Chapter 149 – 143 Withered Rose
Pushing open the solid and heavy door, made of some unknown wood, Lancelot was the first to stride in.
The interior of the tavern was in better shape than its exterior appearance seemed to suggest. The spacious hall was divided into three smaller halls: one was a bar, one was a dining room, and another was the inn’s front desk. Since all the windows were closed, although it was daytime, candles were lit everywhere in the tavern.
However, the light from those candles was so faint that it barely illuminated a third of the space.
At the entrance of the tavern stood two guards (perhaps “bouncers” would be more appropriate), the one on the left with dark skin, solid muscles, a protruding chin, and sharp fangs stretching from the corners of his mouth was a half-orc; the other one with reddish-brown skin, a sloping forehead, and an enormous nose was a goblin, the disciplined and powerful cousin of Phil.
Aside from the orcs’ inherent dislike for Elves and the goblins’ for Dwarves, the two guards did not obstruct the fully armed Lancelot and his companions. Like most taverns, the guards were there to protect their employer’s property and other employees.
If a fight broke out in the tavern, they would only stand aside with their arms crossed, perhaps helping to protect the defenseless furniture, and after everything had ended, they would throw out the bodies of the losers.
The group approached the bar, where a Tiflin, sporting a pair of backward-curving horns on his head, with purplish-red skin, and an aging appearance, was enthusiastically greeting them from behind the counter.
“Welcome to the Dry Rose, travelers. I am Agamemnon, the owner of this tavern,” he said with a very professional smile, “What would you like to drink? Our selection of beverages is quite extensive, ranging from beers as light as water to strong spirits that could knock Bartez on his back. Or perhaps you are hungry?
Our signature dish is the Fesburn Fireball Spicy Meat Sauce Sandwich, guaranteed authentic flavor. If you dislike spicy food, we have plenty more to choose from. Here’s the menu, take your pick!”
“Thank you,” Lancelot took the menu and casually asked, “Do you have any rooms available?”
“Yes, but only two Royal Suites are left, 100 Gold Coins a night,” the Tiflin proprietor’s smile grew even more radiant, “Can’t help it, too many people have recently flooded into this fortress, all eager to witness the grace of the Succubus Paladin.”
Lancelot was taken aback by the owner’s words. By controlling his breath, he managed to keep his facial expression calm, but the obviously startled reactions of his companions ruined any attempt to feign ignorance.
“The story of that Succubus Paladin does sound quite interesting,” Lancelot said half in earnest, half in jest, “We came here to visit the famous armory in this fortress, but it would be nice to catch a glimpse of what a Tanari Paladin looks like as well.”
“What could be more interesting than a combination of a Succubus and a Paladin?” Agamemnon’s face showed a mocking smile, “Not a single deity would accept her allegiance, which goes to show most deities are also fools. With such a charming person in the church, I suppose qualifications for new believers would have to be obtained through a lottery.”
“True believers must worship their deities from the heart, and believers attracted by beauty are meaningless,” Alamir countered unhappily, but as a priest of the fiery lady, his words didn’t carry much persuasion.
“Perhaps the gods haven’t even noticed this little Succubus yet,” Lancelot shrugged. “We can’t stay here forever. Do you know when this Succubus Paladin is supposed to come?”
“Ah, of course I know, and there’s plenty of other insider information too,” Tiflin’s eyes narrowed slyly. “Where her escort is coming from, approximately when they’ll arrive, and which big shots are in the escort party, I happen to know all that. What do you say, are you interested?”
“I’m more interested in who would need that information,” Lancelot leaned back slightly. “And why a tavern owner would be in possession of it.”
“A tavern owner, of course, has a rich source of information.” Agamemnon’s lips curled up noticeably, “As for who would need this information, naturally, it would be those who wish to claim this Succubus Paladin. A Succubus like Elothysia—that’s her name, this piece of information is free—such a demoness supposedly makes a highly precious sacrifice.
Rumors say that sacrificing her can grant immense power, power great enough to promote a Berserk Demon into a Barlow Flame Demon. You can imagine how many forces are eyeing her.”
“Is that so?” Lancelot feigned a bit of interest, “But she seems of little use to us mortals, doesn’t she?”
“Oh, but of course, she is useful, great mercenary sir!” The tavern owner Tiflin had now completely assumed the role of a salesman. He pulled out a stack of parchments from under the table, “Take a look at these bounties.
Batazo, a retired Blood War General, promises two hundred thousand Gold Coins to anyone who brings him that Succubus; Odinash, the Lady of Change, has put up a bounty of one hundred thousand Gold Coins, along with the right to choose any item from her collection.
The Lord of the Broken Realm, the Blood Red Shroud, is only willing to pay thirty thousand Gold Coins for her Succubus kin, but she promises to fulfill any fantasy one may have of her once, if money doesn’t mean much to you, perhaps this might be the most attractive offer.”
“She’s worth that much?!” Lancelot put on a show of being shocked, then mockingly regained his composure, “But how much do you plan to sell this information for? And how can I be sure that your sources are reliable?”
“Your skepticism is understandable, but think about it. If I give true information, you either return satisfied or get killed on the spot. Only if I give you false information, causing you to waste your time, do you get the chance to come back and trouble me. And my business is right here, it won’t grow legs and run away.”
Agamemnon tried to make his words sound as persuasive as possible, but Lancelot stared straight into the tavern owner’s eyes, unmoved.
The latter suddenly felt that there seemed to be something else in the eyes of this Human Knight, a terribly horrific, ferocious entity that seemed to be watching him through those pale blue eyes, as if the next lie would invoke that terrible power to tear him to shreds.
What Lancelot had employed was a small Divine Skill of Spiritual Cultivators, the Heart Capturing Technique, which could intimidate ordinary people with weak spiritual power with his gaze. But when coupled with the True Qi from the spiritual energy of the Abyss, the effects seemed unexpectedly potent.