Chapter 4: Wine

“Fred, let’s go to the tavern for a drink.” It was another rest day — a great time to relax and have fun.

Although he was quiet and always wore a proud look, Fred had always been very popular among the recruits of Second Squad. One reason was that his handsomeness made it hard for anyone to feel hostile toward him. Another was that he truly was the best soldier in the whole squad — even in the entire recruit camp.

In fact, Fred was not a perfect model soldier by any means. His personal habits were far from good. For example, he cared too much about his image. He washed his clothes almost every day, took a bath every two days, and combed his hair before every formation… This kind of lifestyle, which lacked rugged masculine charm, was absolutely unique in the entire recruit camp. Moreover, in his spare time after training, he never joined recreational activities like wrestling or boxing. He only liked to sit in his tent and read secondhand books bought from nearby villages at extremely low prices. I had once hoped to find a couple of exciting Knight novels among his stacks of books — even a flashy romance would have been fine. But unfortunately, all I could find there were military books like “On War,” “Mountain Infantry Mobile Operations Manual,” and “Formations, Terrain, and Branches of Service,” or massive history and philosophy tomes like “Imperial Chancellor Qius de Pan,” “Five Hundred Years of the Continent,” and “Speculation — The Origins of War and the Crisis of Peace.” I really didn’t know how he could read such things. It was practically self-torture for the mind.

Even so, Fred still earned our affection and respect, especially after that night when he saved us and punished Squad Leader Carlson in a very fitting way. However, invitations to the tavern were usually just a formality. Fred had never accepted one before.

“Alright, I’ll go.”

“What a pity. That place is really nice, and any real man should go see it. Look, even Roll went, but you actually didn’t — Huh? Wait, what did you just say?”

“I said, alright, I’ll go.”

“Good heavens! Fred is actually going to the tavern! Riley, Dakla, go tell everyone — today Your Majesty the King is visiting the tavern! Everyone is coming, and I’m paying!” Such a rare miracle — I was going to be generous this once.

“It’s the two of us paying.” Rama squeezed over with a face full of grease.

Both of us had well-run family businesses, and we both loved lively crowds and were generous with our money, so each time we shouldered most of the expenses for group activities. That made the two of us quite popular in the squad.

By the time twenty Light Infantry soldiers walked into the tavern, it was already buzzing with voices. With practiced ease, I greeted the tavern owner and the recruits who often came here to have fun. The thick aroma of alcohol, loud rugged singing, flushed and boisterous laughing faces, damp and greasy oak tables and chairs — almost every tavern was arranged the same way. Such a familiar environment — it was like coming home. This was the world I truly belonged to.

“So this is the… tavern you always talk about?” Fred grabbed my sleeve and asked. His face was a bit pale, as if he felt nervous in such a lively place, but his eyes couldn’t help looking around curiously.

“Yeah, my family’s in this business. Don’t be nervous. Just relax — after a couple of drinks, you’ll feel much better.” I comforted this newcomer to the drinking scene. “This is a man’s paradise, right?!”

“Right!” Countless voices answered my shout. A tavern needed exactly this kind of atmosphere.

“Jeff, I think opening a barbecue stall here would be a great idea.” Rama’s words caught my attention.

“Oh, go on.”

“Look, ordinary taverns only have simple food like flatbread and potato soup.” Rama sighed as he looked at the nearby tables. “That’s enough for ordinary travelers, but what do the people who come to relax and have fun need? Real delicacies — rich food that goes well with fine wine. And what is that? Barbecue! Only barbecue with its glistening fat and charcoal-fire warmth is the true feast for revelers.”

“That’s very interesting. Anything else?”

“We could even do this: set up a few charcoal fire pits the way you’d set up tables, and let each group sit around the fire and roast their own meat. Trust me, nothing would satisfy people more than that.”

A scene appeared before my eyes: men gathered around fire pits, raised drinking cups, delicious barbecue, and even wonderful singing and dancing performances — joyful and wild crowds. That was exactly the wonderful sight I wanted to see. I also roughly estimated the income the barbecue business could bring. Based on the current business volume of the Horseshoe… I got a number that took my breath away.

“Let’s do it, Rama. After we’re discharged and go home, we’ll open a tavern like this together. And its name will be… the Horseshoe Barbecue Tavern.”

“No, no, no. Call it the Copper Fire Barbecue Tavern.” Copper Fire was the signboard of Rama’s family barbecue shop.

“No, call it the Horseshoe XXXX.”

“No way, call it the Copper Fire XXXX.”

“Better to call it XXXX.”

“I insist XXXX is much better.”

“I…”

“I…”

…

Watching the two would-be business partners launch into a friendly yet fierce argument over the naming of our future enterprise, Fred’s voice suddenly came through.

“How about calling it the Blazing Revelry Tavern?”

“Blazing Revelry?” Rama and I stopped arguing and thought about it seriously.

“Not bad. It’s very fitting.”

“Blazing… I like it.”

“It’s settled, then!”

“It’s settled! Cheers, partner.”

“Cheers, partner.”

The clear liquid flowed down the throats of two future business stars. I felt a wave of coolness. Rama might have drunk a bit too fast and choked, coughing.

“Isn’t this the deserter squad of the ‘Back’ squad leader? You kids are still wet behind the ears, and you’re already trying to drink like adults.” A middle-aged man’s voice came from a nearby table, drawing our attention: it was Fattel, the leader of Fourth Squad. He and Carlson were a pair of mocking friends who loved to tease us recruits.

“Squad Leader Fattel, didn’t you bring your Drunkard Squad today?” Fattel was a well-known drunkard among the recruit camp officers, and “Drunkard Squad” was Carlson’s nickname for Fourth Squad.

“A tavern is a place for adults. We can’t let little kids like you come here. Don’t get drunk — your squad leader is always sleeping, so he won’t have time to come pick you up.”

“Old drunkard, when it comes to drinking, you might not be able to beat me. Don’t believe it? Want to try?” Being a soldier under Carlson was really humiliating — we were always looked down upon. I wanted to use this chance to vent.

“Oh, you’ve got quite a big mouth, boy. When you end up collapsed on the floor, I’m not carrying you out.”

“Same rule as always: whoever loses pays.” When I was fourteen, I had once gotten a Mountain Dwarf completely drunk. The squad leader before me obviously didn’t know about that.

Our argument stirred up the whole tavern. The nosy recruits and junior officers gathered around to watch. Riley and Rama, who knew my background well, seized the moment to set up betting on our match and put my odds very high. Except for them, not many people would believe that a renowned old drunkard could be outdrunk by an eighteen-year-old youth who had only been a soldier for three months.

“Put all of this on the line for me, betting that I win.” I unfastened the money pouch at my waist.

“Betting on yourself doesn’t bring good luck, you know.” Fattel said with a smile.

“But I have no reason not to make money from a sure win.” I answered honestly.

It seemed my reply severely wounded the drunkard squad leader’s pride. He glared hard at me, grabbed the cup full of ale in front of him, and gulped it down. Then he slammed the empty cup onto the table.

I stayed calm, leisurely finished a cup of my own, and glanced back at Rama. The betting was still going on — almost all the wagers were placed on Fattel.

“You fatso, part of that winning money belongs to me,” I thought to myself, and drank down another cup. To swindle even higher bets, I didn’t show off too much.

Although the ale here couldn’t compare to the “Koka” brewed by the Dwarf race, it was still a rare strong drink. An ordinary person would definitely collapse after a dozen cups. Yet the Fattel before me had already managed to down nearly fifty cups, matching the capacity of four or five ordinary men. He was truly worthy of the name drunkard.

However, from his dazed eyes and flushed cheeks, it was clear that this drunkard was at the end of his strength. I figured that by now he couldn’t even tell whether he was drinking wine or water — he just kept grabbing cups and pouring them into his mouth. I casually grabbed two large cups, filled them to the brim, and then revealed a bit of my true skill: I picked up one cup, stood up, tilted my head back, and poured it down. The wine in the cup seemed to rush straight into my throat without making a single bubble. I didn’t even need to put in any effort to swallow. In the blink of an eye, the cup was empty.

When had these green recruits ever seen anyone drink like that? For a moment, they were stunned into dead silence, and then they erupted into huge cheers.

And in the middle of those cheers, my opponent, Fattel, went limp and collapsed to the ground, completely unconscious.

I stood up and waved my hands, welcoming the cheers of “Jeff! Jeff!” from all directions. Like a hero who had accomplished a great deed, I accepted everyone’s amazement and respect. In that instant, I felt this tavern was my world, and I held absolute authority in it. While enjoying others’ respect, I also brought wild joy to them.

Although Rama and the others knew I could hold my liquor, my performance still far exceeded their expectations — I had drunk enough of that strong liquor to knock two oxen unconscious for three days, yet I hadn’t even changed color in the face.

“You really don’t feel anything?” Fred, who was always cold and proud, was the first to show concern for me, which made me very pleased. Even such an outstanding guy was paying attention to me now — clearly, I had really done something quite sensational today.

“To be honest, I feel a little unwell.” I put on an act.

“Where do you feel bad? Do you want to throw up?” Fred asked with a frown, a trace of unease in his eyes. I had never known this guy could care about other people.

“I drank a bit too much and need to use the bathroom.” My answer earned me a round of friendly punches and kicks.

“Take out my winnings — I’m buying a drink for everyone here!” Suddenly I jumped onto the table and shouted.

“Oh! Oh! Jeff! Long live, long live Jeff!” At this moment, even those who had lost money began to cheer for me. Dakla carried me down from the table, and then many people held up my back with their hands and carried me floating around the tavern. Even the tavern owner and his plump wife joined in. Believe me, that feeling was amazing.

Just as the tavern’s atmosphere reached its peak and everyone was enjoying themselves to the fullest, suddenly there was a loud “BANG!” — the tavern door was kicked open, and then several officers wearing cavalry armor walked in.

The tavern fell silent in an instant.