Astartes of the Bear School

Chapter 424 423. Fist of Anger

 “Before arranging the room, give me a round first.”

 Lan tapped **** on the bar.

The tavern owner nodded with surprise and placed a small wooden cup with a tiger's mouth on the bar.

 “Want something cold?”

 He raised his head and asked.

 “The cooler, the better.”

Amidst the continuous collision of glass bottles, the tavern owner took out a bottle of wine from under the bar. There were still fine condensed water droplets hanging on the outer wall of the brown glass bottle.

"Try this. The mead from Skellige is as sweet as honey and strong as a knife."

Of course, it will also be very expensive.

The boss didn’t say the price and just poured it for Lan En. And the demon hunter doesn't care about this little money now. If this wine is really worthy of the price.

Hold the small wooden cup with three fingers, Lan En drank it all in one gulp.

 Feel the strong alcohol flowing across your throat, the cold liquid creating a comfortable contrast with your own hot body temperature.

　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　

 Lan En exhaled slightly.

“Two more dinners and this bottle of wine.”

The tavern owner raised his eyebrows.

 “What do you pay with?”

 “Oren coins, without trimming.”

 “Then ten orens.”

With the tavern owner crossing his arms and looking suspiciously at him, Lan took out a stack of gold coins from the alchemy leather bag on his waist and spread it out on his palms.

　　I moved my fingers a few times, then pinched a few pieces, and put the rest upside down on the table.

Golden, uncut coins are lined up on this bar table, and Foltest's sideways head is clearly visible on the coins.

This money is really nice to give.

The tavern owner cursed.

If I had known better, I should have said two more coins. It seems like this person doesn't know how to bargain.

Sweeping the gold coins on the table into his arms, the tavern owner quickly arranged two rooms and dinner.

 Garlic grilled pork ribs, a kipper sandwich, a cheese and a mug of beer.

The people of Sintra’s dinner is not exquisite, but it is quite solid. Although this country is close to the sea, the city of Sintra, the capital, is not close to the sea, so the proportion of seafood in the dinner is not large, and it is not as good as Gos Willen's Silver Heron Tavern.

Holding two large plates and his own wine, Lan En turned and walked towards the long table in the tavern hall.

Regis had already placed the two horses just now and was sitting there waiting.

At the other end of the tavern hall, a lot of people gathered very lively. It was also the place with the best lighting conditions in the entire tavern.

 The men’s hormonal and passionate shouts kept ringing in that corner.

With the extraordinary senses of demon hunters and vampires, they can also separate other sounds from the shouts of the crowd.

That was the sound of fists and fists fighting each other, and the sound of finger joints wrapped under the flesh hitting the human facial bones.

Lan En placed the dinner plate on the long table, took one for himself and Regis, and then sat down.

 “Is this a boxing match? Or a drunken fight?”

 The witcher asked doubtfully.

Given the tough folk customs of Sintra, the men’s drunken fights will most likely not make onlookers want to avoid them.

These Cintra men would probably spontaneously surround the two parties fighting, cheering and giving them a good beating, until only one person stood up and walked out awake.

This form is not much different from a boxing match, so it is difficult to tell what they are doing just by listening to the noise outside. Regis first politely thanked Lan En for bringing dinner, and then explained slowly.

“The Fists of Wrath Tournament, an entertainment project brought from the Skellige Islands.”

Regis took the small glass of mead that Lan En poured for him, and then continued.

"The violent and honor-oriented character of the islanders gave birth to this bare-knuckle boxing match, where they beat each other to a winner. With trade and exchange, it spread to Sintra, where the same wild Sintra was acquired. People’s love.”

“I have to say that this form of competition can indeed make the hormone levels of intelligent creatures soar, making them feel excited, and it will not cause high casualty rates due to the use of weapons. It can be regarded as a mild competition.”

“I estimate that this form of competition will spread even further in the future. After all, in cities, citizens don’t have many opportunities to watch armed fighting, and many rules and regulations do not support it. Boxing is a good supplementary event.”

 “Okay, I understand.”

Lan nodded, then had a drink with Regis and started eating.

 Now, for him, fighting with ordinary weapons is considered bullying, let alone boxing.

 But he wanted to eat quietly, but there was someone in the tavern who didn't want any boring "quietness".

 A lanky man with a face covered in acne scars walked over from the next table unsteadily. His clothes were dirty and patched, and he smelled of cheap alcohol.

 Looks like a drunk and unhappy person.

 In fact, from the moment Lan En entered the door, this guy's gloomy eyes had already followed this obvious foreigner.

 “What kind of sword is that? An elf’s sword? A sissy’s weapon!”

He walked towards the table where Lan En was sitting in three unsteady steps. When he was carrying the dinner plate just now, the hilt of Arondette's sword at his waist was exposed from under his cloak.

 “People like you are not welcome in Sintra, you hidden bitch! This is a decent city!”

 The vampire and the witcher had just finished a drink. After finishing the drink, their hands were fixed in the air because of the man's interruption.

Regis gave Lan En a questioning look, and after the witcher shook his head slightly, Regis seemed to have seen nothing and began to eat freely again.

 “I don’t seem to be in the way, mate.”

 A calm voice came from under the hood.

 But for drunkards, they have no logic. If they want to cause trouble, they can cause trouble even if there is no reason.

“What kind of accent is this, country bumpkin? Why can’t I tell where you are from? As far as I know, there is only one kind of person who speaks in such a nondescript way!”

The man leaned his face full of acne scars towards Lan En, his eyes widened and his expression became more and more excited.

 “Spy!”

“Only a spy talks like this! Not to mention you are holding an elven sword!”

His mouth continued to rant, and it tasted of bad beer, onions, and anger.

 “Did you hear that, you spy **** from the south!”

Lan En tilted his head quietly and spoke calmly after he finished shouting.

“Are you finished now, sir? Your remarks about ‘southern spies’ just now have earned me and my companions a lot of bad looks, if you stop here.”

Before Lan En could finish his calm and rational words, the man moved his face closer to her again.

“I just can’t learn to ‘stop’! You Southern piece of shit. Bang!”

 But this time, Lan En didn’t give him a chance to finish his words.

The arm that was lying quietly on the dining table, without anyone but Regis reacting, seemed to drop the frame in the next second, holding the man's neck!

 In the broad palm, the man's neck was almost completely grasped by one palm!

 Because the speed of his hand was too fast, just the action of "holding" made the acne-scarred man feel like he had been punched in the Adam's apple.

 My eyes were wide open and my eyeballs were protruding, but I couldn't breathe.

At the table where the pimple-scarred man came from, several Sintra men suddenly pulled up their chairs and stood up, looking menacing.

But when Lan En also stood up and raised his arms flatly to let the pimple-scarred man's feet off the ground, the angry faces of these people suddenly calmed down like wise men.

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 (End of this chapter)