CLEAVER OF SIN

Asher was momentarily stunned by the sight before him. It was still only 11 a.m., yet these men were already gathered, drinking without a care in the world, as though they lived in a perpetual state of bliss.

Weapons could be seen resting on the tables, hanging at their waists, or strapped to their backs.

'It seems they've been here since last night,' Asher mused, glancing around at the shattered wooden cups strewn across the floor and a few left abandoned atop the tables.

'I wonder if they could outdrink dwarves,' he thought absently. But dwarves didn't exist in this world, so there was no way to truly know.

With that idle thought, he walked towards the counter with steady, composed steps. Behind it stood a bartender, wiping a wooden cup with a black towel in hand.

"Hoo... A new face. Where did such a young and handsome man emerge from?" the bartender asked with a smile. As the owner of the bar, one that attracted a steady stream of income and an endless flow of customers, he was familiar with nearly every commoner man in the Wargrave territory. Most had come in for a drink at least once or twice.

"I'm new. I'm considering relocating to the Wargrave Ducal territory. I came from a Barony territory far to the east. There were frequent monster invasions in the village I lived in, and the death count kept climbing each day. So I left, hoping to settle here... I don't want to die," Asher replied smoothly, crafting a backstory on the spot with such ease it felt second nature, almost as though lying was an instinct.

He moved and took a seat in front of the counter without asking for permission, not that he needed to.

"Hoo... Monster invasions are all too common these days, and deadly for nobles who lack guards to keep the threats at bay," the bartender said with a sigh, setting the cup down and picking up another to clean.

"But at least now you're in the Wargrave Ducal territory. No beast or monster would dare invade here. You can live your life in peace. Besides, one of the best perks of living here is the tax exemption," the bartender added with a proud smile.

Asher paused mid-thought. "Tax exemptions?" he asked, intrigued.

"Indeed. Although Duke Azeron pays annual taxes to the Emperor at the end of every year, he doesn't collect taxes from lower class commoners. Only the rich merchants and powerful warriors who live near their estate pay taxes," the bartender explained further, his tone almost as though he were tempting Asher to move in permanently.

Asher fell into brief contemplation. In both medieval history and the 21st century, his previous life, taxation had always been a significant source of revenue. And yet, his father had told the commoners they didn't have to pay.

'How much money would I have saved if I never paid taxes in my past life?' he wondered silently.

'Father probably collects taxes from the merchants and warriors since they're essentially using him as a protective wall,' Asher concluded.

He continued listening as the bartender talked on, although in truth, Asher hadn't asked many questions. The man was simply chatting non-stop, offering bits of information freely and cheerfully.

"Give me one medium-sized cup of ale," Asher eventually requested, beginning to feel a touch of thirst.

"That'll be three copper coins," the bartender replied without missing a beat.

'I only have platinum coins...' Asher thought with a frown. He didn't carry lower denominations.

'System, can you help me out here?' Asher asked mentally.

[...]

As though exhaling mechanically, the system responded.

[One platinum coin has been converted into gold, silver, and copper coins]

'You're the best, system,' Asher thought with a small grin.

"No problem," he replied to the bartender aloud, placing three copper coins on the counter.

The bartender nodded in acknowledgement. Suddenly, the cups he had been cleaning floated into the air without him lifting a finger. They arranged themselves neatly on the shelf behind him. Then, another cup floated towards the barrel beside him. The faucet turned by itself, and ale began pouring into the cup.

Asher watched with mild awe. He hadn't encountered someone with telekinetic abilities before. Within seconds, the cup settled in front of him, filled to the brim with frothy ale.

"Nice ability," Asher commented, lifting the drink and taking a sip. While it wasn't a high-tier brew, he had no complaints.

"It is," the bartender said with a sigh. "Too bad I have many limitations. If not, I might've had the chance to become a warrior."

Asher offered a small smile but didn't probe further. The bartender had deliberately avoided revealing the nature of those limitations. After all, who would speak openly of their weaknesses to a stranger?

"What about you? What ability do you have?" the bartender asked curiously.

"I failed my awakening. Sadly, I'm just a normal person," Asher replied, letting out a sigh for effect.

The bartender simply nodded and returned to his duties.

Asher had lied, of course. In fantasy tales, bars like these were often hubs where information was traded, sometimes openly, other times subtly. He had noticed another compartment behind the shelf where the bartender had retrieved the cup earlier.

But he said nothing. It wasn't his concern.

Around him, the men and women drinking continued to chatter and drink freely. Soon, their conversation shifted, towards him.

They spoke of the Tenth Sun... of him.

They discussed his Awakening as though they had witnessed it firsthand. Some even claimed he had faced Emovirae, creatures Asher himself had never seen.

They described how he had returned uninjured after slaying every monster and Emovirae thrown his way.

Asher wasn't surprised these rumors were already circulating. The maids who saw him return from the True Awakening must have shared their stories with siblings, friends, or even strangers. And, as usual, details were likely exaggerated and embellished along the way.

Asher shook his head and rose from his seat. He placed four copper coins on the counter instead of three, the ale's listed cost.

"That's for the information," Asher said, his tone casual.

Though he was far too wealthy for a mere one copper tip, the identity he had fabricated portrayed him as a poor traveler in search of where to settle. The fact that he even tipped was, in itself, a miracle given that persona.

The bartender smiled, collecting the coins and sliding them into a compartment beneath the counter. "Next time, young man," he said warmly.

Asher nodded and stepped out of the bar, the door closing gently behind him. He had gathered a good amount of information about the Wargrave territory, all from one casual drink and a chat.