He went through the gate. A cacophony of voices assaulted him. The air was thick with the smells of cheap perfume, sweat, and something vaguely floral. Brightly colored cloths hung from the stalls, vying for attention.
Music spilled out from dimly lit doorways, a mix of raucous laughter, clinking glasses, and the occasional off-key singing.
Many stalls' owners were calling for customers.
"My new medicine will let you last for 69 rounds! I swear it on my 13th child! Only 5 silver coins!"
Another cried, "I have a special book that will teach you special ways to please your partner, even if your size is as small as 8 cm long! Only 3 silver coins and 50 copper coins! Big discount!"
Another cried, "The best alcohol in Stormhold city! Buy it, or you will be sorry!"
Many people were near the sellers. A young man stood near one stall. He was a bit short, with snow white skin and black hair that reached his shoulders. He looked nervous and said quietly, "Do you have any medicine that can make that thing bigger? You know what I mean?"
The seller, who was selling the medicine about lasting 69 rounds, said in a low voice, "Sir, you have come to the right place. I have a special medicine from an adventurer who can use magic."
The young man was shocked. "Magic!"
The seller covered the young man's mouth and said, "Sir, quietly! You can't tell everyone. I promise this medicine will turn your small, weak, pitiful snake into a strong, powerful dragon."
The young man was excited, thinking about pleasing his wife. He said quickly, "I want it! Please sell it to me!"
The seller chuckled and said, "Sir, I was going to sell it at a high price, but for you, I will sell it for 40 silver coins."
The young man gasped. 'My weekly pay is 10 silver coins. This is too much!' But he remembered a painful time.
He thought about how his wife had not enjoyed their time together. He only lasted two rounds and could never please her.
He gave the seller the money. The seller told him how to use the medicine. Then, he said seriously, "You can't involve in any sexual activity for a month, or it won't work."
The young man nodded and was about to leave. The seller asked with some trouble, "Sir, how big is your little brother? You don't have to tell me if you don't want to. I just want to know how well the medicine works."
The man looked at the seller with anger and said with a smirk, "If you give me a discount of 10 silver coins, I will tell you."
The seller laughed. "Hahahaaa!" He looked at the young man sharply and said "Yeah, Fat chance!"
The young man hurried away, cursing the seller.
Other sellers were shouting and selling their things.
It was daytime, especially morning. So, there were not many people in this area. This area was busiest at night. Even though there was some noise from the bars and stalls, most of the brothels were closed. They only opened after 3 P.M. Of course, some brothels were open in the morning, but they were expensive.
The chaos of the Red Light Area, while interesting, wasn't conducive to gathering the kind of information he needed. Lucian thought, 'I should go into the bar. I can easily get information there. I don't need to walk all over the city.'
He walked on the stone road and passed some stalls. He came to a bar.
The bar was called "Snowfield Bar."
The name, with its stark imagery of ice and open spaces, seemed oddly out of place in this crowded, noisy district.
Lucian thought, 'What a strange name. Perhaps it's a reference to the owner's homeland, or maybe it's meant to be ironic.'
He went into the bar. Compared to the vibrant chaos outside, the interior was relatively subdued. Not many people were there, a stark contrast to how it would be at night.
The bar was small, but well-maintained. The walls were made of dark wood, polished to a gleam, and adorned with simple decorations – a few framed maps of the city, a couple of crossed swords, and a large mirror behind the counter that reflected the room in a slightly distorted way.
The lighting was dim, provided by a few oil lamps hanging from the ceiling, casting long shadows that danced with the movements of the patrons. The air smelled of stale beer, sawdust, and a hint of something sweet and flowery, perhaps from a spilled perfume.
The main feature of the room was the long, polished wooden counter that stretched along one wall, behind which stood the bartender, a row of gleaming bottles displayed behind him.
The bar contained four circular tables with six chairs and four chairs in the counter. The tables, each surrounded by six sturdy wooden chairs, were spaced evenly across the room, allowing for a comfortable flow of movement.
One strong-looking person stood near the exit. He was leaning against the doorframe, his arms crossed over his chest, his gaze sweeping across the room with a quiet intensity. He was a big man, with broad shoulders and thick arms, dressed in simple, functional clothing – a leather vest over a linen shirt, and sturdy trousers tucked into high boots.
A sheathed sword hung at his hip, and his face, though weathered and scarred, held a certain stoic dignity. His eyes, however, were sharp and alert, constantly scanning the room, missing nothing.
He looked like a bouncer, or perhaps a guard, his presence a subtle reminder that order was to be maintained, and that any trouble would be dealt with swiftly and decisively.
A waiter approached Lucian with a polite smile. He was a younger man, with a clean-shaven face and neatly trimmed brown hair. His movements were quick and efficient, his hands moving with practiced ease as he cleaned glasses and arranged bottles.
He wore a clean white apron over a dark tunic, and his smile seemed genuine, though there was a hint of weariness in his eyes, as if he had been working for a long time.
There was also a certain nervousness in his demeanor, a subtle tension in his shoulders, as if he was always anticipating the next order, the next demand. "Welcome to the Snowfield Bar," he said, his voice friendly but professional. "What can I get for you?"
There was a long list of food items, written in messy handwriting on a wooden board hanging behind the counter. The list included local delicacies like "Frosted Boar Stew," a hearty dish simmered with root vegetables and a rich, creamy sauce, and "Spiced River Fish," grilled over an open flame and seasoned with exotic herbs.
There was also more common fare, such as roasted meats, hearty breads, and various stews. To drink, the bar offered a variety of ales, wines, and meads, including the popular "Bitterwind Mead," a strong, dark brew known for its potent kick.
Lucian said looking at the list, "Give me frosted boar stew and Bitterwind Mead."
The waiter nodded and left to place the order with the bartender. As the waiter walked away, Lucian surveyed the room, his gaze settling on a relatively empty table near the center. He made his way over and sat down, the wooden chair creaking slightly under his weight.
The other patrons at the nearby tables were engaged in lively conversation, their voices a low hum that filled the room.
Lucian looked around and found the person in the counter. The bartender was a man of about thirty-five years old, with greying hair that was neatly combed back from his forehead. He had a clean-shaven face, and a warm, welcoming smile that seemed permanently etched onto his features.
His grey eyes, though, held a hint of sadness, a quiet melancholy that spoke of a life lived with its share of sorrows. He was wiping down the counter with a practiced hand, his movements smooth and efficient.
As Lucian watched, the bartender served a drink to a man who was slumped over the counter, clearly drunk. The man's head was resting on his arms, and he was snoring softly, oblivious to the world around him.
The bartender placed the drink in front of him with a sigh, as if this was a common occurrence.