Serious People, Who is Learning Magic at Marvel?

"So, can't you go drink somewhere else? Or just buy some?"

"cannot."

Jonathan shook his head: "The city government official issued a death order, not allowing anyone to sell us alcohol within these three months. And the pubs in the city remember the faces of the three of us. Don't talk about drinking. , I can't even get in. As for buying and selling..."

He sighed: "That's even more impossible. We are too famous in the local area. Every shop that sells alcohol knows us, and they know the order. You can't go to the temple area for a bar? We estimate that you will go in there. Robbed. And I don't think they're going to sell us either."

"They dare!"

Zoltan cursed, blowing his beard: "A bunch of scoundrels! Last time I went there, I was stolen forty oren, which is not a small sum of money. If I catch the scoundrels again, I will Their **** smashes!"

Geralt noticed that every time Zoltan got emotional, his dwarf accent was revealed, which made his words even more funny. The witcher couldn't help but let out a chuckle, which attracted Zoltan's inexplicable gaze.

"What are you laughing at?" he asked in confusion, stroking his beard. "Don't look at me now that I'm a tavern owner, but I've been in the army! I'm a retired soldier! Don't you believe me? Come and play with me!"

"No, I believe you are absolutely capable of doing this."

Geralt put on a serious face in an instant, and his confident tone made Zoltan narrow his eyes comfortably, and smiled again: "It's almost the same."

"Anyway, that's how it is." Jonathan concluded. "We won't be drinking for at least three months, at least until the official forgets about it. Three months, oh my god. Three months..."

He covered his head in desperation: "I'm from the Wine Tasting Association! If I don't drink wine for three months, my taste buds will deteriorate, and then I will no longer be able to instantly taste the 1235 and 1236 Beauclair white wines. The difference, this is my unique stunt!"

Noticing Geralt's puzzled look, Fanny spoke up, annotating Jonathan. The female elf spoke in an unhurried manner.

"Yes, you know something, Geralt. The packaging of Beauclair 1235 and 1236 are very similar, at least to the uninitiated. But the price is fundamentally different, the 1235 due to the weather, The brew was not very successful. And the 1236 batch, they used the new stills, and the taste took a leap.”

The elf's expression was so captivating that Geralt could imagine the scent blooming on his taste buds. And her next words intensified the reaction.

"Did you know? The fruity fragrance is strong, and the moment you enter it, it will explode on the tip of your tongue. The sweet and sour smell is like the wind of recovery in spring. It is crisp and refreshing, but after swallowing, it will be in your mouth. The back of the throat blooms with real flavor."

"A touch of bitterness." Fanny nodded, swallowing continuously. "The finishing touch, the masterwork—that bitterness, Geralt."

Her description made the throats of the three present swell, and Geralt couldn't control his tongue. He was an alcoholic, and compared to these three people, he was not too stubborn, so he made a decision.

It turns out that Geralt might be able to refuse to go to the brothel, but he definitely couldn't refuse to drink.

"Where is it sold?" His cat's eyes sparkled, and he asked excitedly. "I'm going! They don't know me!"

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Half an hour later, he and the dwarf Zoltan were standing outside the patrol camp in the trade area, and the two of them were squeezing their feet, not much worse than being thieves—in fact, they were here to be thieves now.

Geralt lowered his voice and asked, "Are you sure there's nowhere else in town selling Beauclair 1236?"

"I'm sure, Geralt. That's true." Zoltan also kept his voice low. "This batch of wine is currently only available in my tavern in Vizimane. It is exclusive to the Wine Tasting Association. Others can't enjoy it. Alas, I would have known that I would not have signed this agreement with the Beauclairs..."

good romance novel

He scratched his head in annoyance: "The only authorization, sold separately, is killing me now."

"All right."

Geralt's throat twitched up and down again, and the description of the elf reverberated in his brain, constantly--echoing.

I must drink that wine, tonight, tomorrow, in short, I must drink it, or I will not feel at ease when I die. Geralt thought.

Swallowing his saliva, he and Zoltan crept into the patrol camp.

On the other side, He Shenyan was drinking with Andrea in another tavern in the trade area. It was relatively quiet here, which may be related to the request written by the owner on the sign outside the door: No noisy guests.

It also made it easier for him to talk to Andrea.

The mage held up a full glass of Vizima Champion. This is Vizima's special beer. It has a mellow and strong taste and is extremely suitable for appetizers-appetizers for alcoholics, ordinary people should not learn to drink. The cup of the Vizima Champion is specially made, with a diameter of 20 centimeters, and a cup can fill some people who can't drink enough.

He drank half of the bottle in one go, but a glass of milk was placed in front of Andrea. This made the female apprentice look depressed.

"Why don't you let me drink?" she asked puzzled. "You can drink it!"

He Shenyan raised a finger and motioned Andrea to wait first. He raised the glass again and drank the rest in one go. Then he leaned back in his chair and breathed out a sigh of relief.

"Because you'll get drunk," said the mage. "And I won't."

"You are a double standard!" Andrea retorted angrily. "And I will sober spells!"

"It's like cheating if you drink alcohol, Andrea."

He Shenyan threw out a sentence lightly, and at the same time gestured with his eyes to the waitress who had been staring at him for a long time to put on a new bottle of wine. He made the waiter blush with his own smile and gave him a serving of french fries.

"Thank you." He Shenyan smiled and watched the waiter go away, then picked up a new cup of Vizima Champion, but didn't drink it. "Andrea, it's nice to see you haven't been changed by this world."

He stared at the beer thoughtfully: "It's the best thing you can do, you're still doing your magic. I'm glad to see this, you didn't choose to go to court, you didn't play Sorcery, not trying to dominate the world. You're just doing good things, small things..."

"It's not as exaggerated as you said." Andrea blushed at his praise. "I just feel sorry for the poor and I want to help them."

"Really? Don't you think they're self-inflicted? Because they're not diligent enough, they're not working hard enough to be poor? You see, if the poor have two houses for rent, wouldn't they be poor?"

"What is this?" Andrea asked in disbelief. "Even if it's sarcasm, what you said is too..."

She thought about it for a long time before she came up with an evaluation that was not swearing: "It's out of touch with reality."

He Shenyan smiled and said nothing more. His eyes turned to the window, where a white-haired man with three bottles of wine under his arm and a dwarf with a wine bottle in his pocket were running wildly on the road. Behind them, there were several guards who were chasing after them. Yelling at the back.

He kept watching them go away, the smile on his face slowly getting bigger and bigger—then, he stood up and drank the Vizima Champion in one gulp.

"Just come here tonight, Andrea, I guess you need to rest too... see you tomorrow, my apprentice."

"See you tomorrow, teacher."

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"Geralt!"

Zoltan's breathless voice came from behind the witcher: "Front... front—front left! Run!"

With Geralt's hands tightly bound to the six bottles, they were spotted by the guards—as they should have been. That's what it's like to act with dwarves, they're not good at doing this kind of stealth. Fortunately, they were discovered during the evacuation process, so it didn't come back in vain.

Following Zoltan's guidance, Geralt turned left and entered the alley~www.readwn.com~ Zoltan's footsteps were still behind him. The dwarf might have short legs, but he was definitely not slow. He gradually lost the voices and curses of the soldiers, much to the witcher's relief.

They ran for several hundred meters again, then stopped sweating profusely, leaned against the wall, and sat down along the base of the wall without any image.

The two looked at each other and suddenly both burst out laughing.

"Geralt! Geralt!" Zoltan laughed harder than he had run away, breathing like a broken bellows. "Ah, my beard is on! What have we done?"

"We—" the witcher swallowed. "—We did something stupid."

"Yes, stupid." Zoltan nodded, laughter breaking out of his throat. "It's so **** stupid! I don't even know what to do with the official who came to the door tomorrow! Ah, those soldiers definitely saw our faces!"

"Then what? Return the wine?"

"Fuck!" Zoltan refused decisively. "This is my wine! Go back? Impossible! Come on, let's go back to the pub. We won't be drunk tonight! Want the Wine Tasting Association to stop drinking? No way!"

"They can eat my farts!" the dwarf yelled vulgarly. "Wine! Drink! Go!"

At this moment, a filthy curse came from above the wall they were leaning against, in Elvish language, to the effect that a waste horse who could not pull a cart would not sleep in the middle of the night to disturb others, and cursed you with smallpox!

Geralt stood up quietly and dragged Zoltan towards the other side of the alley. The dwarf was still asking, "What did the man mean? I can hear it in Elvish language. Is he scolding us?"

"No, Zoltan, he's showing his respect for us."

"real?"

"real."