The following morning, Panny rose from slumber and, after a brief tidying, made his way straight to Hikor's chambers. Having inquired with Damon, he learned that the room was located deep within the second floor, in a dimly lit corner. Generally, those who favored such places were solitary and obstinate individuals. Summoning his resolve, Panny prepared to confront this challenging figure. As he approached the door, intending to knock, he heard soft sobbing emanating from the gap beneath.

His fingers hovered in mid-air, and he closed his eyes, sensing a figure kneeling in prayer inside. Disavowing the use of his psychic abilities for such intrusive purposes, he decided to wait at the door for a moment before knocking and entering.

"I heard someone lurking outside my bedroom door for quite some time. You sneaky little intruder!" exclaimed a pair of bloodshot eyes glaring at Panny.

Panny Sean's gaze shifted from a portrait hanging on the wall. He had sensed it was an object of the girl's devotion—a depiction not of a deity but of a man in red attire and a diminutive woman, with a Cyrillic signature below, reading "Selin," oddly resembling the inscription on the exterior signboard.

This revelation evoked a sense of the commonplace, akin to the flavors of prime-time television. Yet, art derived from life, even fast-food artistry, albeit with variable quality. Panny, once enthusiastic about this, now had a different agenda. "I have no interest in your affairs," he stated impassively. "My sole concern is the profitability of this tavern."

"Profit? So, apart from magic and authority, he now seeks profit as well?" scoffed Hikor.

"Perhaps, but it is not for him; it is for me," Panny replied.

"Oh?" Hikor expressed some surprise.

"I have just parted ways with the ranks of the Crimson Robe apprentices. As recompense, I need to work for the master and prove my worth," Panny said, noticing Hikor's initially mocking and impatient expression turning into astonishment. "Did I hear correctly? By the grace of Lady Waughkin, what did you just say? Departed from the Crimson Robe ranks? Ha, are you indeed of Saelic descent?"

"Bloodline-wise, yes," Panny admitted, realizing that the girl before him was, surprisingly, his "fellow worshipper," unsure how to react in the moment.

"Ha, you are truly a peculiar one," Hikor's expression remained unkind, though the tone shifted from "mockery" to "jest." "Very well, not every Saelic wishes to be adorned in crimson robes."

"Do you, Miss, believe that all Saelics should inevitably be clad in crimson?"

"Isn't that so? Shouldn't you all be immersed in corpse fragments and blood, embroiled in power struggles with those bald-headed fanatics in crimson robes, licking pus from the gutters of the dead, with nothing in your eyes but power and authority?" Hikor screamed, her eyes reddening again, her emotions evidently slipping out of control.

"Not everyone finds solace in those things," Panny's voice was calm and composed, a tone that often quelled the ire of the angry. Hikor, now somewhat breathless, listened as Panny continued, "Different people have different needs. Even if one cannot have autonomy, I still hope to live in a place that brings me comfort."

"Oh, do tell, what do you propose?" Hikor's gaze underwent a change, her demeanor softening slightly. As she looked at Panny now, much of the hostility had dissipated, at least lacking the sharpness of confrontation, making her seem more like a suitable negotiating partner.

"Once again, I express the desire for the tavern to prosper," Panny reiterated his purpose. It seemed that Hikor was now receptive, so he continued, "At the very least, it could improve both our lives."

The tavern was quite run-down, and Hikor's attire was rather modest, the style decent but the material visibly inferior. Reflecting on Leng Jayshaw's lifestyle, even within the Crimson Robes, simplicity seemed to reign.

Seeing Hikor fall into silence, evidently considering that such an improvement might inadvertently favor someone she disliked, Panny pondered briefly before continuing, "Everyone aspires to a life of happiness, including myself. I believe you do as well. Though I may not concern myself with your affairs, I deem it inappropriate to inflict suffering on others because of one's own pain. Moreover, Miss, do you truly believe that Mr. Jayshaw would suffer because of your actions?"

This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.

The Crimson Robes, even without additional commercial revenue, possessed sufficient resources from the organization to sustain their livelihoods, albeit not lavishly. Whether the tavern could generate substantial profit or merely scrape by mattered little, in truth.

Upon encountering Hikor, Panny realized why Jayshaw allowed such a hopelessly irredeemable tavern to persist for a decade. Yet, he doubted the young lady could grasp such intentions, let alone his capacity to persuade her. He felt no obligation to transform into a confidant to bridge this unfathomable divide. After all, he was merely a laborer transitioning from servitude, so for the sake of expediency, he veiled his words with a hint of disingenuousness: "Do you truly believe your distress matters to your father?"

It's widely known that Crimson Robes tend to be emotionally detached beings.

So, wake up and focus on managing the tavern well, earning some money to make your own life more comfortable.

Hikor's expression shifted several times, eventually taking on a somewhat despondent demeanor. Waving her hand dismissively, she seemed weary to the point of being resigned: "Fine, leave the sign at the door untouched. As for the rest... (she took a deep breath) ...you have your way."

Then, she staggered and collapsed onto the bed, pulling up a somewhat dirty and disheveled blanket to cover half of her face. Her pale golden locks scattered on the bed, appearing fragile.

Negotiations successfully concluded.

Panny breathed a sigh of relief. Stepping out of the room, he found Old Damon standing at the staircase, visibly astonished to see Panny emerging so relaxed.

"Seek out a carpenter, craft a new sign, and while at it, commission a plaque as well. This... and this," then hang it above the original one. Ah, yes, have some sofas and chairs custom-made at the carpentry, and then procure some cushions from the leather workshop... Short on funds? Well, fabric will suffice. Roughly how long? Hmm, like this. Let's start by replacing the sign, and once the chairs are ready, we'll switch those out."

Old Damon and the two bartenders were astonished to see Panny persuading their young mistress. Their attitudes swiftly changed, becoming reverent. This was something unprecedented, and naturally, they all sprang into action.

Panny sat at the doorway, waiting until the afternoon. He saw the new sign, "Farewell, Hyenas," hanging over the old one beside the tavern. He also received a surprise: the bartender who had been frightened away by a fear spell yesterday had sneaked back, hoping to retrieve something left behind on the counter. How could Panny let him leave again? He immediately grabbed him, intending to hire him.

"Kind sir, have mercy on me," pleaded the bartender, wearing a bitter expression. He had been terrified by Old Jayshaw yesterday, and today, he had mustered up enough courage to return, but he dared not linger here.

"Do you know what the gentleman's status is?" Panny asked in return.

The bartender nodded. In Sael, even in the entire Eastern Wasteland, only a fool would not know about the Crimson Robes, the bald heads, and the tattoos.

"Then surely you understand the power the gentleman holds in this land. And now, as I oversee this tavern, my words represent his will. If you defy a Crimson Robe..." Panny grinned maliciously.

"I understand, sir, I understand," the bartender said, his face drained of color, and with deep resentment, he slunk behind the bar counter.

Panny snapped his fingers effortlessly.

The intimidation check passed.

Everything that was needed had been arranged. As a tavern, although the mage stools weren't the most comfortable, the selling point was the liquor. However, this issue required some time. What was more critical now was a sufficiently attractive gimmick.

The new sign was actually quite good. "Farewell, Hyenas" could evoke associations with the past, which would spark curiosity when compared to the present. However, the current allure of the bar was clearly insufficient, failing to highlight the contrast. It needed a little something extra...

Panny searched around for possible inspirations, and suddenly his eyes caught sight of a woman outside the window, scrutinizing the bar's new sign.

This beauty appeared to be in her twenties, tall and graceful. The upward curve of her lips was irresistibly sweet and enticing. The exposed fair neck made one can't help but want to take a bite. As Panny's gaze continued downward to her chest and thighs, he swallowed a mouthful of saliva, realizing that his adolescent heart was beginning to stir with a faint rise. An idea immediately sprang to mind.

So, he dashed out of the tavern, wearing the most innocent and adorable smile a fourteen-year-old boy could muster, and grabbed the hem of the beauty's skirt. "Sister, sister, can you please help me?" he pleaded.

"Oh?" The beauty looked at the boy with interest, remembering him from yesterday's antics on the street. Suddenly intrigued, she responded, "What can I do for you, cute little brother?"

Panny chuckled inwardly, feeling the fish biting the bait. But he maintained a pure expression on his face. "It's a deal then. I'll pay Sister Belen for it, just half a day's time, okay?"

"Tell me, let's hear it," the woman's interest seemed to have heightened even more.

The deception check passed... perhaps.