fireside and in taverns.]
[The audience immediately understood upon hearing "lioness." This is because, since classical times, the lioness has been the embodiment of sexuality. The ancient Romans believed that lionesses were promiscuous, male lions were chaste, and leopards were illegitimate offspring born from cuckolding.]
[Therefore, the cheetah leopard is a combination of the lion leo and pard.]
[The she-wolf is also an embodiment of desire. In ancient Rome, "lupa" was synonymous with "prostitute," and "lupanar" naturally meant brothel.]
[So now you can understand why some people dare to call Winters "Blood Wolf," but no one dares to call her "She-Wolf" in front of Winters and Anna.]
[The term "she-wolf" initially carried a slightly derogatory connotation, because at that time, people outside the army, while obeying Winters, did not truly respect him.]
However, as the story progresses, the "She-Wolf" is gradually replaced by the "Wolf Queen" and the "Lady".
[I apologize for the slow pace of the last two chapters; I'll try to make the next few chapters more substantial.]
Thank you everyone.
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(End of this chapter)