At dusk, in a village tavern on a distant continent, the air was as foul as ever, filled with the stench of sweat. Tired farmers and mercenaries, who had labored throughout the day, gathered here to shake off the fatigue of their work. Yet today, standing in the center of the tavern was not the usual heavily made-up, plump, and sultry dancer, but a young bard, his white robe now faded to gray.
"Hey, Bard! Tell us the story of King Avalon and how he rose from nothing!"
"Ahem…" Pino took a sip of the cheap ale reluctantly offered by the miserly tavern owner. He cleared his throat and lowered his voice, speaking with an air of mystery.
"You see, my friends, the tale of our great King Avalon has long been romanticized… His true identity is not that of a wandering vagabond. No, he was once a peddler in the kingdom of Lodan. A story passed down from my grandfather…"
"King Avalon's three years of wandering were nothing more than his time spent peddling wares, surviving on a meager black bread from place to place. My ancestors were from Lodan, true farmers at heart, and they had crossed paths with the king…"
"Many doubt that King Avalon was once a beggar, but think about it: how could a penniless man with no special skills survive for three years begging on the streets? In such a chaotic time, when food was worth more than gold, just how could we have fed him on nothing but words? Surely, he had to give something in return. Don't you think so? After all, isn't a business with no capital simply selling your ass...?"
A burst of laughter erupted through the tavern.
The crowd laughed so hard they almost fell over, slamming their hands against the rickety wooden tables, shaking the very foundation of the tavern. The atmosphere grew lively and wild. It was widely known that the official history might not always be truthful, but the wild tales were always more entertaining. The farmers, who had crawled through the mud of the lowest rungs, had always disregarded the grand histories of heroes who fought and conquered. To them, those stories were distant and far removed. They preferred the wild tales, the wilder the better, for only these could resonate with their own humble lives.
[Your performance has won the approval of the audience.]
[Bard Experience +10*30 Audience Members]
[Bard leveled up to LV.10]
[Oratory LV.10: Charisma +10]
[Awarded the title: Spread of the Wild Histories]
Pino was pleased with the response. He tipped his hat with a gentleman's bow, extending it toward the audience in hopes of receiving a few coins. However, this village proved to be the most miserly he had encountered on his travels. The handful of coins thrown his way were few, barely enough to count with both hands. Even the normally generous mercenaries were more stingy than usual.
Pino sighed in disappointment. "I had even prepared some spicy jokes about the Elf Queen… but alas, with the few coins in my hat, I won't even have enough to buy a glass of whiskey to soothe my throat after I'm done…"
The tavern's mood lifted once more. The mercenaries, now more generous, opened their purses, and even the farmers dug filthy copper coins from the soles of their shoes and tossed them at Pino.
"Ahem, to speak of the Elf Queen Eluna—her scent surpasses that of flowers, her skin whiter than milk, her curves more magnificent than…"
Pino knew well that these unsophisticated farmers wouldn't understand grandiose language, so he used the simplest comparisons, knowing this would resonate more deeply with them. He gestured wildly with both hands, sparking a chorus of wolf whistles from the crowd. Everyone inhaled deeply, as if they could smell not the sour stench of months-old sweat, but the fragrance of the Elf Queen herself.
Eluna was a hero who had fought against a demonic invasion a thousand years ago. Her wisdom and courage had saved countless lives. However, the most widespread stories about her were not of her command of battle, but the countless bawdy versions of her life spun by wandering bards. Eluna had nearly become the most infamous courtesan in the land. Humans never honored their heroes; instead, they loved to weave moral failings and rumors into wild tales, delighting in their fabrication.
After a two-hour-long performance, Pino drained from the day's work, walked up to the bar, his coin pouch neither heavy nor light. He tossed it casually onto the counter. "Change this into silver, and the rest should be enough for a whiskey to clear my throat."
The tavern keeper, a man with a face as black as the night, wiped his hands across the pouch and lined the coins up on the table. He picked up each copper coin, carefully counting them under the dim light. It took several minutes before he wiped the table and handed Pino three silver coins. "Not enough for whiskey, just ale."
"Damn it! I just counted it myself. There were at least 45 copper coins! Ten to one—that should give me four silver coins and a proper whiskey!" Pino slammed his fist on the table in frustration.
"Forty-five copper, yes, but ten of them are too worn out. They're worth only five." The tavern keeper placed a glass of ale in front of Pino without flinching.
"Even so, that's still forty!" Pino didn't back down, tapping the counter.
"In our lord's territory, there's a tax on entertainment, one copper coin; a tax for entering the territory, one copper coin; and an income tax of four copper coins. This isn't my doing—it's for the lord's tax officer. If you don't pay, they'll fine me," the tavern keeper said darkly.
"Clever, you've deducted six, so there should still be thirty-four. You still owe me three!" Pino didn't even need to count on his fingers.
"Damage to the furniture: 1 copper coin. Air pollution fee: 1 copper coin. Venue usage fee: 1 copper coin. One mug of ale: 1 copper coin. Total: 30 copper coins, equivalent to 3 silver coins, correct?"
It was clear the tavern keeper wasn't easily fooled. In a society where most people were illiterate, he managed to keep the books so meticulously.
"Clever, but don't expect me to return to this village!" Pino snapped, grabbing the wooden mug on the counter with fury.
However, the tavern keeper swiftly placed a firm hand over the mug's rim. "You still owe me one copper coin."
"One copper coin? I paid for this drink!" Pino's eyes widened in disbelief.
"Bar counter damage fee, one copper coin," the tavern keeper said, his eyes glancing at the counter Pino had just slammed his hand on.
Pino's tone suddenly softened. "Please, boss. I've helped you make at least one extra gold coin today. Don't be so stingy…"
[Persuasion LV.5, Skill activated!]
[Skill check in progress...]
[Pino: Basic Persuasion 5 points + 15 points Charisma, total 20 points]
[Tavern Keeper: Stubborn as stone, 30 points]
[Persuasion LV.5, Check failed]
"Unless you stay here and sell your ass, I might offer you a drink on the house," the tavern keeper said, eyeing Pino's soft face with a tilt of his head.
"Save it for your mother's memorial!" Pino flipped him the bird and stormed out of the cursed tavern.
"My mother wouldn't deserve a drink like this," the tavern keeper muttered, expressionless, as he poured the ale back into the barrel.
Pino stepped outside, looking up at the pitch-black sky, the cold wilderness biting at his skin. "Damn it, a moonless, windy night… I should've stayed at the tavern. No, I'll never give that bastard another copper coin!"
Resolute, Pino marched toward the pigsty, crawled into the haystack beside it, and settled down to sleep.