Panny wandered the streets back and forth for most of the day. It was hard to imagine him finding pleasure in something as mundane as strolling, an activity usually devoid of interest for the average man. However, with lingering satisfaction, he remembered that his next task involved commerce. Thus, he made his way to the bustling market square of the Wogin Temple for a proper and respectable prayer session.

Shamefully, although he had long settled on his beliefs, this was the first time in Panny's life that he had prayed to his guardian deity.

Originally, Panny, influenced deeply by the teachings of the Celestial Empire, had held a reserved stance towards matters of the divine. While not entirely repulsed by the concept of gods and spirits, he had kept a respectful distance. However, upon arriving in Feren, a realm where extraordinary powers reigned supreme, materialism proved inadequate.

From the cradle, he had heard tales of an eccentric figure in the higher realms named Clanvor, who delighted in the tutelage of ascending souls. Without a reliable guardian deity, these unfortunate souls risked being ensconced within the "Wall of the Faithless," a cement barrier where they would languish, gradually eroding into stone.

Upon hearing this, Panny was unsettled. As a traveler across realms, he held absolute belief in the existence of the soul. Uncertain of which department would manage his soul after death, his original aspiration had been to live comfortably and peacefully, avoiding trouble. He harbored no ambitions of grandeur, no desires to engage in celestial or earthly battles. Thus, it was better to believe than to dismiss, necessitating the protection of a guardian deity.

His parents, both merchants who worshipped Wogin, influenced Panny's choice of this deity, the goddess of commerce. He was acutely aware that his worldview would never foster genuine faith. His approach resembled more of a transaction: "I offer devotion, and you, in return, shield me from becoming a brick in Clanvor's wall after my demise." It aligned well with the tenets of Wogin, whether she acknowledged it or not, he believed in it nonetheless.

It remained uncertain whether such behavior would sit well with Wogin. Yet, when Panny prayed, he was not expelled by the priests of Wogin. Perhaps the goddess accepted it. Whether his beliefs adhered to the doctrine or the coins he tossed into the donation box took effect, henceforth, he could boldly invoke the goddess's blessings in Wogin's name.

However, such moments were likely to be rare.

As Panny returned to "Celine," the setting sun already painted the sky. Wooden boards were nailed to the entrance, a sign declaring closure hung prominently. Yet, the old and grimy signboard remained untouched. Seeing this, Panny felt a surge of frustration. How could he earn money with such a decrepit sign? Were these people intentionally deceiving him?

In his vexation, he suddenly noticed a man leaning against the wall at the entrance. Intrigued, he scrutinized the man, who resembled a street performer from a past life. Beneath a black cloak, tattered rags trailed, obscuring his features under a hood. Filthy strands of hair hung disheveled from his head.

If one were to describe the initial impression this individual left on Panny, it would be one of destitution.

"Boss," at this moment, Damon appeared from somewhere unknown, Panny gestured towards him and inquired, "Who is this man?"

"Oh... him," Damon cast a disdainful glance at the drunken figure, "He frequents here every noon, often staying until the wee hours, always ordering a pitcher of ale. Yes, a pitcher of ale can last him a dozen hours."

"Every day? For how long?" Panny inquired further.

"About half a year," Damon calculated.

"Open the door and let him in, sell him the ale," Panny pondered for a moment before issuing the directive.

"Boss, are you joking?" Damon was taken aback, "This... this..."

He struggled to find the right words. The patrons of the tavern had no favorable impressions of this "old customer." While customary hospitality was one thing, with the establishment closed, how could they make an exception for him? It would require the barkeep to tend to his needs both before and after hours.

"Boss... this fellow is quite worthless. Those minstrels' ballads are hardly reliable. There aren't that many destitute heroes in the world..." Damon considered a possibility, surmising that the lad with no facial hair had perhaps overdosed on heroic epics, hence his attempt to persuade him from that angle.

"How can you be so certain that there aren't?" Panny shot Damon a sideways glance, displaying little reverence for his elder. Damon fell silent, recalling that the master had entrusted all tavern matters to this youngster. Moreover, he had noticed earlier in the morning, when the master's face darkened upon the lad's arrival, his demeanor was quite terrifying, enough to rob him momentarily of his speech.

It must be said, the eight years spent in the academy had endowed Panny with many traits that were difficult to alter.

Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.

"Wait, what's the matter with this sign? Why hasn't it been replaced?" Seeing Damon about to leave, Panny hastily called him back, pointing to the worn-out and graffiti-like sign.

"Well..." The old man's face suddenly became extremely troubled. "Boss, I forgot to mention it to you. You better come inside and see for yourself."

Was there some hidden agenda? Panny followed him into the tavern and saw that all the tables and chairs on the ground floor were neatly arranged on both sides. In the middle was a table, facing the entrance. This setup immediately reminded Panny of the imposing array he encountered during the interviews at the Crimson Robes Mage Association, exuding a formidable aura. Seeing it again after eight years was indeed a startling experience for his heart.

"Are you the new servant they've hired?!" A forceful voice burst out from behind the table, and it was a girl of about Panny's age who spoke. Her voice was crisp, her skin warm and smooth with a light bronze hue, her cheeks shimmering with a golden glow. Her golden hair cascaded in curls, and her slender figure under the thin gown was graceful and translucent. Her piercing blue eyes glared fiercely at Panny's robes, suggesting some deep-seated animosity.

Panny paused, scrutinizing the girl for a moment, sensing an ominous foreboding. He spoke up, "May I inquire about the young lady's surname?"

"Hmph!" The girl glanced at Panny disdainfully, clearly disdainful of answering such a question. Damon coughed softly and leaned closer to Panny, "This is Hikol, the master's daughter."

Panny's right eyelid twitched twice.

"Listen, servant, without my orders, it is best not to tamper with anything here," she admonished.

"Ah, this... um, madam, I work for Mr. Jonathan, but I am not his manservant," Panny, though daunted by the girl's status, began to feel a headache coming on as the job seemed not as straightforward as he had imagined. Moreover, he felt seriously displeased by her tone, reminding her coolly, "My task is to manage this tavern, but it does not include obeying your commands."

"You have quite the audacity!" Hikol rebuked angrily. "Listen, I will make you leave."

"Mr. Jonathan has the final say," Panny retorted, his temper flaring up. Finally realizing who had been hoodwinking him, he paid no heed to Damon's subtle cues and said indignantly, "And before I leave, my sole job is to ensure this tavern earns money. The sign outside must be taken down, Damon!"

The last sentence was delivered with a sudden seriousness, causing Damon to startle immediately. "Yes, sir."

"How dare you! If you dare to touch that sign, you'll have to step over my dead body first!" Hikol erupted, striding to the door and shouting sharply.

Although the girl had no magical powers, Panny was still stunned by her words. Through the strong emotions conveyed and those intense eyes, he sensed less of a threat and more of a bluff.

But he was angry too. Was it really worth it? Just for a sign?

"You!" Panny Sean and Hikol Jonathan, their fiery gazes converging on a single point, seemed to spark off countless electric sparks, making the surrounding temperature soar.

"Remember my words, and know this: what I detest most is the zombie-like attitude you carry. You will surely leave, I guarantee it!" After glaring for a moment, Hikol Jonathan narrowed her eyes and briskly ascended the stairs, the sound of her footsteps echoing.

"Zombie-like attitude?" Panny Sean glanced at his own black robe and indeed felt ominous. However, having worn this style of clothing for several years, it had already become sentimental to him. He couldn't think of any other clothing to replace it with at the moment. Moreover, the scene just now lingered in his mind like a haunting melody, making him feel that it would be quite challenging for this tavern to make money.

"Boss, perhaps you shouldn't tamper with that sign." Old Damon cautiously approached. "Two years ago, a hired bartender found the sign too old and decided to repaint the words on it. And then..."

"And then what?" Panny Sean raised his eyebrows.

"And then, nothing more," Damon's tone suddenly shifted.

Panny's right eyelid twitched again. "So what can I do?"

"Do your best," Damon sighed helplessly, seeming to feel Panny's uncertain future.

"And, sir, when you arrived, why didn't you see her..." Thinking of the girl's hatred for the zombie-like attitude, Panny seemed to suddenly grasp the key.

"Boss, you are truly clever," Damon remarked.

Panny finally realized, and then the headache gradually became persistent.

"Bartender? Bartender?" There came a sound of tapping on the counter. Panny and Damon looked towards the bar, where the disheveled figure in the cloak was gently tapping the table. The request for a drink wasn't very loud but carried a full sense of melancholy. Seeing Damon's bewildered expression, Panny had to step in and play the role of bartender himself. "Hello, may I help you?"

"One jar of Lo Shan Stout, please."

Panny scanned the shelves below, filled with rows upon rows of ceramic jars. How was he to know which one was the Lo Shan Stout by Laoshzi? He looked to old Damon for help, but the old man seemed just as perplexed. "Perhaps it's in the left half of the third row," he ventured.

Panny grabbed a jar and handed it over, but the cloaked customer sniffed it and furrowed his brow. "This is Frán Red, I can't afford this."

Panny shot Damon a glare.

"The arrangement of these drinks is only known to the bartender," Damon replied innocently.

"Forget it, it's an informal affair, consider it on the house," Panny sighed wearily, pushing the jar towards the cloaked figure.

The cloaked figure glanced at Panny for a moment before finally picking up the jar and leaving. "You might want to keep a tab," he muttered as he walked away.

Panny glanced behind the bar and spotted a sign that read, "No credit allowed."

The rest of the time passed rather tediously. Panny inquired with old Damon about a place to stay, went upstairs to fetch a few spell books, and came back down to sit behind the bar and read. Suddenly, he found it difficult to concentrate. He looked around and saw the two bartenders, both looking listless and occasionally shooting him strange looks. None of them seemed to have any respect for him, but then again, Panny thought about Miss Hikor, realizing he had crossed paths with someone he couldn't afford to provoke. He had been scolded the moment he arrived, so it was no wonder he lacked authority.

As for the cloaked customer, he drank a jar of red wine until midnight, left money for a jar of Lo Shan Stout, and then staggered out. Panny never found anything remarkable about this disheveled fellow, not even when he tried to use his extrasensory perception. He concluded that he had overthought things; fallen heroes were not easily encountered on the streets.

Panny's mood grew increasingly melancholic.

This tavern, hoping to turn a profit, was no better than seeking a lottery ticket from Lady Fortuna.

No, he must talk to her.

Panny made up his mind. He had to have a conversation with this seemingly formidable young lady tomorrow.