"Cyril, where is my cart?"

The bartender's hard gaze fell on Cyril as he descended the stairs. Cyril clenched and unclenched his bare toes, feeling the wooden step. Assessing the roughness of the lower step and the callosity of his feet, Cyril descended to the floor of the tavern scoured by elemental.

I think I'm getting used to it. Cyril thought of his bare feet, and looked up at Dyck.

"Sorry, boss, the cart broke down on the road." He shrugged.

Cyril's innocent gesture made Dyck grunt in surprise, but his beard seemed to move in a displeased clenching of his jaw.

"Hey, I saved your donkey, cool, right?" Cyril raised his hands in a gesture of reconciliation.

Admittedly, he felt a little remorse, because he hated it when someone broke his things. However, the image acquired in this world did not allow Cyril to remain a good boy for long. He pulled on a mask of cynicism and dumped a portion of disregard for any losses on Dyck.

"Hey, boss, the cart was shitty, so don't whine, okay? We'll buy a new one as soon as we get rich." He said, sauntering over to the bar. "But wait, we're already pretty rich, aren't we?"

Dyck couldn't help but agree. The blue gem alone, not to mention his own water source, solved half of his financial problems in an instant. It was anticipation of getting out of debt, when Dyck had recently gotten drunk and even allowed himself to close the tavern, which he had never allowed himself to do.

"I loved that cart." Dyck said, shaking his beard. "I got it from my father."

Like the tavern. And if he could close the tavern for a night, he could survive the loss of the old cart. Moreover, the donkey had returned home, and the pack animal was far more important.

"You also got a lot of problems from your father." Cyril added, smiling contentedly. "You don't have to carry any more water anyway, so relax. Did you want to discuss the menu?"

Cyril was right, and Dyck did not argue further.

"Yes." He said, wiping his hands on his apron. "Do you have any ideas?"

Cyril thought for a moment.

"Well, you're a fucking good cook." He said. "I would eat and eat your vegetables and meat. Only I'm afraid when the tavern becomes famous, you'll need extra hands."

Dyck looked at Cyril in disbelief.

"Hands? D'you wanna sew on me another hands?" He tilted his head, and it seemed to Cyril that his beard really came to life. "Look, partner, I know you're doing business with that bookworm, and I know what he's really doing, but I don't wanna be a part of it."

Cyril stared at Dyck for a moment. He didn't understand what the man meant until he replayed his last sentence in his head.

"Are you fucking kidding me?" Cyril asked, confused. How can you take the phrase 'extra hands' literally!?

"I'm serious." The living beard said, and Cyril sighed dejectedly.

"Okay, I get it." He said, removing the confident smile from his face. This world surprised Cyril more and more every day. "I didn't mean extra hands literally. You'll need an assistant. Otherwise, you just won't have time to cook for everyone and pour drinks."

The beard moved, the heavy brows arched, and Dyck finally understood what his partner was offering.

"Do you have the right person?" He asked.

"How!?" Cyril exclaimed, beginning to get annoyed. "I don't know anyone here!"

"Freya could help." Dyck suggested, but Cyril shook his head.

"She works in the hall." He said, and began to think again.

Yes, Cyril himself offered Dyck help and even promised to take over the management of the tavern without the owner's intervention, but there were a few problems. First, Cyril provided the tavern with its own water source, and second, he enriched this brother and sister with a blue gem. Cyril wasn't worried about how Dyck realized what the alchemist was doing. After all, they were discussing the resurrection potion in front of him. What Cyril cared about was Dyck's willingness to take responsibility for the tavern's fate.

At the thought of Freya, Cyril forced a smug smile again. He actually managed to make her flutter and smile, although he had to fuck her when he lost control of his body again and nearly strangled the waitress.

Well, everyone has their own fetish. He thought, and immediately felt the tightness between his legs. It's a fucking good thing I'm wearing pants.

"Is there a Bulletin Board in town or a place where you can say you need an assistant?" He asked, pushing away thoughts of the woman and depraved sex.

"There's a town meeting in the square on Thursdays." Dyck said.

"Perfectly. You'll come out and say you need an assistant. And I need a second bartender to teach him how to make cocktails."

"Cock-what?"

Dyck raised an eyebrow.

"Fashionable swill, we will get the capital's nobles hooked on it. Gold will flow like a river."

The brow returned to its place, but Dyck began to rub his hands in a strange way. He wanted to discuss the menu, choose what to cook, and maybe buy food, but the conversation was getting out of hand. Although, Dyck stopped managing his house as soon as he agreed to hire a rogue-like tramp who had nothing to pay for beer.

"By the way, about the river." Dyck hinted.

"Yes, we pump our own water now. We need to organize a place where people will wash their hands." His partner caught his thought.

"If the clan finds out we have a source…"

"I'll handle it."

Cyril was sure Gurgle would be able to protect the source in case of a problem.

"I'll go out with you to the square and advertise the place." Cyril added.

The eyebrow went up again.

"I'll make the citizens wanna see your tavern." Cyril explained.

I don't know how yet. He added to himself. And if I'm not dead by then. By the way, I'll ask Kalim if there are any homeless young people here.