Saladin Kingdom, River Town.
Lynch pushed open the slightly weathered wooden door and stepped into the tavern called "Resting Place," a place from his memories. He habitually scanned the interior, but the scene before his eyes was starkly different from the bustling and lively night over two hundred years ago.
Empty.
This was the most direct impression. The original wooden long tables and benches in his memory were still there, with some old knife marks visible on the tabletops, as if narrating the hustle and bustle of the past.
But at this moment, all the tables and chairs were sparsely placed, covered with a thin layer of dust.
No boisterous sailors, no cunning merchants, no mercenaries engaged in grand discussions, and no minstrel's melodious music. Inside the tavern, there was only one burly, bearded man, turned away from the door, quietly wiping a wooden cup behind the bar.
