Chapter 83: May I Have Your Name?
There had been seven Skellige guards. They had once achieved the feat of defeating a mage in this small tavern. When going upstairs, Arya and Lan had even exchanged glances with one of the guards.
Although their interactions with these people had been brief, during this night, Lan and Arya had definitely crossed paths with them!
But now, the girl was looking at Lan's cat-like eyes with a puzzled expression. It seemed she couldn't understand why he was suddenly talking about things she had never heard of.
Lan now felt a chill running down his spine. This wasn't due to blood loss or the aftereffects of the gene seed implantation surgery. His injuries, and even the blood loss, had already been healed by the potions.
This was a psychological chill.
And at that moment, a melodious yet mysterious whistle sounded from outside the room. The tune was soothing, but in this time when the downstairs was still filled with loud drinking, laughter, and music...
A whistle that wasn't particularly penetrating or intense seemed to automatically drown out all other sounds and reach inside the room?!
Wtf, are you kidding me?!
Lan hadn't been in this world for a short time. During this time, he had followed Bordon and encountered ghosts, magical curses... But these things were actually just troublesome hunts as long as a witcher found the right method to counter them.
But now, silently and on a large scale, memories had been altered, and seven skilled warriors had been made to appear and disappear...
Lan couldn't think of anything capable of that!
The intense emotional fluctuations stirred the activity of the gene seed that had just been implanted in his body. This integrated enhancement organ began to rapidly coordinate the various functions of Lan's body.
It couldn't make Lan's basic physical abilities stronger without the other enhancement organs, but it could allow his current functions to be perfectly utilized.
The witcher's perception began to rise astonishingly, his breathing automatically shifting to a slow and deep pattern, providing more oxygen to his blood. Without any warm-up, even if all his muscles tensed up in the next moment, there would be no discomfort...
Unconsciously, after the whistle sounded, Lan had entered a combat state due to his shock!
His cat-like eyes were fixed on the door, and his hand began to reach for the sword he had placed to the side.
That door would have been shattered by a single blow from an ordinary person with a hammer, but in his tense state, Lan had unknowingly treated it as the first line of defense.
And in this standoff that resembled a battle preparation, Arya seemed to feel nothing. She naturally ran over to open the door.
"Wait! Arya—" Lan didn't even have time to stop her before the door was opened.
In the creaking sound of the wooden door, what entered Lan's slit-pupiled eyes was the front desk bartender of the Silver Heron. He was still dressed in his linen shirt and pants, with a towel draped over his left shoulder.
His bald head and smiling face.
In his hands was a wooden tray with a lavish complimentary dinner.
"Miss, your dinner has arrived." The bartender handed the tray to Arya, who naturally took it and placed it on the table in the room.
Meanwhile, Lan, who was shirtless, hesitated briefly before completely abandoning the idea of reaching for his sword.
Instead, his eyes remained fixed on the bartender as he slowly walked over to stand beside him, both of them watching the little girl carry the tray.
"I gave Arya instructions to eat downstairs before coming up. I never said anything about having the bartender deliver food... You're not going to charge extra for service, are you?"
Lan stood beside the bartender, speaking in a tone so soft it seemed like he was afraid of waking some kind of monster.
Both of them knew that in this situation, no one cared about any damn "service fee."
The bartender's tone was as polite and attentive as it had been at the front desk.
"No, no, please don't blame Miss Arya. Who could bear to see such a noble lady go hungry?"
"But she just told me she was already a bit full from eating downstairs."
"Really?" The bartender slowly turned his head, smiling as he looked at Lan's face. "Then the young lady must have misremembered. Look—"
"She's starving now."
When Lan turned his head, Arya was already eating as if she hadn't eaten in days, eagerly dipping bread into the soup and devouring it.
Lan's eyes narrowed slightly.
He knew very well that although Arya was mischievous and playful, she was still a child born into a duke's family.
Now, with two people standing at the door of the tavern room, one of whom was the "knight" she followed, she was eating voraciously as if she were starving.
This was completely! Completely abnormal!
After a moment of silence, Lan stopped beating around the bush.
"What the hell are you?"
"Ah-ha! Another surprise!" The bartender didn't answer Lan's question but instead cheered, looking at the witcher with a teasing expression.
"I thought someone like you, who hates evil, would draw his sword and attack the moment he saw his servant being influenced!"
"I have a helping complex and altruism, I don't deny that. But at the same time, that doesn't mean I'm a fool, Mr. Bartender."
Lan now simply crossed his arms and leaned against the doorframe, looking at the other man. The fresh, pink scar tissue on his exposed chest was still visible.
"I clearly remember the reactions of the people in the hall when you told us about the Skellige guards. They were convinced. And when I passed by that Skellige guard, the other travelers who passed by acted as if it were completely normal."
Lan held up two fingers.
"Altering reality, or altering the memories of a large group of people. Either of these two means that my resistance would be meaningless to you, right? Mr. Mage?"
The bartender listened patiently to Lan's speculation, only interjecting at the end.
"I'm no 'Mage,' sir, as much as I respect such esteemed figures. By the way, if a Mage could silently alter the memories of hundreds of people around him, he certainly wouldn't be satisfied with just being a 'Mage.'"
This tone, this disdain for the second speculation, was tantamount to admitting that he had altered reality.
Lan fell silent for a moment, then suddenly reached out and slapped his forehead.
"Slap—Damn, there really are monsters like you in this world? I always thought demons, gods, and all that stuff were just made-up stories."
The young man's tone didn't become subservient just because the other party could alter reality.
On the contrary, this tone of resignation was no different from how a witcher would sound when accepting a troublesome contract.
For someone who could cut into his own heart without hesitation, there were many things in the world that could make him resigned. But there really weren't many things that could scare him anymore.
And the bartender continued to watch the resigned witcher with an amused expression.
"Alright then, Mr. Bartender, may I have your name?"
The bald bartender gave a slight bow in return.
"I am Gaunter O'Dimm. I often make a living by trading glass and mirrors, so most people call me by nicknames like 'Master Mirror' or 'Man of Glass.' Feel free to choose whichever you prefer. I don't mind."
*****
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