When the Murholland Kingdom ruled the Serl region, Dehumi City was once the capital of Serl.Since the reign of the Red Robe mages, its political status has been replaced by Eltaba on the southern shore of Lake Hunan. Multiple wars have turned the glorious past here into ruins, and due to the relatively barren land, it has gradually declined.

Now it serves as a major trading town in northern Serl, still maintaining a certain level of prosperity. Currently, Panny Sean and Dean Janwaster are sitting on the second floor of a tavern named "Celine" on the ancient Collette Street in the southern part of the city. The atmosphere in the tavern is quiet, with Janwaster enjoying a sip of low-grade wine and asking Panny Sean standing beside him, "How's it here?"

"Quite tranquil..." Panny frowned, pondering his words. He didn't like the atmosphere of this tavern at all. There wasn't a single guest, just two or three bartenders, and a sleepy mixologist. It was overly desolate. "But, it doesn't feel much like a tavern."

"Oh?" Janwaster raised an eyebrow. "Could you enlighten me on what your ideal tavern looks like?"

"My ideal tavern..." Panny observed the tavern's furnishings. "At the very least, the chairs should have comfortable backrests, allowing the intoxicated guests to lean back comfortably."

"Oh," Janwaster nodded, signaling him to continue.

"The service staff should be warm-hearted. Even if they can't manage that, they shouldn't wear the expression as if everyone owes them money, let alone being lax in their duties." Panny glanced at the mixologist behind the bar, who was constantly yawning.

"Oh," Janwaster also noticed the mixologist, his eyes flashing with inexplicable coldness.

"Moreover, the two gnolls guarding the entrance would scare away many customers." Panny glanced at the two fierce-looking gnolls guarding the entrance, shrugging his shoulders. It's strange that anyone would come to such a tavern.

"Anything else?"

"There are... myriad aspects." Panny shrugged, feeling inundated by the numerous flaws. He struggled to articulate, "This establishment scarcely resembles a true tavern. How has it managed to avoid bankruptcy until now?"

Clack—

Panny turned at the sound, only to see Janwaster casually discard the glass fragments into the bin beneath the table, as if struggling to control the strength of his newfound arm. "If you were the proprietor of this establishment, might the business prosper?"

"Indeed." Panny nodded, sensibly deciding to cease his criticisms.

"Very well, then it's settled." Janwaster beckoned an elderly man guarding outside the door, "His name is Damonsoler. He will enlighten you on all pertinent matters. Damonsoler, henceforth, all affairs of this establishment shall fall under his purview."

Panny discreetly wiped the sweat from his brow. He had long suspected that the Crimson Robes would have their own ventures. Even the most modest spellcasting gem would cost upwards of a dozen berens, equivalent to several shining gold coins. In Serl, such funds could sustain a man for two months. Without income, whence comes the capital for spell research?

The renown of Crimson Robe mages extended far and wide in Ferren, not solely due to Serl's shadowy rule. Indeed, external perceptions of the Crimson Robes were not uniformly negative; especially in nations beyond the desolate eastern borders untouched by the Serl military. Crimson Robe mages often represented affordable and dependable magical products, particularly esteemed among the upper echelons.

Over the centuries, due to the restraint and equilibrium imposed by the Sage of Shadow Valley and the Seven Sisters, the primary means of expansion for the Crimson Robes gradually shifted from violence to wealth. Leading the Necromancy department, the Crimson Robe Lich Sazastan—the most potent voice in Serl, along with his allies, actively advanced this policy.

"Your command, sir," Damon nodded, Janwaster rose from his seat, walking towards the door, leaving behind a string of words directed at Panny, "As a token of gratitude, I relieve you of your apprentice status and obligations to serve Serl. In return, you are to work for me."

Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

"Understood," Panny replied, finding this preferable to lingering in the Crimson Robes Academy. Moreover, he was uncertain of what to do once he departed from the academy. Having someone provide him with sustenance was indeed a boon.

In a swift motion, Janwaster and the two wolven guards at the door vanished simultaneously. The drowsy bartender behind the counter let out a sharp, piercing scream before bolting onto the street.

Panny, baffled, turned his head towards Damon Soler, who stood respectfully nearby. "Sir, why does the master not employ a business consultant? Operating the tavern in such a bizarre manner—placing wolven guards at the entrance and providing uncomfortable, backless stools for patrons, solely for the purpose of preventing mages from dozing off during meditation—seems beyond the realm of sensible business practices."

"Um... Well..." The elderly man, squinting with slightly blurred vision, hesitated for a moment before responding, "The master does not fancy merchants."

"If he dislikes them, why not simply abstain?" Panny scoffed. In his understanding, efficiency was a hallmark of Crimson Robe mages. There must be other reasons behind Janwaster's aversion to merchants. Moreover, if Janwaster disliked merchants, did that imply he favored Panny?

An unsettling feeling crept into Panny's mind, and his expression turned peculiar. Sensing the odd gaze from the elderly man, he coughed twice to conceal his discomfort.

The elderly man lowered his head, his demeanor unusually respectful. This gentleman, devoid of arcane power and hence unlinked to the magical network, appeared to be one of Janwaster's attendants. "You are the first tavern manager appointed by the master in the past decade."

Panny Sean was enveloped in a sense of bewildering favor, further confounded by the fact that this dilapidated tavern, which should have long fallen into disrepair, had somehow managed to stay afloat for a decade. Such an occurrence was inconceivable within his worldview. When he had entered with Janwaster, he had nearly been frightened to death by the ferocious wolven guards stationed at the door. The presence of patrons here was beyond belief.

Crimson Robe mages seldom discussed personal matters with those ignorant of magic, as they viewed individuals uninitiated in the arcane arts as lowly servants. The deferential attitude of the elderly man likely stemmed from the misconception that Panny was someone of importance.

Observing the respectful demeanor of the elderly man, Panny was content to let him remain under the illusion. However, he had already mentally positioned himself as a laborer here to earn his keep. "Close the tavern doors and remove the signboard."

"Pardon?"

"I mean those two wolven guards have been stationed at the door for several years now. It's likely that the first impression for incoming patrons is of them. The reputation has already been tarnished, so we need to refurbish the image of the tavern," Panny rubbed his temples. "We'll need to start afresh with the staff and the decor. Let's close for a couple of days for now."

"Very astute," the old man concurred.

"I'll go out for a stroll."

The elderly man noted the tasks with a sense of resignation, shrugging his shoulders. He instructed the servants to carry out the duties, suddenly realizing that he hadn't clarified some matters with Panny. However, when he looked up, Panny was nowhere to be seen, leaving him to pat his head in vexation.

Dehumi City was not large, with only four main thoroughfares. In less than two hours on foot, Panny arrived at another street to the east of "Celine". The air was filled with sand from the Sunrise Mountains and the Ser Plateau, reminiscent of the imperial capital of the past dynasty. Despite the severe sandstorm pollution, Panny's spirits were uplifted, and he deeply inhaled, experiencing true freedom for the first time in eight years.

No longer did he have to endure the malicious stares of others.

No longer did he have to fear fatal attacks every night while sleeping.

No longer did he have to worry about being casually turned into a specimen by the whimsical Crimson Robe.

No longer did he have to sacrifice more of himself, enduring cruel torment as moral boundaries were trampled upon.

To hell with those Crimson Robe mages.

On a somewhat desolate afternoon street, the townsfolk of Dehumi witnessed a madman's eccentric display of hysterical laughter followed by kneeling in anguish. Several city patrols attempted to approach, but upon seeing Panny's black mage robe, not far from the Lakeside Academy, they exchanged glances and abandoned their intentions.

"Miss? What are you looking at?" At the end of the main road stood another tavern, situated at a crossroads. Melodic tunes from a minstrel's mandolin wafted through the air, creating a soothing atmosphere within the tavern, bustling with mirth and laughter, in stark contrast to the desolation of "Celine".

"A child gone mad," replied a young woman on the third floor to the earlier inquiry. She was in her early twenties, her high-necked blouse accentuating her ample bosom, while her upturned lips exuded a seductive allure.

"This is indeed a realm of madness," sighed the middle-aged man engaged in conversation, observing the figure alternately weeping and laughing on the ground.

"Who cares? I only need to concern myself with making money. The sooner I earn enough, the sooner I can go home," the woman stretched lazily. "I've had my fill of this place, with lunatics and thugs running amok."

"Oh, by the way, the tavern next street, the one with the lupine guards, has closed down."

"Is that so? Well, that's certainly good news..."