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"Bang!"
"Hahaha!"
In the crowded tavern, the dim yellow light flickered, bottles flew through the air, smashing onto the floor or against the walls.
The sound of shattering glass mingled with the shouting and yelling of the brawling crowd, one after another.
Minstrels clutching their accordions, some strumming on guitars, wove through the tables looking for customers eager for a story.
"What about these singers? They look like they know a lot."
At that moment, Fulara, cloaked in a black hooded cloak, curiously looked at John, who was sitting in front of her.
Unlike Fulara's black attire, John was clad in a green robe, resembling a ranger who had fallen from grace.
"It would expose us."
John said, "They might know something about Sigurian, but it's not good for us to ask directly."
"It's mainly those stories," John said, "I've heard them already."
"When?"
"Last night on the ship," John replied, "I talked to a few talkative locals and gathered that information."