Chapter 8: Redeeming My “Biological Father”

It was still the same familiar tavern.

Still filled with the same middle- and lower-tier adventurers who came to drink and make merry.

The only difference now was that the tavern owner had renovated one side of the bar counter — and the corner seat that used to belong to a scruffy, bearded man had been taken over by a mysterious young boy in a cloak.

…

Well, to be fair, “taken over” might be an exaggeration.

Because ever since that man accepted a dragon-slaying commission, he had never returned to the tavern.

It was as if he had vanished from the face of the earth.

If that were all, it wouldn’t have drawn much attention from the adventurers.

After all, if anyone understood the phrase “risk comes with reward,” it was them.

Even a one-gold-coin “simple” dragon-slaying mission could hide countless dangers.

So when a regular suddenly stopped showing up — not just for a few days but completely disappeared — no one found it strange.

Either he was dead, or he was on the road to being dead.

Therefore, whether the scruffy man was alive or not didn’t matter to them.

Some adventurers had even begun to discuss how best to make use of his now-empty table — perhaps by pushing it together for more drinking space.

The issue began the day before they finalized their plan to take the table.

A person who looked exactly like the fool who once came here to hire adventurers for a dragon-slaying quest appeared again in the tavern.

He ordered two glasses of Leaf Lover and a few plates of hot food, then went straight to the scruffy man’s vacant seat — and sat there for the entire day.

At first, the adventurers argued endlessly about whether this was indeed the same young man who had offered that dragon-slaying job.

But after several days, the guess was confirmed.

Every time, the cloaked boy ordered two glasses of Leaf Lover.

He never left until the tavern closed for the night.

Before leaving, he would down the untouched second glass of wine in one gulp and finish the reheated meal that the tavern keeper had warmed several times.

No one knew how he could bear to leave food sitting for half a day — but from the look of it, he was clearly waiting for someone.

And who might that someone be?

Hard to say.

As the cloaked boy’s identity became clearer, and combined with the earlier dragon-slaying commission, the tavern-goers came up with a rather logical theory.

Among them, the same dwarf warrior who had once questioned Saer first was present again, though this time his right hand was wrapped thickly in bandages — clearly injured during a recent mission.

For adventurers who risked their lives just to earn enough for food and ale, that level of injury wasn’t even worth mentioning.

A mere inch or two of damage — with dwarves’ strong constitutions — would heal in a few days.

Of course, that wasn’t the point.

The point was: this same dwarf had been the one to suggest taking over the scruffy man’s — that is, Raine’s — table.

“That guy came again today.”

Downing a gulp of ale, the dwarf threw a glare toward the cloaked boy scanning the tavern as if waiting for someone.

His voice dripped with annoyance that the kid was occupying the seat he had wanted to claim.

If the tavern didn’t strictly forbid private fights, he’d probably have already picked up his axe and started brawling with Saer under the influence of drink.

Next to him sat an elf woman, her chest modestly wrapped in a strip of white cloth, a wooden recurve bow slung across her back.

Compared to the dwarf, she looked far more calm and gentle.

“Come on now, he hasn’t done anything bad. Why be so hostile? Peace, my friend, peace.”

But her words did nothing to calm the dwarf.

After all, being teammates, he knew her too well — that this “gentle big-sister” elf wasn’t half as kind as she looked.

“Don’t play the saint with me. You’re only saying that because he looks your type. If he were as ugly as that orc over there, you’d be the first to hit him.”

“Hey, hey, no personal attacks, alright?”

The green-skinned orc rolled his eyes, clearly used to being the butt of his comrades’ jokes about his lumpy face.

As for the elf, though her motives were exposed, she didn’t bother denying them.

In fact, she let her gaze linger more boldly on Saer’s youthful, sunlit features half-hidden beneath his hood — and his pale, tender skin…

“So what? I’ve had enough of staring at you lot of rough, sweaty men all day. What’s wrong with wanting to look at something nice for once?”

That said, when she watched Saer scanning the tavern restlessly, even she couldn’t help but frown in curiosity.

“Who on earth is that kid waiting for?”

“It’s definitely not you,” the dwarf snorted. “My guess? That scruffy human ran off with his money, and this brat’s been waiting here, fuming, to catch him.”

It was, admittedly, the most reasonable theory anyone had.

Considering that the scruffy man — a once-daily regular — had disappeared for several days straight, the dwarf’s explanation seemed even more convincing.

“Poor kid,” the elf murmured, shaking her head, a look of sympathy softening her eyes.

“I just want to hug him and comfort him in my arms.”

“I wouldn’t recommend that,” the orc rumbled.

“That scruffy human — though he looked sloppy — clearly had at least silver-rank magic power when he revealed his spell.”

“Playing the fool to hide his strength, huh?”

The dwarf drained his wooden mug of ale, clicking his tongue as he recalled the ice-sculpted miniature dragon he had seen that day — and the fate of those greedy thieves who tried to steal from him.

With their own mere bronze-level strength, they knew better than to mess with someone like that.

If they had fought him, they wouldn’t have lasted two rounds before being wiped out.

The elf merely shrugged, showing she neither agreed nor disagreed — but she did regret not having a chance to get closer to Saer, that “cute little fresh face.”

“Ah, nameless cutie… too bad I’m not strong enough to back you up,” she sighed, finishing the last of her emerald-green Leaf Lover in one gulp.

Bitter wine burned down her throat, and her heart ached with it.

But she could never have imagined that this “cute boy” was far more mature — and far more dangerous — than he looked.

Because Saer was indeed waiting for someone.

He was waiting for Raine — the human mage who had once volunteered to help him slay a dragon.

But he wasn’t here to demand payment.

He didn’t care about a few gold coins.

In the Dragon Mother’s resting lair, any random gemstone of decent quality could be traded for hundreds, even thousands of coins.

No — Saer’s true goal was to find Raine and redeem his useless biological father from him.