After dusk, in the early evening.
Fati changed into a black shirt and trousers and stepped into a pair of brown leather boots.
He walked into the washroom and splashed cold water on his face, instantly refreshing his spirit.
The lethargy brought on by long hours of highly focused study was dispelled, and his concentration refocused.
He tidied the messy strands of hair on his forehead and looked into the mirror.
Black hair and eyes, a large frame, a slender build, standing at a full 185 centimeters tall.
The face in the mirror had sharp features and a well-defined structure, carrying a cool and handsome vibe.
Who is this handsome guy?
Fati narrowed his eyes slightly, then steadily let down his adult hairstyle, returning it to his usual side-parted bangs.
Putting on black-rimmed glasses, the slightly sharp temperament of the person in the mirror was instantly restrained, and his appearance became low-key and ordinary.
He nodded in satisfaction.
Having straightened his clothes and put on a simple plaid coat, Fati picked up his wallet and keys and headed out.
Of course, in the current environment of Orario, carrying a weapon for daily outings was necessary.
A portable dagger or short spike was just right…
The house Fati rented was located on the north side of the main road of West Street in Orario, backed by the Seventh District forest and situated on the city’s outermost ring.
Standing in the courtyard, he could see the towering city walls not far away just by looking up.
The lights were sparse in this remote location, forming a sharp contrast with the bustling and noisy downtown area.
Thanks to the presence of the gods, Orario’s nightlife was quite rich.
Pleasure streets, taverns, casinos, and hot spring baths were everywhere, with taverns being the liveliest—just as the sky darkened, they were bustling with people.
Adventurers worked hard all day, looking forward to that fine glass of wine at night, and Fati was no exception.
Leaving the backstreets along the cobblestone path, he stepped onto the bustling main road of West Street.
Fati merged into the noisy crowd with a light heart.
Having broken through his shackles and learned magic, his future efficiency in grinding monsters and his own safety would both improve, so he was naturally full of joy.
Humming a little tune, he hadn’t walked far before the eye-catching billboard came into view.
On the sign for The Hostess of Fertility, a wooden plaque with two crossed ale mugs hung prominently.
“Welcome!
Just one guest?”
‘Has the famous poster girl already started her game of life at this hour?’
Fati looked at the gray-haired girl with a ponytail—wearing a grass-green uniform, a white apron, black over-the-knee socks, and small brown leather boots, she looked very cute.
He thought to himself, but remained calm on the surface, responding casually:
“Lovis and Dorumur should be here, right?”
The gray-haired girl—Syr Flover, the poster girl of The Hostess of Fertility—smiled upon hearing this.
“So you’re a friend of Mr.
Lovis and Mr.
Dorumur!
They’ve already arrived, this way please.”
She stepped aside to lead the way, walking ahead with light steps.
Watching the girl’s light footsteps and the lively swaying gray ponytail behind her head, Fati raised an eyebrow thoughtfully.
He thought this goddess was truly bold.
The gods of the Dark Faction saw her as a thorn in their side and had probably wanted to kill her countless times, yet here she was, nonchalantly disguised as a tavern poster girl, showing her face and experiencing life.
Whether it was confidence or just being carefree, if it were Fati, he would have long since hidden himself at the top of the Tower of Babel, never leaving.
His thoughts drifted aimlessly as he followed Syr into the tavern.
In an instant, a noisy wave of heat mixed with the aroma of food, alcohol, and sweat hit him.
The spacious hall was packed.
Diners were in groups of three or five, some with arms around each other laughing loudly, some devouring food, and most clinking glasses, drinking amber-colored wine.
Beautiful servers in uniform smiled like nimble fish, weaving through the crowded aisles and adding a bright touch to the rough and boisterous scene.
“Fati, over here!”
In a corner, a handsome blond youth raised his arm high, waving to Fati as he approached with Syr.
As for the common novel trope where the protagonist enters and attracts everyone’s attention, causing shock or mockery?
That didn’t happen here at all.
On the contrary, no one even cared; those who spared even a glance were few and far between.
Coming to the table, Fati whispered a “thank you” to Syr.
Just as he sat down, Lovis’s arm familiarly draped over his shoulder.
“Hey, you’re late today, kid.
Three penalty drinks!” Lovis said with a mischievous smile on his slightly tipsy face.
Fati chuckled.
“Three it is.” After saying that, he looked up slightly at Syr, who was waiting with a smile.
“Ten glasses of chilled ale first, a yakitori platter, and an order of fried tofu with bonito flakes.
What’s today’s special?”
“Wasabi Cream Chicken,” Syr replied fluently.
“One of those, and a cucumber salad and garlic confit.
We’ll add more later if it’s not enough.”
Syr jotted it down efficiently on her clipboard, her smile losing its professional edge and showing a bit of sincerity.
“Please wait a moment, the drinks will come first, and the food will be ready soon.”
“Good!”
Compared to the food, the drinks arrived very quickly.
An unfamiliar server arrived moments later carrying a tray.
The cold ale was on the table in an instant.
Without a word, Fati grabbed a glass and gulped down three in a row!
*Burp*—”Ah, refreshing!”
On this hot summer night, as the chilled ale went down, the sense of exhilaration from the inside out instantly dispelled his physical fatigue, and his tense spirit completely relaxed.
After a busy day in the oppressive environment of the Dungeon, wasn’t this what one looked forward to in the end?
This is the true meaning of life!
“Haha, delightful.
You’re always so straightforward, Fati.
This is how alcohol should be drunk!” The dwarf Dorumur laughed, slapping the table, and then cast a disdainful side-glance at the blond elf next to him.
“Unlike certain beanpole elves who are so slow and hesitant with their drinks, like a little girl!”
Seeing how decisive Fati was, Dorumur, the dwarven senior, clapped in praise while taking a jab at his rival.
“Who are you calling a beanpole, you shorty!” Lovis immediately snapped.
Watching the two bickering again, Fati took a bite of food and teased with a smile, “You two are still as close as ever.
But making an elf drink like that is indeed a bit like bullying.”
“You brat, Fati!”
The handsome elf who was called out pretended to be angry, but then couldn’t help but laugh…
After seven or eight rounds of drinks, the atmosphere at the table became lively along with the noise of the tavern.
Over fine food and wine, the three of them quietly exchanged recent anecdotes and news, bursting into laughter from time to time, perfectly blending into this Adventurers’ paradise.
“By the way, Lovis,” Fati put down his glass and asked as if casually, “Why so generous today?
This table isn’t cheap.
This is The Hostess of Fertility; you’re willing to spend ten or twenty thousand Valis on one meal?”
He also took a quick glance at the busy proprietress behind the bar.
As if she had heard him, the ‘Little Giant’s’ sharp gaze swept over, scaring Fati into quickly squeezing out a polite smile.
Lovis raised an eyebrow at the question, deliberately keeping a solemn face and remaining silent.
“Tsk, stop acting like you’re all that,” Dorumur interjected sarcastically.
“Fati, this guy leveled up to Lv.2 today!
From now on, when we meet, we’ll have to respectfully call him Lord Lovis!”
“…”
Lovis, who was secretly delighted, couldn’t keep his smirk down and finally broke.
“Heh heh, I’m still one step ahead.
Let’s hear you call me Lord Lovis, haha.
Don’t worry, since we’re friends, I’ll look out for you guys from now on!
Come on, drink!”
Fati and Dorumur exchanged a look and tacitly raised their glasses, beginning a “friendly” round of bombardment against Lovis.
What kind of alcohol tolerance could an elf have?
Under the two-man tag-team attack, after several large glasses of ale, Lovis didn’t even last until the third round before his whole body slid under the table.
“Hmph, so what if you’re Lv.2?
You’re still a waste at the drinking table,” Dorumur sneered disdainfully.
Fati grinned.
An elf trying to outdrink a dwarf?
That was simply looking for death.
Feeling sentimental, his gaze toward the person under the table was full of pity.
“By the way, Brother Fati,” Dorumur leaned in, holding his massive wooden mug, as if suddenly remembering something, and lowered his voice.
“When you go into the Dungeon lately, keep your eyes peeled and be careful.”
Fati’s heart skipped a beat, but he remained calm, quickly scanning the noisy hall to ensure no one was paying attention before whispering back, “The Dungeon…
did something happen?
A monster rampage or…?”
He was referring to those shady “player-killing” incidents.
“It’s not our colleagues,” Dorumur shook his head, his voice even lower.
“Rumor has it…
it’s those bastards from the Dark Faction.
No one knows what they’re up to in the Dungeon, but supposedly someone accidentally stumbled upon their tracks.”
“Where did this rumor come from?”
“Where else?” Dorumur took a sip of wine and gestured toward the distance with his eyes.
“It came from those bastards in Riviera Town on the 18th floor.”