บท 518: 518

Bright sunlight spilled across the cracked, old wooden table of the small tavern.

The man set down his glass and placed his large palm on the table surface, worn smooth by countless patrons, as he turned to watch the bustling crowd on the street.

He thoroughly enjoyed such leisurely moments.

He remembered that many years ago, he would often sit quietly in such taverns, drinking alone, merely watching the slow-moving throng outside the window.

That seemed to have become a distant memory.

His years had been filled with ceaseless busyness, either taking lives or on the way to do so.

He had so many memories that he could no longer recall what 'peace' and 'leisure' even meant.

It wasn't until this time that he, by chance, encountered that being and, unexpectedly, gained some time to rest.

"What's the best drink here? Any recommendations?"

A young man from Central Earth, looking somewhat green, took a seat in front of him and asked in fairly fluent Rodanese.