The Hunter’s Guide to Monsters - Chapter 77

An increase in reputation to Known subtly changed the kinds of quests given to Krow. They were harder, more involved with the everyday life of the village.

That came with downsides – he took more time to finish quests to gain just one point of RP, though the Exp and cash were greater.

Accepting quests to increase RP, limited the time he had to scout the nearby terrain and hunt.

Eliminating monster nests also increased RP, but total elimination meant the nests had a longer waiting time before respawning.

Oh, and he needed to rent a warehouse in Cerkanst.

He could transfer all his gathered material from post-vault to Inventory, but where would he keep them?

If he kept sending all his gathered material to the warehouse in Nyurajke, it’d be tedious transferring everything to Cerkanst at once when he started leveling Enchanter.

It was better to start collecting material in Cerkanst itself now.

As it was, there were crates of weapons and ethermica to transfer to Cerkanst before he could start crafting.

Krow sighed. He would really miss the Inventory after the Quake.

After the Quake, he’d need to ship material from warehouse to warehouse by caravan.

From Nyurajke to Cerkanst, by caravan, it was six to eight days. He’d calculated based on the Essax caravan’s speed and route.

And if Krow didn’t advance the village’s infrastructure by then, it might be more days, as there would not be a trade road to Cerkanst.

Thankfully, on a galedrifter, the the twisty mountain routes could be bypassed, traversing a road distance of eight hundred kilometers in a matter of hours.

“A warehouse?” Sarnaan shook her head. “There’s the one we use to gather herbs for sale in town. But you need an empty one? You could talk to Buri. He’s in the tavern most days, but he’s more reliable than his older brother; he might be able to help.”

The tavern was an odd construction, not made of wide-open spaces but of carved wooden booths large and small, many even needed stairs to get to, built high on the stone walls as they were.

It was ensconced on the second level of the tower Khoyresk, the one closest to the administrative tower.

There was a skybridge connecting them, stretched from the fifth level of the administrative tower to the eighth level of the smaller tower.

“You mean Drunken Buri?” A patron of the tavern, already flushed with drink, nodded toward a booth in the corner. “That’s him there…or…or is that a broom? He was there when I came in, anyway. Ahey, Jebkhan, another fill here!”

Krow left the draculkar, who had already forgotten him in favor of his drink.

Under the thick cloud of pungent herbs that draculkar liked to smoke and the scent of spilled alcohol, the air smelled of apples, sweat, soil, and smoked meat.

A crash of laughter from a booth caused someone in the booth above them to negligently pour his drink on the floor, causing the laughter to stop and insults to flow.

The bartender was a child.

Krow peered. Yep, a child standing on a bench behind the bar counter. Krow stopped to watch as a twelve-year old flipped large wine-jars onto his two shoulders and rolled them off skillfully so he could to pour into tankards, three and even four wine-jars at a time.

He’d taken quests from here before, where was Kalorke?

“Skilled isn’t he, my nephew? A worthy successor.”

Krow turned to the pleasantly scratchy voice, coming from the booth he’d been heading to.

Buri the Drunken did not look at all drunk, only lazy.

“Your nephew?”

“My brother’s son.”

Krow nodded. “Sarnaan said you might be able to help me.”

“Sarnaan, pfah! Is the woman meddling again?” Buri waved his arm. One of the servers came over. “He’s paying.”

The chin that jerked toward Krow made no mistake of who exactly was paying.

“One jar,” Krow agreed, sliding into the booth. “No more.”

“Tsk. You are,” Buri squinted across the table. “Old enough to drink, yes?”

Krow glared. “A jar of charantais.”

The server nodded.

A hand slammed into the table.”Brabat! It’s brabat or nothing! Who do you think I am, some fancy milksop?”

Brabat was a distilled beverage, made from fermented rime-apples and a few herbs. It was golden brown, strongly fragrant, faintly sweet, and kicked like a battlefield mule.

It was a traditional draculkar drink, exported to the whole of the Territory and beyond.

“Northern brabat, then.”

“The western is best!”

A muscle in the server’s jaw ticked.

He must be new.

“Lakan brabat.”

Buri’s eyes widened a fraction. Then he laughed, loud and echoing.

“I like you! Fine, the lakan.”

Krow laughed, too. “You were meant to decline that!”

He’d actually never tried it before. But since coming back to this time, he’d never had a drink.

Technically, it was safer to drink in Redlands than in some random bar.

“Too late. The server’s gone!”

They laughed again.

The server had slipped away before they could change their minds again.

Lakan brabat, commonly called ‘lakan’, was the strongest drink made from apples, or mostly apples, in the Territory. It was a border variation of the brabat, a dubious drink as nearly every brewer had their own variation and the drinker was never quite sure of the effects until they were already drunk.

The server brought back a tall wine jar and cups.

He lifted a brow at Krow. “Two serpens.”

Krow lifted his brow back playfully, infected somewhat by the atmosphere in the tavern, and gave three.

Buri poured as soon as the cups were set on the table, eagerly filling both to the brim. “Drink! Drink, then let’s see what you came here for.”

Krow accepted the cup.

“Health, wealth, and a lifetime of laughter!”

They downed their cups, slammed them on the table.

Buri immediately topped up the cups with a wide grin.

He looked like a wild youth, following at the heels of Bacchus.

All he needed was grape leaves in his hair.

“Long life, bright skies, and the love of a dragon!” That one brought cheers and laughter from around them.

They drank again.

The taste of lakan was sweet and alcoholic, but not harsh. It didn’t burn, flowing smoothly down his throat.

“More!”

Oh, he already knew he was going to regret this.

“May you cheat death, steal hearts, and always have a bottle with company!”

Krow lost sense of time.

It was possible to get drunk in Redlands, like it was possible feel sensation. Being drunk was just connections in the brain going askew.

Like sensation however, the effects of alcohol were dulled.

There were very few beverages that would skid close enough to the unconsciousness threshold to get falling down drunk. Lakan brabat wasn’t one of those. But it was close.

So Krow’s world spun. His mind expanded, past body, past the world, past the shackles that bound him to worry.

An unburdening.

Then Buri stood up, shouting. The words were far away.

He wasn’t shouting at Krow, so he turned to look. Everyone was drunk. Someone was menacing the bartender?

Wait, the bartender was a kid. Krow stood up too.

He threw his cup. It bounced satisfactorily off the head of whoever was leaning over the bar counter. Buri roared in laughter, so it probably wasn’t that serious.

Someone shoved him. He shoved back.

The world went dark.