Don Quixote scooped a spoonful of the barley beef stew into his mouth with a wooden spoon.
The warm chunks of meat slid down his throat, and he narrowed his eyes in satisfaction.
Grrrurgle.
An ill-timed sound suddenly broke the moment.
Cole, who hadn't left yet, instantly turned beet red.
He hurriedly turned his head away, trying to hide the longing look he had been stealing at the crispy roasted pigeon.
Don Quixote raised an eyebrow and looked up at the scrawny boy standing beside him.
The boy's skin was a ruddy brown from exposure to the cold wind and hearth fires, and he wore old, coarse linen clothes that had likely been cut down from his parents' garments.
"So similar."
It was as if Don Quixote were seeing himself from seven or eight years ago.
Without hesitation, he reached out and tore the small roasted pigeon in half, smiling softly:
"Here, kid. Have some."
Cole swallowed hard and hesitated:
"Can I?
"Lady Wylla warned us not to take things from customers, or we'd be kicked out."
Don Quixote shook his head and laughed:
"This is a gift I'm sharing with a friend, not something I'm taking from a customer.
"Sit down and eat with me. There aren't any customers right now anyway."
Cole's eyes darted between the pigeon and Don Quixote's face.
The hunger pangs in his stomach were clawing at him unbearably.
Finally, he gritted his teeth and said:
"Th-thank you, my lord."
"I'm no lord. Just call me Don Quixote." Don Quixote smiled gently.
"Sit down and eat."
Cole blinked, hesitated for a moment, and then said again:
"Thank you, Lord Don Quixote."
With that, Cole bent down and cautiously took the half of the roasted pigeon.
Straightening up, he continued:
"Lord Don Quixote, I won't sit down to eat. Uncle Ronan will scold me if he sees, and if Lady Wylla sees me, I'm done for."
Without waiting for Don Quixote's response, Cole quickly turned and scurried off to a corner of the back kitchen.
"Sigh. If the System hadn't appeared, my life would likely have continued in this humble state forever.
"With no light at the end of the tunnel!"
Don Quixote watched Cole's retreating back and sighed with emotion.
But the aroma of the food on the table soon drew his attention back.
Don Quixote let out a slow breath and continued to devour the meat with his head down.
Before long, he finished the last bit of pigeon meat and downed the remaining half cup of ale in one go.
Don Quixote thought with satisfaction:
"Drinking big cups of ale, eating big chunks of meat—this is the life Don Quixote should have!
"Although, it feels like something is still missing."
---
"I'm gonna puke!"
A dead-drunk burly man announced loudly.
The next second, he leaned crookedly over the edge of the table and dry heaved.
"Puke outside!"
Don Quixote, who was at the bar, saw this and immediately roared:
"Don't dirty the tavern floor!"
The drunkard didn't care in the slightest. He craned his neck and giggled foolishly, his tongue tied in knots:
"Why... why should I listen to you? I... I paid for my drinks! This tavern... this tavern does what I say!"
After speaking, he opened his mouth and started dry heaving again.
Ronan turned a cold face to Don Quixote and said:
"You can't let him vomit in the tavern. It'll upset the other customers."
The few customers scattered around the drunkard frowned and moved their stools away, afraid of being caught in the splash zone.
Don Quixote took a deep breath, picked up the iron bar, and walked toward the drunkard.
Just then, the drunkard suddenly stood up, looked around, and shouted:
"Where are those damn women? Where are the damn whores? Why aren't there any here?
"I want to fck them to death.
"Old Gods above, pour me some more wine while you watch me fck."
The drunkard was clearly out of his mind, spouting things he wouldn't dare—and shouldn't—say when sober.
The Old Gods were still the faith of the vast majority of Northerners.
Many customers' faces darkened.
"Shut up! You blasphemous fool!"
Don Quixote strode up to the drunkard and smashed his right fist into the slow-reacting man's face, shouting angrily:
"If you're drunk, drag your ass home to act crazy!"
The drunkard was knocked to the ground. Struggling to get up, he raged:
"Which son of a bitch dares to sneak attack me?!
"Old Gods? What bullshit Old Gods!
"Just a bunch of broken trees! Can they stop me... hic... stop me from drinking and whoring?"
Don Quixote's face turned dark. He swung the iron bar hard, striking the drunkard on the back.
Thwack!
"Argh..."
The drunkard let out a miserable scream from the pain, his body instantly bowing up.
"Drag him out! Tie him up outside to sober up!" a hunter shouted from nearby.
Suddenly, a murky gack sound came from the drunkard's throat.
"Dammit!"
Don Quixote's expression changed, and he hurriedly backed away.
In the next instant, filth mixed with the sour smell of alcohol and food scraps splattered onto the floor in front of the drunkard.
A sour stench quickly filled the air.
"Bastard!"
Don Quixote cursed angrily but didn't step forward. covering his nose and mouth, he retreated a few more steps.
The drunkard lay twitching on the floor, dry heaving again and again, practically vomiting up his bile.
Sticky liquid dripped down his chin onto the stone slabs, mixing with bloody foam at the corners of his mouth—a truly wretched sight.
The surrounding customers were initially disgusted, but then burst into laughter. Their anger was largely dissipated by this comical and disgusting scene.
"Serves him right! That's what he gets for disrespecting the Old Gods!"
"Hope he pukes his guts out! Saves him from dirtying anywhere else!"
...Bastard, but he dirtied the floor of the Iron Axe Tavern.
Don Quixote's face was black.
Although cleaning the floor wasn't his job, encountering such a thing was unpleasant nonetheless.
...Need to deal with this quickly.
Don Quixote turned to Ronan and shouted:
"Ronan, did this bastard pay?"
"Not yet."
Ronan shook his head, then thought for a moment and said:
"Two jugs of fire wine, a kidney pie, and a roasted bison leg with leeks.
"Total is 1 silver stag and 23 copper pennies."
...Tsk tsk, looks like this drunk is well-off.
Don Quixote eyed the drunkard's clothing; they didn't look like commoner's garb.
Thinking quickly, Don Quixote frowned and approached the drunkard, whose dry heaving had subsided slightly, and said coldly:
"Sober yet?"
"Fck..."
Seeing Don Quixote, the drunkard's face turned ugly. He was about to curse when he saw a dark iron bar pressed against his chin, forcing him to swallow his words.
Don Quixote grinned savagely: "Looks like you're not sober yet."
He made a move to swing the iron bar again.
Seeing this, the drunkard ignored the discomfort in his throat and hurriedly shouted:
"Sober! I'm sober!"
Don Quixote nodded and said calmly:
"The bill is 1 silver stag and 23 coppers, plus a cleaning fee for the floor..."
At this point, Don Quixote quickly scanned the surrounding customers.
There were eight customers in total.
Don Quixote continued: "24 coppers."
"No problem." The drunkard gritted his teeth and stared hard at Don Quixote, then took out 1 silver stag and 47 coppers.
"Get out."
Don Quixote stood up and announced loudly:
"Apologies to our guests for spoiling the mood.
"As an apology, the house buys everyone a round of ale!"
The money for the ale naturally came from the drunkard's cleaning fee.
...