If not for professional necessity, he would even want to close the tavern and quit.
He sighed, grabbed a beer mug, and guzzled the ale, completely disregarding the light yellow ale dribbling from the corners of his mouth.
After drinking the ale in the mug in one gulp, he heavily set down the mug, wiped his mouth, and couldn't help but reminisce about the ordinary days gone by.
Handling intelligence, selling adulterated drinks, occasionally 'cleaning' the tavern, dealing with the occasional blind thieves and patrons, and by the way, discussing life with the newly arrived flirty dancers.
Nowhere like now, having to serve these foreigners all day long. Especially according to the intelligence, these damned fellows are undying!
Shaking his head, the tavern owner forced himself to change his train of thought.
On the bright side, as a tavern owner, even though he needed to serve these outsiders, at least he himself was unlikely to encounter life-threatening dangers.
