Warriors will die if they charge.

The tavern commotion quickly subsided due to poverty, and Nora, instead of continuing to mock the incompetent adventurers, used the wisdom of an old woman to soothe their emotions by giving each of them an extra cup of watered-down ale that night.

I was wrong, but I just won't change.

Bardin, now dressed in casual clothes, sauntered down the steps with York, who was about the same height as him. When he reached the table, Marcus realized just how sturdy the dwarf really was.

The linen short-sleeved shirt revealed a pair of strong arms, as thick as an adult's thigh, covered with fine scars and tattooed with all sorts of runes, some resembling doors, some fire, and others incomprehensible dwarven script.

Just standing there, he's like an anvil.

Bardin had a thick, lion-like black mane, and his fingernails were covered in grime that couldn't be washed away. He gripped a large wine glass with his rough, large hands, drank half of it in one gulp, and then began to mutter complaints:

"It's been diluted with water again. They actually gave this inferior product to the dwarves."

He sat on the bench, turned to Nora and said, "Old lady, bring me a barrel of the finest ale. Dwarves never serve inferior goods to their friends."

"Marcus." Nora nodded, asking Marcus for help. The helper wasn't here today, and little York was only twelve years old; he couldn't lift the beer barrel that weighed over a hundred pounds.

Marcus carried a barrel of ale from the storeroom, and the way he effortlessly placed the hundred-pound barrel on the ground with one hand made many of the adventurers watching swallow hard.

As soon as the lid was lifted, the rich aroma of the wine made Bading's eyes light up. He couldn't wait to turn to the side, fill a spoon with the orange-yellow liquid, and take a big gulp.

"Great, the amount of hops is just right, it has a malty roasted flavor, the foam is as dense as honey, and it even has a hint of..."

The dwarf smacked his lips, seemingly unable to discern the most deeply hidden essence. He jumped off the bench, as if hugging a barrel of wine, stood on tiptoe, and took another sip with an iron spoon.

"Spicy, oh my, I've never drunk anything like this before."

"Agave, Dwarf Master, I added some agave puree to the ale. This plant, which comes from the southern wilderness, is not only suitable for making rope, but the locals also use it to brew alcohol. It has a spicy and fierce taste, but time will tame its unruliness and make it mellow and smooth."

"Just like you, old maid."

Nora maintained her smile and nodded politely: "Compared to you, I still need to practice more."

Marcus didn't understand Bardeen and Nora's conversation; his understanding of alcohol was limited to one thing—

Don't make it so spicy it tastes like horse piss, and then keep saying you should smack your lips to savor the flavor, only to find it still tastes like horse piss.

"Come on, buddy, try this old lady's cooking."

Marcus finished his watered-down ale, took the beer Bardin served him, and took a sip.

The taste was unique; he didn't know how to describe it, only that it had a strong alcohol flavor and a slightly spicy taste, but it wasn't unpleasant to drink.

Bardin sat back on the bench, shifted his position, took the wooden spoon from little York, and began to eat heartily from the stewed pork offal in the pot. He occasionally took a big gulp of ale and gave Nora a thumbs up, saying that today's food was exceptionally delicious.

His cheerful and carefree demeanor was completely unlike the somber tone mentioned in "Homecoming," which puzzled Marcus. He took a large bite of stew and asked, his words slightly muffled:

"Bardin, where should we look for the Hammer of Destiny?"

"I don't know, buddy. I've just been wandering around your human territory and have no clue where the Hammer of Fate is, haha."

"That's a really bad thing."

Bading wiped the meat juices off his beard: "Why?"

Marcus paused, unsure how to explain.

He wanted to subtly express that no matter how important something was, he shouldn't sacrifice his life for it, but what he said in return was something else entirely:

"It was really bad. For example, I used to work at the docks and I accidentally threw something into the river. Anything I found in the box was worth more than me. My employer made me go and get it back."

But think about it, the river is full of water ghosts, giant crocodiles, and piranhas. I wouldn't dare jump in. Every day I'd wait anxiously by the riverbank, wondering where that damn thing would drift off to.

Bardin took a bite of the stew and asked curiously, "And then, big guy, you found the goods?"

"No, no, I searched for half a month. After half a month, the employer fell into the river and was eaten by a water ghost." Marcus unconsciously stirred the stew in the pot.

"You're probably like me, sitting by the river looking for a wooden box, but you don't know where to start looking."

Bardeen's movements froze for a moment in mid-air, amused by the clumsy attempt at consolation: "But I'm still going to look for it; this could be a chance for Bardeen Greenock to become famous!"

As the quest description said, dwarves don't lie, but they also don't like to speak their minds.

Marcus sighed inwardly, raised his glass and clinked it with Bardeen's: "This will also make Marcus Nolfits famous, haha."

Fueled by alcohol, Marcus began to learn some things about Bardeen.

Five years ago, the dwarf who made a vow left the mountains, determined to find the lost artifact, the Hammer of Destiny. He traveled to many places, collecting unique plants along the way to brew wine, and occasionally joined some adventure missions and repaired equipment to earn money for his travels.

"You really are a wandering knight?" Marcus blinked, spitting out piping hot stew, and mumbled indistinctly:

"I thought wandering knights were all hiding in the back shooting arrows, but you're holding an axe..." He imitated Badin's posture from last night, holding a wooden spoon with both hands, blowing his beard and glaring as he ran out.

"He charged straight at that bunch of goblins, wielding his axe better than any warrior I've ever seen, though I haven't seen many warriors myself, hiccup~"

"Buddy, of course I'm a wandering knight. I used to be able to memorize every ravine in the mountains, catch goblin thieves hiding in the ditch, and my crossbow was more accurate than anyone else's."

Marcus rubbed the back of his head. He wanted to ask about the Hearth Guard, which must be some kind of special profession in dwarven society, but Bardin seemed to deliberately avoid talking about his homeland, so he stopped the conversation.

The stew in the pot was empty, and little York carried some leftovers to the table as snacks for the two men to enjoy with their drinks.

Bardin, with a pipe in his mouth, watched as the magical light hooked the rising smoke onto the wall, where it was blown away by the wind that rushed in through the window cracks.

The bard gently plucked the strings of his lute, producing a soothing and gentle melody. Through the clamor, noise, and smell of wine from the long table, the dwarf could see the militia marching through the streets, the low houses, and the leaden sky of his distant homeland.

"If you're a ranger, then I can definitely be a mage too."

Bardin exhaled a smoke ring and asked jokingly, "Why?"

Marcus pulled out his ever-present cloak of intelligence, his rough fingers rubbing the smooth, delicate silk: "Because wearing it really makes me smarter."

"Women's stuff."

"Wearing this will make you smarter. Don't you want to try it? Maybe it'll help you find the hammer?"

Bardin swallowed hard, his gaze softening as he looked at the exquisite cloak, but he still immediately rejected it:

"No, Ramdin, huh? So there are tough guys who like to wear women's clothing."

Just as they were joking about the cloak of intelligence, a beautiful figure suddenly walked to the long table, her clear and intelligent voice interrupting the two men who were arguing.

"Can I see this cloak?"