By noon the next day, the sun hung high in the sky, blazing down with oppressive heat. The temperature had easily climbed above forty degrees Celsius.
Aeridar, Arlan, and Dimitri were strolling through the Coastal City streets, all three wearing crisp white shirts that matched. Despite the sweltering heat, the city bustled with life—crowds surged through the narrow streets, the air alive with the din of conversation and movement. It was a teeming scene, undeterred by the scorching midday sun.
Bounty hunters and pirates walked by, weapons strapped across their backs.
Sailors passed through, some gripping single-edged blades.
Civilians bustled from shop to shop, enjoying a midday stroll.
Occasionally, squads of ten uniformed Kingdom soldiers patrolled in formation.
The shops lining the street were packed with goods—local snacks, fresh seafood, carved trinkets made from sea beast bones and monster fish, glittering jewelry and old antiques. There were even stalls hawking swords, sabers, and other cold weapons, alongside all manner of wilderness and seafaring supplies. Most of it was run-of-the-mill stuff, not much in the way of fine merchandise, but enough to satisfy most customers.
If someone was serious about buying quality gear, they'd head straight to the top-tier commercial district in Central City. There, you could find not only premium steel-forged blades, but even flintlock pistols and small-bore muzzle-loading cannons for sale.
Arlan wiped the sweat from his brow, eyeing the scorching sun overhead. "With heat like this, we should be holed up in an inn or chilling at a tavern."
"Yeah," Dimitri sighed contentedly, eyes squinting as if daydreaming. "Kicking back with an ice-cold cocktail... Now that's the life."
"Great idea!" Aeridar's eyes lit up, and he smacked a fist into his palm. "There's a tavern just around that corner—I saw it yesterday while passing by."
"For real?!" Arlan and Dimitri's eyes sparkled like they'd struck gold. In unison, they exclaimed, "What are we waiting for? Let's go!"
Without another word, the two darted ahead like their pants were on fire. If the crowd hadn't been so dense, they'd have broken into a sprint.
"Oi, wait for me!" Aeridar blinked, momentarily stunned at their enthusiasm. He glanced up at the blazing sun, sweat beading on his forehead. "Damn, it's hot as hell."
Grumbling, he hurried to catch up.
After walking about a hundred meters, they turned a corner—and there it was. Just twenty meters ahead, from behind a pair of wooden double doors, came the distinct thrum of lively music and rowdy chatter. A sign above the entrance bore four bold characters: The Frost Dance.
Taverns were a dime a dozen throughout the port city of Hewdon—especially in the Coastal and Outer City districts. But most were tucked away in less visible spots. Too many pirates frequented them, and drawing attention in a Navy-patrolled zone was asking for trouble. After all, the 17th Marine Branch Fortress was less than a hundred kilometers away. With a fast ship, they could be here in no time.
"Ha! Found it!" Arlan beamed and pushed open the doors without hesitation, quickly vanishing inside. Dimitri followed eagerly.
"These two…" Aeridar sighed and shook his head. "Don't they remember who the captain is around here?"
Still, despite the muttered complaint, Aeridar picked up the pace and stepped through the doors behind them.
The moment he entered, the full force of the tavern's chaos hit him—the roar of voices, pounding music, and a thick, electric atmosphere. The space was huge, packed to the rafters. Pirates, bounty hunters, loners, merchants—everyone was laughing, drinking, arm-wrestling, and brawling.
At the center was a three-meter-wide circular stage where two curvy women in skimpy outfits were dancing around steel poles, hips swaying to the beat. Over a hundred people surrounded them, ogling like their eyes might pop out.
At the far end stood a larger rectangular stage—ten meters long, fifteen wide—where a six-person band was mid-performance. One sang passionately while the others played backup. The tune was a raucous, familiar anthem well-known throughout the East Blue.
Then the scent hit him—a pungent cocktail of body odor, sweat, spilled booze, and greasy food. Aeridar wrinkled his nose involuntarily. He turned toward the stage and eyed the eccentric-looking band.
Not bad... he thought to himself. The ship could use a house band. Should I recruit them?
But before the idea could fully take shape, he spotted Arlan and Dimitri already sipping from frosty glasses. He abandoned the thought immediately and pushed through the crowd toward the bar.
It was packed—easily over five hundred patrons, not counting the private booths on the second floor.
"Way too crowded," he muttered.
"Gimme your signature cocktail. Make it ice-cold." Slumping onto the stool beside Dimitri, Aeridar slapped the counter.
"Coming right up. One Frost Dance. That'll be 300 Berries." The middle-aged bartender didn't miss a beat, his hands flying as he began mixing.
Aeridar shot a sideways glance at Dimitri. "Dimitri."
SLAP.
Dimitri didn't say a word. One hand raised his drink to his lips, the other reached into his shoulder bag and slapped five crisp 100-Berry notes onto the marble counter.
"Boss," came a low voice from a nearby couch. A wiry young man with spiky hair leaned in close to a burly bald man with a thick gold chain around his neck. "That guy's loaded. I saw into his bag—he's carrying at least tens of thousands of Berries."
The bald man's eyes gleamed. He took a slow sip from his bottle, then beckoned the scrawny youth closer with a tattooed arm that bore a scorpion design. "You sure, Skinny? Know them?"
"Positive. I saw it with my own eyes. And I've never seen them around before—they must be new in town." Skinny shook his head. He was a regular in the Coastal City's bars—he could spot newcomers instantly.
And the way Aeridar ordered gave them away. Locals would've just asked for a Frost Dance or picked something else entirely. At 500 Berries a glass, the tavern's signature cocktail wasn't cheap. Even pirates only splurged on one when they hit it big.
For 500 Berries, you could buy ten bottles of malt beer or five of the popular Willy-brand brew. Two hundred Berries got you a bottle of cheap sake—enough to get a decent buzz. For the strong of liver, maybe even a full night's worth.
"Heh heh… Three fresh-faced rookies," the bald man sneered, rising to his feet and grabbing his bottle. "Come on, let's go say hi."
"Heheheh…"
Behind him, five or six men stood up—Skinny included. Grins twisted across their faces as they followed the bald brute toward the bar.
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