The Witch’s Convent

Hawthorne shook his head, declining his offer, "Family rules prevent me from drinking right now."

"Rules are made to be broken; they just restrict your freedom," the owner chuckled, knowing well what rebellious young people like to hear.

However, he didn't press further. Instead, he shifted the drinks aside and engaged in friendly conversation, "I’m Alan Alice, the owner of this tavern. And you? What should I call you?"

"…Nigel Hawthorne," Hawthorne used the name of his former self directly.

Hawthorne?

The owner thought for a moment and realized he hadn’t heard of that surname before, likely indicating it wasn’t from any prominent nobility.

Which was good; if it were true aristocracy, he might not be able to handle it.

"Good name," he said cheerfully, giving a thumbs up. "That spell just now was brilliant!"

Hawthorne immediately shook his head, "Just some basic skills, not worth mentioning."

"Oh, don't say that!" Alan raised an eyebrow, then generously praised him further, "In all my years, I’ve never seen someone so young wield spells so flawlessly and skillfully!"

"I’ve lived in the South Harbor District for over seventy years, and I’ve rarely seen outstanding young mages like you," he said, suddenly appearing nostalgic. "But, speaking of which, you’re not from South Harbor District, are you?"

"…East Harbor," Hawthorne replied. It was somewhat true—his family was indeed located in the East Harbor District, though he had run away.

He naturally couldn’t tell Alan the whole truth. Though his experience from playing the game told him that this intermediary was both generous and reliable, he was well aware that Alan was also a daring, shrewd, and ruthless old fox.

Therefore, in dealings with him, Hawthorne had to be extremely cautious.

" Harbor District, what a place," the owner remarked with a sigh. "It's the main port, with countless ships from across the ocean coming and going every day. Many businesses, big and small, and international corporations have operations there. Anyone capable and able to seize opportunities can really make it big."

"Unlike us in the South Harbor District, where we can only fish for a living and still get pushed around by the Amazon women, hahahaha..."

He was attempting to bond, and Hawthorne instinctively wanted to deny this, to say things like, "It's not as good as you say; the money is all with the big players, and the poor still have to work hard."

However, he paused. His thoughts circled back, and he swallowed those words, saying instead, "Not really, the East Harbor District isn’t as good as you say."

Hawthorne’s eyes gleamed as these familiar lines made him realize that Alan was trying to flatter him.

Clearly, this was aimed at his identity as a Spellcaster.

In that case, he might as well use words to make this old fox feel a bit more intimidated.

"Even though it advocates for fair competition and free trade, there are always some people who don't strive, who lazily expect things to come to them, constantly complaining about unfair distribution and demanding higher wages."

As Hawthorne said this, he gave the owner a sincere smile. "In this respect, South Harbor District is better. After all, how much fish one can catch truly depends on one's own skills, and you can't blame the ocean."

"Unlike the dockworkers in East Harbor District, who, despite their lack of effort, constantly claim they are being exploited and oppressed."

Alan was tempted to slam the table and harshly rebuke him as part of the shameless exploiting class. However, years of experience allowed him to suppress this impulse, and he managed a smile, "Ah, yes, exactly."

But this speech confirmed something for him: this seemingly unremarkably dressed but eloquent young man was likely a scion of a wealthy family, rather than a genius from a poor family who had suddenly risen to prominence.

As he said this, the tavern owner posed another question: “How old are you this year?”

“Fifteen.” This time Hawthorne answered truthfully.

“Look at you, so young,” the owner said, spreading his hands. “Those guys earlier were among the toughest warriors in the South Harbor District, and you dealt with them easily.”

“At your age, you should be proud. Doesn't anyone praise you like this?”

“No,” Hawthorne shook his head slightly, his expression very calm. “It’s just a few first-level spells, nothing to be proud of.”

Alan studied his expression closely, surprised to find that he couldn’t detect any sign of vanity or pride on Hawthorne's face.

Hiss, this indicates that the peers he typically encounters might be even more exceptional than he is.

What Alan didn’t know was that Hawthorne's character in the game could cast ninth-level spells at will in the later stages. A few first-level spells were indeed nothing to boast about.

“That just means your teacher has extremely high standards for you!” Alan continued, shaking his head with a sigh. “Who’s your teacher? Strixhaven? Do you study there?”

Hawthorne shook his head again: “No, self-taught at home.”

This was also true, but to Alan, it suggested something else.

Did he have a private tutor?

Hiring a mage as a home tutor—what kind of family background is that?

A nouveau riche? Or from a grand noble family?

It shouldn’t be, since his surname isn’t among the major families... Has there been any nouveau riche named Hawthorne in the East Harbor District in recent years?

He was unsure and wanted to ask a couple more questions.

Just then, the tavern door swung open again, and a tall, well-proportioned, stunningly beautiful young nun appeared at the entrance, looking slightly anxious.

It was none other than Heidi.

When she turned her gaze in this direction and saw Hawthorne, she immediately sighed in relief and then displayed a comforting smile.

Seeing her arrival, Hawthorne quickly stood up and said to the owner, “I’m sorry, sir, we’ll have to continue our conversation another time. I need to go now.”

With that, he gathered his belongings and headed towards the door.

“Alright, we’ll chat next time,” the owner replied politely, watching him leave.

However, when he saw Heidi, this well-known intermediary of the South Harbor District suddenly had his pupils contract.

Isn't that a nun from the convent under the Goddess of Life?!

She... came here to find this Hawthorne?!

This... How could it be them!

To the vast majority of the people in the South Harbor District, the nuns of this convent were truly regarded as beautiful and kind-hearted individuals. Whenever a disaster hit the South Harbor District, they would generously provide free porridge and care for those who were too poor to afford a meal.

The head nun of the convent, Selene, always dressed in her milky-white nun robe, would even offer her divine abilities for free, helping those suffering from serious illnesses who couldn't afford treatment, restoring them to health.

This capacity for compassion genuinely seemed like angels descended incarnate in the eyes of the South Harbor District residents!

Therefore, even though this convent wasn't very prominent in South Harbor District, it maintained an excellent reputation. Ordinary residents might not think of them often, but once mentioned, they would invariably respond with praise.

But Alan was different. As one of the most reliable intermediaries in the South Harbor District, he was privy to much of the darker side: For instance, he knew that some audacious gangs had set their sights on the beautiful nuns from that convent, intending to plot against them!

However, in the end, those reckless individuals vanished without a trace, without exception!

Yes, vanished into thin air—neither alive nor leaving any remains!

As an intermediary, the most crucial aspect of Alan's job was intelligence. Yet, even with his resources, he could not discover where those individuals had disappeared to!

This realization chilled him, but he understood very well that curiosity could be dangerous. So, he didn't dare delve into deeper investigations. Instead, he maintained a fearful respect and continuously warned those new bad-intentioned men, reminding them to stay away from the convent.

Others thought this old fox, known for being ruthless, harbored the last shred of goodwill, unwilling to see the South Harbor District's only remaining glimmer of goodness desecrated.

At such moments, Alan could only muster a wry smile, thinking, "I'm only looking out for your safety; that convent is a force we can't afford to provoke!"