Bear School Astartes

Chapter 423. Anger Fist

"Before arranging a room, give me a round first."

Lann tapped the bar with two fingers.

The tavern owner, unfazed, nodded and placed a small wooden cup grasped by a tiger’s mouth grip on the bar.

"Do you want it cold?"

He looked up and asked.

"The colder, the better."

Amidst the clinking sounds of glass bottles, the tavern owner pulled out a bottle of alcohol from under the bar, with fine beads of condensation clinging to the brown glass bottle’s outer walls.

"Try this, mead from the Skellige Islands, sweet as honey, strong as a knife."

Of course, it would also be expensive.

The owner didn’t mention the price, just poured it for Lann. And the Demon Hunter didn’t care about the small change... if the wine truly matched its price.

With three fingers pinching the small wooden cup, Lann drank it all in one go.

Feeling the strong alcohol slide through his throat, the icy liquid created a comfortable contrast with his own blazing body temperature...

"Whew~"

Lann exhaled softly.

"Two more dinners, with this bottle of wine."

The tavern owner raised an eyebrow.

"How are you paying?"

"With Oren Coin, untrimmed."

"That would be ten Orens."

Under the tavern owner’s suspicious gaze, with his arms crossed, Lann reached into the alchemy pouch at his back waist and took out a stack of gold coins, spreading them on his palm.

His fingers flicked a few times, then pinched a few coins, while the rest were directly overturned onto the table.

The gleaming, untrimmed coins lined up on the bar, with the side profile of Veltrest vividly visible on them.

Paying so generously.

The tavern owner mused inwardly.

In hindsight, he should have asked for a couple more, seeing as this person didn’t seem the type to haggle.

Sweeping the coins from the table into his arms, the tavern owner quickly arranged two rooms and dinner.

Garlic roasted pork rib, pickled fish sandwich, along with a chunk of cheese and a large mug of beer.

The Sintra people’s dinner was not exquisite yet quite solid. Although the country was by the sea, Sintra City, as the capital, was not coastal, so there was not much seafood in the dinner, not as much as the Silver Swan Tavern in Gos Velen.

Lann carrying two large plates and his wine, turned and walked towards the long table in the tavern hall.

Regis had already settled the two horses and was sitting there waiting.

In the far end of the tavern hall, another bustling crowd had gathered, the best-lit spot in the entire tavern.

The excited shouts of men full of testosterone constantly echoed from that corner.

With their extraordinary senses, the Demon Hunter and the vampire could also discern other sounds from the crowd’s shouts.

The thudding fists meeting flesh, and the sound of knuckles impacting facial bones beneath the skin and flesh.

Lann placed the dinner plates on the long table, sharing with Regis, and then sat down.

"Is that a boxing match? Or a drunken brawl?"

The Demon Hunter asked, puzzled.

Given Sintra’s robust folk customs, the men’s drunken brawls were unlikely to evoke the bystanders’ desire to avoid them.

These Sintra men would likely spontaneously encircle the fighters, cheering them on until only one remained standing, sober enough to walk away.

This wasn’t much different from a boxing match, so just from the sounds outside, it was hard to discern what was happening there.

Regis first thanked Lann politely for bringing dinner, then explained slowly.

"The Anger Fist Tournament, an entertainment from the Skellige Islands."

Regis accepted the small cup of mead Lann poured for him and continued.

"The islanders’ ferocious and honor-bound nature birthed this bare-knuckle boxing match, fought until a winner was declared, and has spread to Sintra through trade and exchange, winning the same wild Sintra people’s favor."

"I must say, this kind of match does indeed make intelligent beings’ hormone levels soar, leading to excitement, and because weapons aren’t used, it doesn’t cause high fatality rates. It’s a mild form of competition."

"I reckon this kind of match will spread even further in the future. After all, in cities, there’s rarely a chance for citizens to watch weapon fights, and many regulations don’t support them. Boxing is a good supplementary program."

"Alright, I get it."

Lann nodded, then clinked glasses with Regis before starting to eat.

Now, even fighting with ordinary people seemed like bullying, not to mention boxing.

But just when he wanted to eat quietly, someone in the tavern didn’t seem to want any boring ’quiet’.

A scrawny man with a face full of pimples staggered over from the next table. His clothes were patched and dirty, exuding the smell of cheap alcohol.

He seemed like a down-and-out fellow who drank too much.

In fact, since Lann entered, this fellow’s gloomy eyes had been following the obvious outsider.

"What’s that sword of yours? An elf sword? A sissy weapon!"

He stumbled over to Lann’s table, where the hilt of Aron Dite had peeked out from under the cloak when he set down the plates.

"Sintra doesn’t welcome your kind, sneaky sissies! This is a decent city!"

Just after the vampire and the Demon Hunter finished a drink, their hands froze in mid-air because of the man’s interjection.

Regis glanced at Lann with an inquiring look, and after Lann gently shook his head, Regis resumed eating as if nothing had happened.

"I don’t believe I’ve troubled you, friend."

Came a calm voice from under the hood.

But for drunks, they have no logic; if they want to find trouble, they can start it without reason.

"What kind of accent is that, redneck? I can’t pinpoint where you’re from at all. As far as I know, only one type of person speaks in such an uncharacteristic way!"

The man leaned his pimpled face closer to Lann, his eyes widened, expression becoming more agitated.

"A spy!"

"Spies talk like that! Not to mention, you’re carrying an elf’s sword!"

He continued to rant, reeking of cheap beer, onions, and anger.

"Did you hear that, you spy mongrel from the south!"

Lann quietly tilted his head, calmly saying after he finished shouting.

"Are you done now, sir? Your previous ’southern spy’ comment has drawn a lot of hostile glances towards me and my companion. If you would just stop here..."

But before Lann could finish his calm and reasonable words, the man leaned even closer again.

"I can never learn to ’stop’! You southern dog... Bang!"

But this time, Lann didn’t let him finish his words.

The arm, quietly resting on the dining table, moved with a frame-drop effect in the next second, grabbing the man’s neck, in a way that no one but Regis could react to!

In the wide grasp of the hand, the man’s neck was nearly enveloped in one grip!

Because of the hand’s speed, even the mere act of ’grabbing’ felt like a punch to the Adam’s apple to the pimpled man.

His eyes widened, eyeballs bulging, yet unable to draw a breath.

At the pimpled man’s table, several Sintra men abruptly knocked over chairs and stood up looking furious.

But when Lann also stood up, and his hand holding the man aloft let his feet dangle, the anger turned to a wise calm on their faces.