The envoys from various countries wanted to exchange pleasantries with Lette in hopes of securing a spot in the first wave of trade route member states.
But under Taylor's firm stance, everyone had no choice but to reluctantly leave.
The triennial "Cry of Poverty" conference, originally expected to be drawn out until the eve of the Holy Presence Day, was resolved in less than half a prayer time during just one meeting.
Next to enter was a burly dwarf with a full beard all over his face.
He stormed in like he had eaten gunpowder, reeking of alcohol and rage.
As soon as he walked in, he hurried to Lette's side and slammed his hand on the table.
"Where is the masterpiece of our Dwarf Clan master! That great armor! Where did you take it?"
Lette glanced at him: "Why does it smell like cheap alcohol? Haven't I said this many times?
Drink less of that barley wine, it can't even be called wine, at best it's fermented mash liquid.
