Capítulo 42: Small Talk in the Tavern
Wayne, still clad in the traditional witcher attire, wore a blue-black light armor from the wolf school. This half-body mail armor, featuring thick leather sewn on top, was not only handsome but also practical. A black cowhide belt encircled his waist, complete with a waist bag, a dagger, and a potion bag for carrying potions. On his right belt hung a refined steel sword with a black scabbard, while the iconic wolf head medallion of the Wolf School was discreetly tucked into the armor.
With this formidable ensemble and his tall, robust frame, short dark blonde hair, and amber cat eyes, Wayne presented the image of a powerful swordsman. His entrance into the Fox Tavern immediately drew the attention of the boss and patrons, momentarily hushing the noisy atmosphere.
However, the city dwellers of Vizima, being more informed than rural folk, regarded Wayne with a mix of vigilant and curious gazes. Despite the scrutiny, none dared to act recklessly, opting to feign nonchalance while continuing their conversations.
Accustomed to such varied reactions as a witcher, Wayne paid no mind to the stares. He walked up to the tavern owner and lightly tapped the wooden bar. The owner, a middle-aged man in his 50s with black and white short hair, bore a long, narrow scar that traversed his left face and upper and lower lips—a testament to a life survived on the battlefield. Wayne gazed at the man, surveyed the assortment of drinks in the cabinet behind him, and the fresh game suspended on the counter by ropes, before speaking:
"Old Yueke, fetch me a bottle of Vizima and some rabbit," Wayne requested the middle-aged boss. Yueke, glancing up, moved his lips and replied in a hoarse voice, "Fifty copper coins. Please pay the bill first; it's our rule."
Acknowledging the rule, Wayne nodded, realizing he didn't have any small coins on him. He took out an Oren from his pocket and placed it on the bar, suggesting, "One Oren, throw in some extra beef."
The boss accepted the Oren, checked its authenticity, and displayed a slightly kinder expression. "Please find a place to sit down, guest. The wine and meat will be delivered shortly."
Choosing an unoccupied table with few patrons, Wayne sat down, removed his steel sword, and placed it on the table. Observing that he wasn't behaving peculiarly, the other patrons in the tavern averted their gaze and resumed their drinking and chatter, swiftly restoring the noisy ambiance.
After several minutes, a limping woman in her thirties cautiously arranged beer and barbecue on Wayne's table. Wayne looked up at the woman's face, and his expression suddenly shifted. Realizing something, he didn't react immediately. Instead, he picked up the knife and fork, listening to the discussions of the other tavern patrons while eating.
Information in the Middle Ages was often obscured, with most ordinary people having limited access to the latest news. A crowded tavern like this served as a vital hub for many to gather and exchange information.
At this point, the witcher's super hearing has a natural advantage, which can help Wayne obtain a lot of information. Just like now, at a table not far from him, two men dressed as workers are chatting. The young worker is physically strong, but his expression is a little depressed. He looked at the worker next to him and asked a little depressed: "Hey Jason, did you hear that?"
"After the new Vizima is built, all those who want to live in the new city have to go to the city hall to pay a land purchase tax in order to get a piece of land and build their own houses."
"They divided the entire new urban area into three areas. The land prices in each area are very different. Not only do we have to buy the land ourselves, but we also have to pay for the house construction. This is to completely separate the poor from the rich!"
The 40-year-old worker named Jason said disapprovingly:
"Isn't this a matter of course? Do you still want the king to pay for you and build a house for you?"
"It is King Foltest's kindness to not let us pay taxes for the construction of the new city. I heard from the nuns in the Meritelli Church that the area suitable for us to live in is called the Temple District. At that time, the Meriteli Church will also build a new church there. About 50% of the residents of Vizima will live in the Temple District."
"There is also a district called the trade district, but only the nobles and rich merchants, as well as those decent rich people, the king's officials, can afford to live there. That's good too. Living separately from those high-profile figures and treacherous businessmen will allow us to live more comfortably."
The young man scratched his head and complained in a low voice: "But I just got married to Lisa, and all the money I saved before was used up. How can I still have money to buy a house in the new city?"
"Lisa is pregnant now, and I can only go out to work alone. I want to save enough money to buy a house. I don't know how long it will take?" Jason glanced at his friend who was in trouble, his tone was a little slow, and he comforted:
"It's not urgent, Rota. The construction of the new Vizima will take at least one or two years. The city hall will handle public facilities and city walls. We'll have to repair our own houses. You can borrow money to buy land first and work in the construction team.
"They need manpower, and the wages are good. If that's not possible, spend some money to rent a house. Staying in the old city isn't safe; you wouldn't want Lisa to disappear in the middle of the night, would you?"
The young man, Rota, seemed to have a realization and asserted, "Yes, Lisa is the priority. I'll sell the run-down house tomorrow, move to the new city, even if it means living in a shack; it's safer than here." Jason, seemingly content with Rota's decision, shared,
"No need to find someone else, Rota. I've already bought land in the temple area. While I can't afford to build a house now, let's set up a tent. It's safer with more people, and I won't charge you rent."
Surprised, Rota expressed gratitude, "Jason, thank you. You're truly a friend. When I buy the land, maybe we can be neighbors. I'll treat you to a drink." The two then delved into the casual banter of drinking, their words becoming trivial in the lively atmosphere.
Shifting his attention, Wayne observed a nearby table where three mercenaries, armed and rough-looking, were engaged in conversation. An unappealing, stubble-faced, and tooth-decayed man cursed in a hushed tone.
"Damn, these days have been tough!"
"The King sent the army into the forest, and now there are outposts everywhere. We can't catch a break with all those fat sheep flaunting themselves. It's messed up." A bald man, sporting several scars on his face, quickly rebuked, "Shut up, Rotten Teeth! You want the farmers to hear you? Go snitch and have the guards hang us. But before that, I'll cut off your manhood and stuff it up your ass."
Trying to ease the tension, a middle-aged man with a thin build and a wretched appearance stepped in, saying, "Calm down, Scar Face, Rotten Teeth. We're all comrades here. The boss sent us to the city for an important mission. Let's not mess it up over a petty issue."
Rotten Teeth, acknowledging his mistake, avoided confrontation with Scar Face and turned to the thin man named Mouse Eye, inquiring, "Mouse Eye, have you found our target?" Mouse Eye, glancing around cautiously, whispered, "With so many caravans in the city and guards needed everywhere, infiltrating one should be simple."
"I've identified a wealthy businessman dealing in high-end tableware. With the rich folks building new houses, high-end tableware is selling like hotcakes. This businessman plans to hire guards for a valuable batch of goods he brought from the Floating Port. It aligns with the boss's requirements. He's set to leave in three days. I've already used some coin to establish connections, ensuring the three of us can join the guard team."
"Inform the boss about this, we should cooperate internally and externally, only then we can able to make a lot of money."
Status de energia semanal
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