After disposing of the corpse on the road, Lane arrived in the afternoon at a small place called Hamm in Verdon.

The witcher stopped in front of the tavern, dismounted with the much-emptied bag of supplies, ready to fill it with water bladders, bread, cheese, roast chicken, and so on.

Pushing open the splicing door, which was steaming out of the crack in the plank, Lan stepped inside.

The tall figure is not eye-catching because everyone wears bloated clothes in winter.

Rann now only wears Arondale around his waist and his eyes are buried under his hood, so the drunks in the tavern don't realize he's a mutant.

"There's something here. Forget it, let's have a cup of strength first. ”

The tavern owner, a man whose shoulders were starting to glow black and shiny, shrugged his shoulders as he greeted the three tables of drunkards in the tavern alone.

As usual, a small wooden cup the size of a tiger's mouth was placed, and then a half-full glass bottle was pulled out from under the counter, and the strong-smelling liquid was poured.

"The vodka I brew myself is the best way to keep the cold away."

Lan En pinched the wine glass with three fingers and lifted it slightly towards the boss, then emptied the wine glass in one gulp, swallowed it, and let out a breath with the smell of wine from between his teeth.

"Phew—how far is this from Brugg's border?"

The tavernkeeper retrieved Lann's used cup, poured it and shook it dry, then placed it upside down on the table to dry up.

"We've got baked apples, reheated cold bread, carrots, potatoes, and if you can afford it, I'll bring you a grilled fish. From here, walk up the forest for two and a half days and you'll see the border checkpoint. ”

The boss answered two questions from Lan En at once.

The witcher's hood dotted up and down, and the heavy arm armor peeking out from under the cloak made the boss look sideways slightly, but there was no more reaction.

The times are turbulent, and those who dare to go on the road alone these days are strange that there are no guys.

It's just that this man's equipment is a little better today.

He is a roadside tavern, and he has not seen it.

"Anything that can be put in a bag, a light beer in a water bladder, and grilled fish I'll eat here, thank you."

"This one gets two silver coins, sir?"

Lan En's politeness made the boss look at him in surprise, and later even said the honorific title in an uncertain tone.

Seeing two dim silver coins on the table between Lanen's leather gloves, he began to prepare for the gang neatly.

"There's still a place over there, sir. Don't worry about the drunks, they won't get in the way. ”

"Of course, I don't care."

With that, Lan En had already walked to the seat, tucked the hem of his cloak, and sat down on the bench.

These drunkards who start drinking in the afternoon are all farmers in the neighborhood, and in the winter when the farming is not working, they either go out to drink every day, or beat their mothers-in-law at home.

These people really won't cause any trouble, but if they see Lane's cat's eyes when they're drunk, they'll probably drift a little.

People with low status, when they see people with lower status than themselves, the excitement and sense of superiority will be even greater than that of old men.

A witcher is someone who has a low enough status.

Lann could knock down the entire tavern with a single hand, but what good was that? People with long-term inertia don't have a different perception just because of a fight.

"Did you hear that?"

A drunken farmer smiled at his companion.

"Our Miss Eliza has thought of a way to save his brother this time. She wanted to knit a sweater out of nettles and put it on for her brother. ”

"Is Sir Fisnet still saved? How long has he been a cormorant? It must have been two years, right? ”

"He also deserves it, who is it bad to sleep with, to sleep with a witch? I'm telling you, witches have curses in their **! It's not good for a man to poke it in! As long as you dare to leave her, you will become a cormorant the next day! ”

The comments that popped out of the farmers' mouths were bitter and explicit, and full of absurd imagination, which made Lan En cough immediately.

He figured that Margarita should not put such a curse on himself.

The curse that turns people into cormorants. Tsk, if there were no warlocks or witchers, the remedies in folklore would not have cured Sir Fisnet for the rest of his life.

Amid the lively discussion of the farmers, the grilled fish was served.

Rann took a fork and began to split the white flesh from the fish bones, and the boss gave him an extra light ale, then returned to the counter and filled his supply bag with something.

The farmers at the table behind them became more and more energetic in the discussion.

A nobleman is cursed to become a waterfowl, and his sister is trying to lift the curse, which is a great conversation in a boring medieval village.

At least for a moment, Lan En had heard doubts coming from the table behind him.

It is said that Jazz was not turned into a cormorant, but cursed as a swan.

Witches are also women, and as long as they are women, they always like white swans more than cormorants.

The farmer at the same table, who had started telling the story, quickly changed his tune after a period of self-doubt, saying that he had become a swan.

It seems that this makes the whole story more vivid and romantic.

For the sake of the flow of the story, in order to attract more eyeballs and listeners during the storytelling, the storyteller has always been stingy with 'appropriate adaptation' of the facts.

Lan En witnessed the birth of a rumor just a moment after eating fish.

He should not only laugh or feel sorry for this knight, but in short, he can't laugh or cry.

Sir's sister tried to lift the curse in a way that was told in country legend, but it was mostly in vain.

Curses should be handed over to professionals, such as warlocks, such as witchers.

In the process of circulation, the information that becomes a 'rumor' will cause great trouble to the person who solves the curse, and increase the difficulty out of thin air.

Lan En quickly finished the small grilled fish, took the bag of supplies that the boss had packed, and prepared to start again.

Lifting the curse of the witcher business, I don't have actual combat experience for the time being, so don't practice on this sir.

If he doesn't even have to do a cormorant, he won't be able to do it.

Now, the young witcher could only pray in his heart that the knight would not die before the curse was lifted because of the parasite on the raw fish.

But just as the young man was about to approach the cold wind again, the jokes of the farmers entered a new stage.

"Okay, okay, it's almost all fun. King Evel had had enough of the humiliation of our Sir affecting his country's reputation, and he was generous for a rare time, and he paid a sum of money for a witcher to lift the curse on our Baron Hamm. ”

"The Last Hunter? Who is that? ”

"It's the witcher, you idiot. It's a guy who specializes in lifting curses and hunting monsters. ”

"Oh!" There was a grunt of drinking, accompanied by a wine burp. "Hiccup—they're weird!"

"Okay? What a fart! You think they are kind, but they want a lot of gold and your children! They are all monsters, monsters kill monsters, and the guy who works with King Ewell, and it is said that he has milky white hair! Peephole! It's chilling to look at! ”

Lan En paused to open the wooden door of the tavern, and then walked out normally.

His silver hair, which reflected a glimmer in the light, had a strand slipping out of the hood of his cape.

"Peers?"

"Verdon, Brugg, there are three witchers?"

Turning on his horse, Rann walked in the direction of the most imposing manor in the village. Beneath the hood, the slender lips reveal an interesting smile.

"It's really hilarious."

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(End of chapter)