Full-Time Wizard: Starting with Harvesting Wheat

From the side, Irwin, the owner of the Soram Tavern, glimpsed a short figure suddenly leaping up from the ground at the doorway, his unusually large fist slamming into Pique's face.

Because he was behind Pique, he didn't see his face immediately. It wasn't until he was thrown backward by the force and landed on the counter, face up, that Erwin was horrified to discover that the already unattractive face had been completely sunken into the flesh.

His expression was ferocious, like a rotten tomato that had been smashed flat by a heavy hammer.

Fresh tomato juice was still oozing from the cuts on her face.

Erwin froze in shock, and after a long while, he shakily reached out a finger to check Pike's breath. Fortunately, it seemed that he had only broken his nose and was not in mortal danger.

"Hey! What happened?"

"Has a wild animal broken in?"

As the clamor and unease of the patrons arose, that god-like figure strode into the tavern. His face was still somewhat youthful, but his eyes were as cold as ice, and no one present dared to underestimate him.

Moreover, when Erwin looked behind him, he saw a long-handled object tightly wrapped in thick cloth, at shoulder height, where the shape of a sword hilt was faintly visible.

Something that can be wrapped in thick cloth must not be a wooden sword.

Anyone who can knock an adult flying with a single punch is certainly not a pushover.

The patrons were momentarily stunned by his imposing presence, and like silent little beasts, they all kept their mouths tightly shut, afraid of making a sound.

Who is this person?

In their panic, they exchanged glances, but all of them looked completely bewildered!

Finally, all of them stared at Pique, who was lying unconscious on the counter, and remembered the story he had just told.

This man was not Gerald, the son of old John.

So... is it another one?

13-year-old child?

Erwin's Adam's apple bobbed violently. This was the first time blood had been spilled in his tavern, and he was unable to utter a sound. His body trembled uncontrollably as he watched the figure stride toward Pique.

Then, he grabbed him and pulled him up!

"Did he really pass out?" Roy glanced at the number after "Current Number of Defeats," which had risen from "1" to "2," indicating that Pique was indeed unconscious.

Moreover, Pique was like a limp lump of clay, swaying back and forth under his control. If he could put on such a show, that would be quite an achievement.

Roy slapped him hard across the face a few times, but perhaps his skin was too thick, and he couldn't wake him up. Then, he casually tossed Pike's body to the ground, tiptoed to the bar, and sat down, speaking.

"Boss, does this person come here often?"

His tone was as casual as if he were just chatting, which made one wonder if he had just knocked out a not-so-small adult.

Irwin's legs trembled violently, and his teeth chattered as if exposed to the extreme cold.

"Pick...Pick is...a regular here."

He finished speaking haltingly, his legs trembling and his mind blank.

"Then...can you tell me who are the people who often come with him?"

As he spoke, Roy raised an eyebrow, casually pulled two rusty copper coins from his pocket, placed them on the bar, and spoke in a nonchalant tone.

Staring at Erwin, who was inexplicably trembling, Roy added another sentence.

"By the way, if those people have any distinctive features, remember to tell me."

……

The tavern was silent, a far cry from the lively atmosphere when Pique was talking animatedly.

The drinkers mechanically shoved the ale into their mouths, their eyes lifeless like those of dead fish.

After tidying up briefly, Erwin gritted his teeth and laboriously dragged Pike's heavy body to the tavern entrance, casually tossing it onto the cold stone floor. The unconscious body trembled instinctively in the night wind.

"What bad luck."

Erwin weighed the ten copper coins in his hand and began to believe the nonsense Pike had told him earlier.

He casually handed over ten copper coins just for asking a question, so he probably actually had several taels of silver in assets.

But how could a few copper coins possibly compensate the tavern for its losses?

The wooden bar counter has some dents and needs repair. If the patrons talk about what happened that night, it will definitely damage the bar's reputation, not to mention the compensation for their emotional distress...

It must cost at least a few silver coins, right?

And also, he... no, they, betrayed Pique.

Without reservation, he described all the people he remembered hanging out with, especially focusing on their unusual characteristics.

Then, the boy nodded as if satisfied, as if he had matched each person to the next. The last question was about their addresses and daily habits.

The patrons knew each other's whereabouts perfectly and eagerly pointed out that those people should be in someone's basement right now, playing a gambling game.

Pique, who was penniless, was naturally excluded.

Having obtained the information he wanted, the young man ordered Set Meal Number Three: boiled eggs, mashed potatoes, a small piece of firm jerky, a bowl of fragrant mushroom soup, and the tavern's prized Soram bread—far softer and more delicious than the coarse black bread, and clearly made with much finer craftsmanship.

After eating and drinking his fill, Roy patted his slightly protruding belly and walked out of the tavern.

With a creak, the old wooden door made a teeth-grinding scraping sound again, but no one dared to utter a curse this time.

Erwin sighed inwardly: Pique has really messed with the wrong person. His group of cronies are probably in for a rough night.

The drinkers thought with regret that they might never be able to listen to Pique brag and tell stories again.

However, today's scene was exciting enough to become a topic of conversation for them at future dinner parties.

……

That night, Sheriff Larry was shocked when he received the report. Such a serious brawl had never occurred in his jurisdiction before. In haste, he rushed to the scene with only a wooden sword as a symbol of his status.

Stepping into the basement, filled with the smell of cheap tobacco and sweat, Larry knew something was wrong the moment he saw the sword-shaped object wrapped around the boy's back.

In the basement, tables and chairs were scattered and broken, and an oil lamp was overturned on the floor, its filthy oil staining the floor.

More than a dozen gamblers were piled up haphazardly in the corner, like discarded tattered sacks, all with bruises and swelling, and unconscious.

The strong smell of blood mixed with the sour stench of vomit made Larry's stomach churn.

The culprit who caused all this was sitting quietly on the wooden chair. Upon seeing him, her face instantly switched to panic and grievance, and she burst into tears.

"Sir Sheriff, you've finally arrived! I just stumbled upon their gambling scene and they surrounded me, threatening me not to tell anyone." He spoke righteously, "As you know, gambling is illegal, how could I condone such behavior? So I had no choice but to retaliate a little..." As he spoke, he wiped the corners of his eyes, which had no tears at all, and reluctantly took out a silver coin from his pocket and handed it to Larry.

"This is just a small token of my appreciation..."

Okay, that would be perfect.

Larry didn't want to make a big deal out of it, as it would affect his job security, and he might lose it if he was unlucky.

Most importantly, he knew he couldn't handle a tough guy who could take on more than ten people by himself, especially since the other party had dangerous weapons.

After calmly accepting the silver coins, he straightened his back and said, "Alright, leave this to me. You... hurry home. I'll handle tonight's affairs."

"Remember, no one reported this, and no one has been here. Understand? Just pretend nothing happened. You're just... a good kid who got lost."

After saying that, he happily touched the silver coin. This was already several days' wages for him. If more people like him were willing to help, he could save up enough money to buy an iron sword.

Seeing the knowing look and a hint of barely perceptible mockery in the boy's eyes, Larry added, "My name is Larry. In the future... um... if you encounter any more serious incidents like this, remember to notify me immediately. I guarantee that the perpetrators will receive the punishment they deserve."

"Of course, Your Excellency Sheriff." The boy bowed, his tone unusually respectful.