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The turmoil of the day finally passed, and night settled over the village. After wrapping up his meeting with the chieftain, Do-Jin sat in the small lodging the villagers had offered him.
Meanwhile, a middle-aged dwarf sat opposite him, his face swollen and purple with bruises, half-drunk and sniffling into his mug. “I don’t even know how to thank you, kid...”
God, kill me now, Do-Jin thought.
He should’ve kicked the bastard out the moment he showed up with a bottle in hand. Apparently, Maglo had been drinking with the other dwarves to celebrate and decided to drop by because he’d suddenly “thought of him.” He really should’ve just stayed and drank there.
Do-Jin wanted to sleep early. The chieftain had promised to show him Silvermoon’s treasury at dawn, and the sooner he slept, the sooner he’d get this over with.
“Hey, you’re drunk as hell, aren’t you?” Do-Jin asked Maglo.
“I’m not drunk, dammit! You think a dwarf gets wasted off this weak crap?”
“You’re definitely drunk.”
“I... I told everyone in the tavern what a good, handsome bastard you are, you know that? Hours,...
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