"Ahgg."
Despite the loudness of the scream, Oren remained unbothered. He knew the man was unharmed, equally unbothered inside.
He assumed it was only a part of his mental charade. If it had truly hurt, Oren would not have noticed the timing at all.
Staring at the man, he glimpsed the smirk on his face.
Instead of taking it to heart, Oren chuckled, briefly ignoring the food and observing the residence more thoroughly.
Men and women had already stood from their seats, while some glanced at the man who was lying awkwardly on the red, flower-patterned carpet.
The drunk man's act had gathered the eyes of many within the gambling den.
If only I could use that to benefit me.
He glanced at the man's brothers for a moment.
They too wore plain white robes, and unlike their brother, they were older and their complexions were healthy and clear.
Their faces however, were both red in shame.
Should I let them come over?They can drink my drinks.
Oren glanced at his food protectively.
They are not touching my food.
The thought shortly faded.
Now, the drunken man was only just getting up slowly, then his movements froze completely.
Staring down at his broken wine bottle in horror.
And this time, Oren could hear the pain in his voice. Everyone could.
"No...! my wine is wasted. The bottle is broken, my dear cherry blossom wine."
He suddenly looked at Oren, his persona fading beneath a dark, playful grin.
"Ah, son. Brother. Friend. See what you have made me do. This was your fault. You made me get up, thus you made me fall."
Then he added in a sincere tone, glancing at the various wines on Orens table.
Oren's eyes darkened.
"My legs hurt now, and my knees are weak. Come help me, or did your parents teach you no manners?"
Oren disregarded the remark as he thought.
I am not helping him walk.
Looking at his legs, he smiled. They were perfectly fine, other than the sickly pale tone.
In the next moment, Oren heard an embarrassed voice.
"Silence, brother. You only stir trouble in these places. You have a bad name here in the outskirts. Why make it worse?"
The other brother raised his voice, stern and dripping with authority.
"This is why I tell you not to drink so much, Varos. You are drunk. You can barely walk straight. But since you can still walk."
Thats his name? Oren stared at the brothers with intent.
There was a short, hesitant breath.
"Get up and walk."
Varos did not yield, remaining on the floor until he heard it.
"Look, the young man is waving at us."
"He wants us to come over."
Oren smiled, waving again.
He watched as the drunken man refused to get up, then looked at Oren and rose ecstatically.
His two brothers lectured him simultaneously.
"If you wanted to get intoxicated, Varos, then we should have stayed home and done it."
Oren grinned, his voice echoing across the room.
"Do not worry. It is fine. Dearest Elyra will probably clean it."
Gesturing to his wine, Oren laughed.
"All of this over wine. I have plenty to share. Come on. I cannot drink this all myself, can I?"
If the man wanted to get wasted further, Oren did not mind assisting, especially when the attention he drew would also benefit him.
Still, it looked like Varos was drinking away his worries.
A smile spread across Varos' face as he and his brothers continued arguing.
"No, Hemel and Liran, it is not me who is only drunk. You two are drunk too."
Under a hasty breath, Varos muttered.
"Such hypocrites."
The tall blue-eyed man was Liran. Then his shorter brother, with similar features such as a high jawbone, was Hemel.
Oren watched as Hemel and Liran stumbled toward his table, then snickered upon noticing Varos's exaggerated limp.
They eventually reached him, but instead of formalities, they sat down.
They were too drunk to care.
In the brief moment between them sitting down, time seemed to slow, and before Oren knew it, his privacy was invaded.
But he invited it with arms. If it worked, Varos himself would draw attention. Therefore, a crowd might form.
Oren looked at the BFC with a wide smile. It looked delectable.
Three different variants of the stew, unseparated, a mix of red, orange, and dark green.
But only when he began eating it did he realize that the BFC was one of the best things on the menu.
Before Oren knew it, Varos shouted again, drawing eyes to the table as he stood on the stool.
"It must be the Red King's choosing that the four of us have met, perhaps even the Wanderer of the South."
"We must share drinks and stare into the vast night sky."
"Your wise words never fail to amaze me," Hemel mumbled sarcastically as Varos looked between Oren and the wine.
Oren, knowing the request, placed the spoon of the BFC stew down and spoke.
"Yes, you may have some of the wine."
He grinned, then added.
"I shall split the four Nine Year Fermented Brews between us."
"Yes, yes, yes, son. Whatever you want, whatever you choose. I am just thankful."
If they are so thankful… pay off my debt.
Oren poured each of them a glass.
The Red King. The Wanderer of the South.
He thought, before continuing aloud.
The three brothers must of originated from the outskirts of the city, but as they grew older, they found indulgence in betting on trivialities such as gambling.
"That is what the Lord of the mountains would wish, would he not."
They paused, surprised that Oren actually believed such folk myths, then smiled.
Oren returned their smiles with his own sincere one, watching as the three cheered and caught the attention of everyone around them.
Truthfully, he had never heard of this Red King, nor the Wanderer of the South, and only heard of the lord of the mountains when fallen into the realm.
Ever since that day he had not heard of them, not even history lectures.
Perhaps people of the past. Myths, maybe. Actually, it was most likely a religion. What religion, though?
Oren quickly finished the BFC stew, then instantly brought the lotus seed soup to his lips.
His eyes widened, and so did his smile.
The scent was faint, but the taste was more than sufficient.
Earthy and thick, in a good way he could not describe with words.
Did Elyra make this… no, she's a waiter not a chef.
Still, as he had thought, the quality justified the price. It was Yie well spent.
As Oren dug in, he gradually forgot he was being bet on, only realizing once he heard the brothers' shouts.
"We must compensate for elder brother's generosity."
"Three Yie," Liran shouted, slamming the coins onto the table as his dark eyes glistened.
"Five Yie," Hemel followed, pouring himself some of the Bitter Brussel Wine.
Their shouts kickstarted the crowd.
In less than ten minutes, a ring had formed around the four men.
As Oren stuffed his mouth with stew and wine, bets began landing from every direction.
The bids climbed exponentially. Seven, then nine.
A bad premonition crept over Oren.
How much do these people value their coin? Will they ever go into debt themselves, like I have?
The bets escalated slowly as more people crowded around.
Oren raised a finished bowl with a smile, continuing to eat as laughter and shouting filled the room.
Using his free hand, Oren passed Liran a bottle of the Nine Year Fermented Wine.
For some peculiar reason, Liran's jaw dropped, despite happily accepting the offer and taking the wine instantly.
"You are quite a wealthy junior, are you not."
His words staggered as both question and intoxication bled into his voice.
With uncertainty, Liran brought the bottle to his lips and drank.
After a few sips, he continued.
"Even a cup of Nine Year Fermented Wine is a delicacy. To spend an average outskirtsman's weekly Yie in one sitting is a luxury."
Oren laughed, then sighed.
His relaxed features and calm demeanor made Liran trust his words.
"No, no. I am poor, the poorest of them all, I promise. Truthfully, I only have ten Mountain Yie to my name."
He further explained the premium deals to Liran, Hemel, and Varos. Their opinions had been mixed, only wanting the best for their new friend.
They spread their wisdom onto the younger generation, though none could speak truly, for they were gamblers themselves.
Gradually, the ring around Oren thickened.
Perfect! Let more gather. At this rate, tonight's earnings will be bountiful.
Despite his thoughts, Oren could not suppress a shocked expression.
They were watching him eat. It seems people really did pay to watch another eat.
But it was mainly thanks to Varos. He was messing about like a child, getting up and dancing, shouting and laughing.
Oren, however, was a handsome man who was single-handedly eating a buffet, yet benevolent enough to offer wine to strangers.
But would it be enough to not have to rely on the academy?
Thinking about Oren needed many things, most importantly his own source of income, a map, and several other items that would help in this new world.
Oren looked into the crowd. A wistful expression traced his lips.
This was undeniably one of the most entertaining moments he had experienced in a long while.
"This young man, can he really eat all of this by himself?" a passerby murmured.
Then Liran shouted.
"I will give you six Mountain Yie if you eat all of this. I also bet four Mountain Yie you cannot finish the entire meal."
"What."
Oren's eyes widened as he enjoyed the Bloodfire Brew. Liran wants me to win, but also wants me to lose.
Thinking about it, it was thoughtful.
Oren then boasted.
"Ah, this. Eating all this will be easy. I can do it in an hour. That is all I need, everyone."
Oren pointed at the remaining soups and stews, a spoon in his mouth, as he added.
"Look at what I have finished, i have room for ten more of everything, twenty even."
With those words, the crowd roared, and even a few maids gathered to spectate.
From the wooden stall opposite Oren, Hemel straightened his posture and asked a question.
"What is your name?"
Unlike the laughter and banter, Hemel was solemn.
Oren replied with a laugh.
"Me."
Who else would they be asking? I am the only one they are speaking to so casually.
But Oren had not thought about introductions, because he already knew their names.
Varos, Liran, Hemel.
Looking at Varos' fidgeting hands, he said deceitfully.
"I am Xeyren. But truthfully, there is no need to be so formal. Like you said, brother, friend, son, call me what you wish. I do not mind, because we shared a drink at this table... on this night."
Oren's name, however, was not Xeyren.