Chương 96: Take a Break from the Dangers of the Dungeon

Aiko slowly, hesitantly hoisted one single hand into the air, her fingers trembling slightly as if she were a student trying to ask a deeply illegal question in a strict classroom.

"Aiko-san... I am so incredibly sorry, but I do not consume any intoxicating adult beverages," Aiko squeaked out at an incredibly low volume, her stuttering Japanese accent vibrating with her usual baseline social panic as she nervously looked down at her boots. Dimitri merely boomed out another massive, chest-rattling laugh that practically radiated pure paternal warmth, entirely unfazed by her quiet reservation.

"Do not let a single worry cloud your beautiful mind, my wonderful Aiko," Dimitri reassured her, his thick Russian accent turning a simple menu detail into an inspiring, motivational anthem about inclusive social gathering.

"The local establishments possess a magnificent variety of refreshing, non-alcoholic elixirs. Your magnificent presence at the table is the only true ingredient required to make our celebratory family complete." Realizing that my grand exit strategy was rapidly crumbling into tiny pieces, I decided it was time to lodge a formal protest.

"Hold the phone, big guy, I distinctly do not recall signing the dotted line or giving my formal executive approval for this sudden tavern excursion," I pointed out, crossing my arms with a thoroughly amused smirk as I tried to assert my right to a twelve-hour mattress vacation. Dimitri completely ignored my verbal union complaints, using his massive hydraulic arm to casually wrap around my frame and aggressively begin hauling my entire body down the cobblestone street toward the entertainment district.

I could do absolutely nothing but watch the beautiful, welcoming silhouettes of the local inns slowly recede in the background, my golden dreams of an immediate physical slumber completely evaporating into thin air with every single step he took.

I dramatically extended one single, desperate hand toward the rapidly shrinking architecture of those glorious, comfortable lodging houses, a look of pure, theatrical despair plastered across my face as the burly Russian freight train dragged me further and further away from my beloved bed with every passing second. ••••• The very next thing I actually registered through the haze of my own exhaustion was the reality that I had been successfully deposited right into the middle of a packed, rowdy tavern.

The local establishment was absolutely bursting at the seams with loud foot traffic, filling the air with a chaotic symphony of clinking tankards, roaring laughter, and the distinct, heavy aroma of roasted meats and spilled ale. I found myself perched on a stool directly at the front counter, occupying the far right seat at the very end of our party's lineup.

I blinked through the dim tavern lighting as I stared in absolute disbelief at the bartender, who had just slammed down an absurdly colossal, monstrously oversized bottle of premium local fuel right in front of my face. The heavy glass hit the polished wood with a loud thud that I felt in my teeth.

Apparently, my corporate voting rights had been completely bypassed, because I had been automatically saddled with the exact same industrial-grade engine degreaser that Dimitri and Fiona were currently preparing to dump down their collective windpipes. If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement.

Way over on the opposite side of our counter, anchoring the far left end of the sitting order, June was delicately cradling a slender, elegant glass filled to the brim with a deep, rich crimson liquid that was clearly designed for a highly sophisticated palate.

Her classy vintage choice looked about a thousand times less terrifyingly lethal than the weaponized moonshine Dimitri had graciously selected for my personal liver destruction, treating her glass like an elite prop that was practically doing us a favor by sitting on the same counter.

Meanwhile, nestled somewhere in the middle of our rowdy lineup, poor little Aiko was looking completely overwhelmed by the local volume as the bartender gently slid a harmless, brightly colored glass of freshly squeezed orange juice right into her designated zone.

"Behold, my friends, this magnificent booze is known across the land as the Soul Crusher," Dimitri proudly announced, his deep voice carrying over the noisy background chatter of the tavern as he gestured grandly at the liquid disaster sitting on the wood. His thick, booming Russian accent managed to turn a simple tavern recommendation into a glorious motivational sales pitch.

"It is the signature masterpiece of this fine establishment, and it also happens to be the absolute pinnacle of financial efficiency. You see, it stretches the purchasing power of every single gold piece to its absolute maximum limit because of how delightfully inexpensive they price it." I leaned forward on my stool, warily prodding the side of the container with a single finger as if expecting it to suddenly sprout legs and bite me.

"Alright, big guy, you have peaked my curiosity, so what is the actual damage to my personal wallet for a jug of this industrial-grade paint stripper?" I inquired, my voice dripping with a thoroughly amused blend of skepticism and financial concern. I stared down at the monstrously oversized container dominating the immediate landscape of my personal counter space, fully convinced that the liquid inside could easily double as alternative fuel for a primitive spaceship.

"That will be exactly one single shiny gold coin for the entire bottle, traveler," the bartender chimed in as he leaned over the polished wood, wiping down the counter with a greasy rag while flashing a wide, knowing grin.

"But do not let the low price tag fool you, because I guarantee it will deliver premium returns on your investment. We brew this specific concoction to be so aggressively potent that you will literally feel its raw, bone-rattling power smack you square in the face on your very first sip."

The burly mixologist then proceeded to give me a slow, exaggerated wink, clearly operating under the highly mistaken assumption that I was some sort of seasoned, professional alcoholic whose ultimate lifelong dream was to wake up in a ditch with zero memory of the weekend.

Deciding to just roll with the local customs before Dimitri could try to spoon-feed it to me, I flicked my wrist to summon my glowing gold user interface into the air, gracefully pinched one bright gold piece right out of the digital balance, and slid the coin across the counter directly into the bartender's waiting palm.

"Honestly, if I were back home, a bouncer would have aggressively tossed me out onto the pavement before my sneakers even squeaked past the front entrance, at least until I officially hit the legal milestone of twenty-one," I remarked, leaning my elbow on the counter with a thoroughly amused smirk as I stared at the monstrous container of liquid regret.

Dimitri let out a deep, rumbling chuckle that practically vibrated the stool beneath me, turning his massive torso to look down at my comparatively tiny frame with a gaze full of pure, unadulterated sweetness.

"Ah, back in my beautiful motherland, drinking is a very deep part of our daily lifestyle, my excellent brother," Dimitri warmly explained, his thick Russian accent turning the entire counter space into a lecture hall for pure positivity.

"It is the special way we toast to our struggles, honor our achievements, and how we celebrate life itself from the very core of our spirits. Perhaps in your own homeland it was completely forbidden to do this, but the beautiful land of Eteria is entirely different from the world you left behind.

There is no rule here to cage your spirit or hold your choices down, and you must remember that a bird must fly freely to truly find its own sky, so you should always embrace this freedom and live your life the exact way you want to live it."