The Witch’s Convent

The "Foggy Fisherman" tavern was originally just a smoking club for a group of smokers. Later, as these smokers either died from illness or quit smoking, the room was purchased by a retired naval veteran who had lost a leg and transformed it into a tavern. 

This veteran, named Alan Alice, was not incompetent like Hawthorne's useless father in this world; he could definitely be considered well-connected.

Whether it was the visible forces such as the Guard and the Amazons or the hidden ones like the Dark Intelligence Network and the Sanasa Guild, even some hostile pirate forces on the high seas had benefactors who had once received favors from him.

Many of these people now held high positions, and even though he was retired, they were willing to stay in touch and communicate with him frequently.

As a result, he maintained a vast network of connections. Whenever needed, he could help connect any two organizations, providing both parties with a reliable witness and a platform for peaceful communication, thus avoiding many unnecessary bloody conflicts.

In the years since his retirement, he had mediated countless disputes, earning him considerable respect and making him one of the most respected middlemen in the South Harbor District.

Many gangs wanted to do him a favor, so even though he was physically impaired and his fighting ability might not even match that of an ordinary person, his "Foggy Fisherman" tavern was likely one of the safest places in the entire slum.

This was also the reason why Hawthorne chose to wait for Heidi here.

Upon pushing the door open, a security guard dozing at the entrance immediately turned to look at him. This guard was a female half-ogre, standing over two meters tall, with a large head, thick neck, and a body full of fat, beside her lay a hefty club.

She emanated a unique half-ogre smell, glaring with big eyes as if she might grab a child to eat at any moment.

Upon seeing his frail figure, the half-ogre quickly judged that he posed no threat and turned back around, continuing to doze without paying him any further attention.

Clearly, no matter how handsome Hawthorne appeared as a human, he could not overcome the racial divide to attract the attention of the half-ogre.

Of course, he didn’t want to attract attention anyway.

As he passed by the half-ogre, he entered the scene inside the tavern. In the center of the tavern was a long wooden table for solitary patrons to share, currently occupied by a few incompetent drunks indulging in daytime drinking, along with a muscular brown-skinned female half-orc.

On both sides of the room, there were several round tables for groups to gather and celebrate. A few old smokers leaned against the window, puffing away, while other tables had some idlers playing dice and gambling.

In addition to them, there were a few more tables occupied by gang members dressed in tank tops, exposing their arms and scarred bodies, with various makeshift weapons hanging from their waists, quietly eating peanuts.

As Hawthorne took steps forward, he could only smell a mix of smoke, the salty stink of seafood, and the sweetly nauseating remnants of vomit, all of which invaded his nostrils, causing him to frown involuntarily.

However, he knew he would have to adapt to such an environment sooner or later, so he steeled himself and walked further inside.

At the end of the tavern was the bar, next to which was a staircase leading to the second floor, where the tavern's guest rooms were located. Behind the bar, a middle-aged man with a mustache, copper-colored skin, and rugged features was quietly wiping glasses.

He was, of course, the tavern’s master, Alan Alice.

He appeared to be in his forties or fifties, but his pointed ears indicated that he was not human but rather a long-lived half-elf, so his true age could not be determined by appearances alone.

“A serving of boiled peanuts,” Hawthorne said, then took out a silver coin and placed it on the bar.

Waiting for someone in someone else's establishment without ordering anything always felt inappropriate, so he decided to order this inexpensive snack to pass the time.

The man in front of him looked up at him, and it was immediately noticeable that his eyebrows suddenly raised in surprise.

However, he quickly composed himself, accepted the silver coin, and nodded, “Please wait a moment.”

After saying that, he turned and limped his way into the kitchen. It was only then that Hawthorne noticed that behind tavern owner Alan, there was a full suit of armor sitting quietly against the wall.

The armor sat there immobile, but Hawthorne knew that it was actually an animated suit of armor. As soon as Alan gave a verbal command, it would immediately stand up and attack all of Alan's enemies.

In any case, everything was just as he remembered.

In the game, Alan was a quest giver. By cultivating a decent relationship with him, players could receive various tasks related to the slum gangs and earn generous rewards.

To that end, players even summarized a quick method for boosting his favorability, allowing them to smoothly get through the early stages.

Of course, players confident in their skills could choose to kill him. However, doing so would mean facing the female half-ogre at the door and that animated suit of armor.

Hawthorne pondered this when he saw the owner come out, carrying a large plate piled high with steaming boiled peanuts, which looked very affordable.

This instantly boosted Hawthorne’s goodwill, and many memories flooded back to him.

Alan could be considered the favorite NPC for new players, mainly because the tasks he offered were generally low in difficulty, and the rewards were generous, significantly alleviating the developmental pressure during the early stages in the convent.

The secondary reason was that this guy's dialogue was well-designed; he often gave you unexpected compliments with a serious demeanor, which could boost one’s mood and unconsciously lead people to regard him as a trustworthy individual.

However, this was the real world, and Hawthorne wouldn’t easily trust an old fox who had been deeply rooted in the slums for a long time.

With these thoughts in mind, he took the peanuts, turned around, and prepared to find a seat to sit down.

However, after looking around, he suddenly realized that there weren’t many seats left for him.

At the round table on the left side of the tavern, there were a few empty spots, but either he would have to share the table with the drunks or the gamblers, both of which were unacceptable to him.

At the long table in the center, there were a few drunken men sitting, and being close to them could result in one of them suddenly vomiting all over him.

As for the couple of round tables on the right, while there were also a few empty spots, the other seats were occupied by gang members; he quickly scanned and counted at least a dozen of them. One particularly bulky bald man in the corner had a giant eye tattooed on his head, making it clear that he was not someone to be trifled with.

Wait a minute, could that be someone from the Dark Intelligence Network?