"Fuck you, dog mongrel!"

"Go to hell, garbage!"

"Kill him! Kill him as a ****!"

Every time Cato visited the pride of the sailors, he would hear a similar scolding, which was messy and unbearable. Pen | fun | pavilion www. ｂｉｑｕｇｅ。 infoMerchants, pirates, and mercenaries from all over the world love to stop here when they pass through Howling Wind Bay, because it has not only the best fire wine in the whole of Howling Wind Bay, but also the most affordable prostitutes in the entire Southern Empire. As a result, drunken troubles or fights over women often occur, and people from all walks of life who are accustomed to drinking two drinks at sunset or before going out to sea have long been familiar with this.

As usual, Cato walked straight past the brawlers and bare-chested "ladies" and walked to the dimly lit corner at the end of the long bar. The proprietress who occasionally doubles as a bartender neatly served three glasses of ale, and the two looked at each other and smiled, tacitly.

Three glasses of wine were a habit for Cato when he and his brothers used to get together, whether it was in Clarence's resident Howling Wind Bay, or in Lion Harbor, where Monroe lived, or in the many villages and towns where Cato frequented, whenever two people met, they would order three glasses of wine to pay tribute to their friendship. But now one of the brothers has been swallowed up by the monstrous waves, and the other is lying peacefully in the golden coffin sealed by the power of the Holy Light, leaving Cato alone, unable to even lift three glasses at the same time.

"Still haven't found it yet?" asked the proprietress calmly as she wiped the wooden wine glass.

Cato shook his head and drank to himself.

"Yesterday after you left, I heard from a passing harpist that there was some work around Rock Crab Town, and you had to do something to cheer yourself up. ”

"Nine out of ten bards were made up by themselves, and one was made up by other bards. Cato took another sip of his wine, and then he tapped the bottom of his glass twice on the bar and motioned for the proprietress to fill the glass. "Changing the fire bar. He said suddenly.

The proprietress insisted on pouring Cato a glass of ale, then stared solemnly at him with her hands on the bar, and said, "So they are called 'harpists,' and they are more than a star and a half apart from the orthodox bards." Then again, if you go to the ground, there's no one to take care of the shop, and the hell knows how much of a mess those people can make. ”

"Didn't the Holy See send a team of young new faces? ”

"Hmph, just those stinky boys who haven't dried up? When they came to me, they knew that staring at the girl's ass, and the momentum of the fight couldn't stop the hooligans. The proprietress complained, seeing that Cato didn't care, she continued to clean up the bar.

"It doesn't matter if you can hold the town or not, if you can win, you can win. ”

"Fart! will you pay for smashing the table and chair?"

Cato raised his head to meet the resentful gaze of the proprietress, and said with a helpless smile: "Didn't you already know the difference between a paladin and a hooligan? ”

"I see that you shook hands with the cult and made peace, anyway, the nature is similar, and it is better to believe in you than to believe in the ancient gods made up by the harpist. "Don't you see a paladin here?" said the proprietress and beckoned the other guests to go, leaving Cato to drink alone in front of two full glasses of ale.

The chaos finally calmed down amid the hostess's reprimand, and the bard, sitting at the other end of the tavern, plucked the strings and sang "Mad Kaos", a poem in praise of the ancient god of war.