A brave man may not live, but he cannot die

Chapter 279 British Past (Part 1)
"The workplace is not just about working hard; it's about navigating interpersonal relationships."

With a goatee, slicked-back hair, and classic engineer's work clothes, the old man smugly smiled at the young man beside him as he drank:
"When it comes to inspecting the airship's pressure pipes, I'm inferior to any worker at the airport; when it comes to mechanical theory, I'm not as good as those recent college graduates; and when it comes to repairing wind control wing components, I'm not even as good as you, a young laborer who's both old and has both an elderly father and a young son."

"But as long as I don't want to retire, I can stay in this maintenance department as long as I want—you know why not?"

Youse Chun, as innocent as Ding Zhen who had just arrived in the big city, asked, "Because your son-in-law is the factory manager of the Airship Manufacturing Plant?"

"fart!"

The old minister flew into a rage, slamming his knuckles on the table: "It's because I'm good at handling things! Do you understand! You blockhead, how dare you say such things to my face—"

"Hey," the boss, who was sitting behind the counter drinking heavily, said unhappily, "If you knock again, get the hell out of here."

The old minister immediately stood up, ready to berate the arrogant, fat tavern owner. But when he saw the bear-like figure of Servi on the deck chair, he sheepishly sat back down, thinking, "I'll just ignore this Sevier bumpkin."

"Look, this is a clueless idiot. I came to his tavern and he was rude to me. That's why he can only open his tavern in this godforsaken place," the old minister whispered to Yusser.

Yuther's focus, however, was elsewhere.

He pointed to the edge of the counter where the former minister had tapped, where there were several unusual geometric seams. Curious, he asked, "Sir, this table seems to have used an unusual woodworking technique? There are no nails on the decorative pieces or the corners, and I don't see any connecting parts."

The shopkeeper squinted, picking at his toes as he said, "Tenon and mortise joints. A craft of the countryside in the North."

Quinn, standing to the side, blinked slightly.

The two words spoken by the mortise and tenon shop owner were not Chinese pronunciations, but rather the transliteration of the word 'mortise and tenon' in Taymuri, which means 'concave-convex joint'.

Celia's younger brother seemed to be on a field assignment with his superior and was currently working. After all, Grindelwald's identity as a teacher was somewhat intimidating to ordinary people, and the younger brother didn't know how to introduce himself, so after exchanging slightly apologetic glances, he chose to pretend he didn't know him.

Yuther, the adopted son of Horus, the former chief court arcane mage of Britain.

Since the great fire that ravaged the royal city fourteen years ago, Horus fled to Eswell with the last surviving son of the former king, seeking refuge at the Academy. When he arrived in Eswell and opened a humble tavern to make a living, his son and daughter were already by his side.

Even the usurper Aaron didn't know the gender of the prophesied child, which is why he allowed sixteen-year-old citizens to try drawing the sword, regardless of gender. Ankua speculated that Horus adopted Uther to use him as a shield for Celia if his identity was exposed.

After all, no matter how you look at it, Yuse seems more like the Child of Prophecy than Celia.

Horus even taught Yuther some arcane arts, but not to the extent of teaching him everything he knew. In Yuther's eyes, his adoptive father was just a self-taught arcane mage who had learned some miscellaneous arts by chance, and what he had learned was only the basics, just enough for him to find a job as an intern engineer at the Airship Factory in Eswell.

According to Ankua's investigation, Yuther's arcane skill level was insufficient to be called an 'Arcanist'; he could only be an engineer repairing simple arcane pipes. Horus, who taught him arcane arts, was hailed as the strongest graduate of the academy in this generation. Even if he had only taught him a little, it wouldn't have produced a son of this caliber. Therefore, Ankua speculated that his talent was quite ordinary.

But perhaps it was this perspective from which the intern engineer observed things that led Uther to discover the unusual nature of this tavern.

"Tenon and tenon joint. Does that mean the structural connection between parts?" Yuther looked around curiously, even squatting down at the corner of the table to examine this amazing structure carefully.

The shopkeeper ignored him and instead changed the disc on the old-fashioned record player at the end of the table. Soothing jazz music flowed from the bronze speakers. It was hard to imagine that this unkempt, greasy fat man had such an elegant hobby.

“It’s almost time for class, aren’t you going back?” he said to Quinn.

"Let's go after we finish eating."

Quinn savored the black sesame pie, trying to recover from the fleeting sense of amnesia he had experienced earlier.

"This pie smells pretty good." The old minister sniffed, glanced at the pie on Quinn's plate, and, thinking it was lunchtime, casually said, "Give me one too. This dark-colored stuff...it's nice to try some Sewell food once in a while."

"Not for sale." The shop owner pointed to the wine cabinet: "I only sell wine."

"Where did he get this plate of pies? Did he pick them up from the ground? Don't go too far, let me tell you—wait a minute," the old minister noticed the two bottles of dry red wine on the table.

He adjusted his glasses and carefully examined the elegant packaging of the wine bottles. As the saying goes, the more high-end, the more restrained; expensive wines don't use flashy packaging like cheaper ones. These two bottles of dry red only listed the wine name, vintage, and winemaker; not even the winery's name.

He felt he'd heard the name of this wine somewhere before, but couldn't quite place it. The vintage was 1434, a full twenty years old. Dry red wines, due to their low alcohol content, have a very short shelf life, often losing their flavor after five years. A dry red wine stored for this long was no longer drinkable, but the liquid inside the bottle remained pure under the light, possessing a silky smooth texture.
"Give me a cup of this, please?" the old minister asked tentatively.

He sensed that this wine might be unusual.

"This one isn't for sale either."

The boss unceremoniously took the red wine that Quinn had offered him as a gift.

Although he wasn't particularly fond of this kind of low-alcohol beverage that didn't make him drunk, it was, after all, a tribute from the Ron royal family. The berries used to make the drinks were ancient artifacts gathered from the underground city, so it was quite nice to drink it like a sweet drink.

"Damn it, you don't sell this or that, what's the point of opening this lousy shop?!"

The old minister slammed his fist on the table and stood up.

Then the figure disappeared from the seat, leaving only the suddenly opened door letting in the hot evening breeze into the tavern.

"I already told you, if you bang on my table again, get out." The shopkeeper clicked his tongue, saying with a pained expression, "These days you can't find anyone from the countryside of the Northern Continent to build new tables."

Yuther was stunned. He looked at the unfinished wine on the table, then at the empty doorway, going back and forth between the two before stammering, "Where is the...minister?"

"He's not dead," the boss said briefly.

“I understand, the tavern owner is a bit possessive of his food.” Quinn greeted him with a smile: “Yose?”

"Ah, hello, hello! I didn't expect to see you here. Lord Quinn, oh, Lord Quinn the Arcane Mage."

"Just call him 'sir' like your sister does."

"I'm sorry I didn't greet you right away," Yuther said, glancing outside every now and then, looking worried about his supervisor.

Worrying was useless; even Quinn hadn't seen how the old man disappeared.

"It's nothing. A broken hand will be bandaged for two months. Just learn your lesson and don't take pictures of other people's things in the future."

The boss glanced at the two of them and asked casually, "You know each other?"

“The student’s younger brother.” Quinn nodded. “I met him once at the Arcane Festival.”

"The female student's younger brother?"

"Wow, how did you figure that out?" Yuther asked in awe.

"If he were a male student, would he smile at you so warmly?"

"Please, I'm very approachable, okay? I ranked second in the 'Most Popular Teacher in the Divination Department' poll."

Seeing that the boss was about to say something detrimental to the image of a teacher, Quinn quickly changed the subject: "How did you end up here? Does your sister know?"

As if answering a teacher's question, Youse replied, "The minister has something to trade with the companies in Sewell. I don't know, my sister didn't go home last weekend."

Since Celia's home is in Aswell, she goes back to stay one day every weekend. But because of the Forbidden Forest Trials, she didn't go back last week. Thinking of this, Yuther asked, "Has my sister started studying hard?"

Quinn thought to herself that she had been working quite hard. But it was like making a student who couldn't even recognize all the characters learn classical Chinese; no matter how hard she tried, it would be in vain.

“Xiao Qian. Heh, she has an advantage that other Grindelwald students don’t necessarily have. Ordinary people would give up if they found it difficult to achieve results even with effort, but she doesn’t. Even if her efforts are useless, she won’t give up.” Quinn himself didn’t realize that when he said what he thought was an objective evaluation, the corners of his mouth couldn’t help but curl up.

Yuther almost chuckled after hearing this, "Do you mean that trying is useless?"

"Cough, that's not what I said."

"My father often says that Celia isn't cut out to be an arcanist, so I really don't know why Grindelwald chose her."

Upon hearing 'Celia', the shopkeeper, who had been drinking alone, looked up. He first scrutinized Uther carefully, then frowned slightly and asked, "Kid, is your father named Horus?"

Yuther shook his head, his denial seemingly genuine; he had never heard of the name.

"No, his name is both awful and long, Ivan Rovichkarov."

"A man from the Northern Continent, wearing glasses, who looks like a scholar, but is actually a cheater who reneges on his gambling."

"Yes, yes, yes!" Yuther, the dutiful son, nodded vigorously: "You know that scoundrel who cheats at cards?"

The owner pointed to the dazzling array of wine cabinets behind him.

"We're all tavern owners, we're in the same business."

"Oh, so all the fake alcohol he sells comes from you?"

The boss's lips twitched. The guy who got kicked out wasn't wrong; this kid really has no sense of propriety.

"No, I don't sell fake alcohol."

Yuther looked up and asked the question he had wanted to ask for a long time: "Where did you get the Saint-Viven winery's tribute from?"

As expected of a tavern owner's son, he knows his stuff.

The boss's mouth moved, but he was too lazy to argue about it and asked directly, "How is your father's health?"

"That's great, I can eat half a large loaf of rye bread in one meal."

And so, a hint of surprise appeared on Servi's drunken face.

"Really? Not paralyzed yet? Looks like you've received the protection of the Eternal Church."

"What did you say?" The boss's mutterings were too soft for Yuther to hear.

"It's nothing. You guys continue talking." He lay back down.

"Where did that minister go? I don't know who to trade with if he's not here," Yuther asked, scratching his head.

"What kind of transaction would take place here?"

Demar Tavern is situated between the buffer zones of East Wilshire and West Wilshire, and its unpredictable opening hours result in very few regular customers. The tavern is frequented mainly by penniless Western Continent residents and West Wilshire gangsters.

Demar Tavern is the only place for gang negotiations. Fighting, bloodshed, brandishing weapons, and even shouting at the owner are all forbidden here, or you'll end up like the guy who just disappeared.

Quinn looked at the unusually quiet tavern today.

The patrons were just a few small gangsters, drinking eight-pence beer in a corner. Apart from Uther and his two patrons who were unaware of the tavern's inner workings, no one dared to sit down in front of the owner.

For some reason, none of the Golden Winds or the Razor Gang members who usually appear are here.

“A deal.” Yuther glanced at Quinn, recalling his sister’s good relationship with him, and readily assumed he was someone trustworthy. He began to wink and lower his voice, saying, “Actually, it’s an illegal scheme, used by the old minister to profit the factory leaders.”

Even without him saying it, Quinn knew that choosing this place for the transaction was definitely not a good thing.

As soon as Youse walked in, the thief's intuition told Quinn that the box he was carrying was very valuable, perhaps even more valuable than the rare wines on the boss's wine cabinet.

Seeing that the old minister wouldn't be back anytime soon, Yuther simply laid the box on the table and opened it.

The glint of the gemstone flashed in Quinn's eyes.

These are arcane matrix cores engraved with runes, carved from high-precision gemstones. These matrices appear to have been salvaged from airships, covered in oil stains and signs of use.

“These are all arcane matrices that need repair. This one is for the risk control system, this one is for the navigation system, and this one is…” Yuther paused, then remembered that Quinn was Grindelwald’s teacher, and his introduction was somewhat redundant. He chuckled dryly, “They’re not broken, but they need repair. The parts factory from the airport lied and claimed these things were scrapped so they could get insurance to replace them. The parts that were taken off were sold to the Westville black market, and the profits were split among the leaders.”

Quinn chuckled. There's nothing new under the sun. No wonder that old guy said he knew how to handle things.

"Whom do you want to trade with?"

"A company called Golden Wind Trading. They supposedly offered the highest price, almost like new for these used goods, but these matrices are badly worn; I don't know what they'd do with them."

"Golden Wind," Quinn prayed silently, hoping that his boss, who was cleaning up his mess, wouldn't be shot dead by the Razor Fence.

"Come again next time, they probably won't have time to buy anything these next few days."

"Oh? Is that so?" Yuther said dejectedly when he heard that he had no work and had to leave.

I almost couldn't cover the corners of my mouth.

He stood up, carrying his suitcase, ready to make a quick getaway.

"Then I'll be going now, so I won't bother you two any longer. By the way, is the minister really alright?"

The boss pointed in a direction outside the gate.

"Walk 500 meters in this direction, and there they are, crying and calling the police."

"Thank you, goodbye Mr. Quinn!"

"Goodbye."

After Yuther skipped away, Quinn immediately asked, "Boss, do you know Celia's adoptive father?"

The drunkenness in Servi's eyes disappeared.

He looked at Quinn, a forced smile on his face, and said, "We're all in the same industry, so why ask?"

"I want to hear you brag. Could you tell me some mysterious little stories you heard when you were young?" Quinn rubbed his hands together expectantly.

The boss slammed his fist on the table; his blood pressure spiked.

"Damn it, Ankuya, you actually told me about the Child of Prophecy?!"

(End of this chapter)