Chapter 480: Drunken Revelry

Khadgar scooped up his drink with a rough and unrefined motion. 

He didn't bother using a ladle—he simply dunked a massive wooden tankard into the barrel, filling it to the brim with brandy. Without so much as a glance, he eagerly gulped it down.

Alaric couldn't help but shake his head and chuckle bitterly at the sight.

Drinking brandy—such a strong liquor—as if it were common ale or beer? It seemed this dwarf was in for a rough night.

As the clear, amber liquid flowed into his mouth, the first thing Khadgar noticed was the elegant and delicate fruit aroma, accompanied by the rich scent of aged wood. 

The refined taste bore an unmistakable elven influence. 

Even Khadgar, a battle-hardened Wildhammer dwarf, had to admit—this was a masterpiece. It was worlds apart from the crude fermentation of typical dwarven ale.

Then came the real surprise.

A wave of intense alcohol surged through his mouth, so potent that it made every other drink he'd ever had seem as weak as water.

However, the true strength of the brandy only revealed itself after he swallowed. A fiery warmth erupted in his stomach, spreading rapidly to his chest before rushing straight to his head.

This liquor was far stronger than it seemed. The aftershock alone was enough to nearly knock him out.

Khadgar—Khadgar Wildhammer—was getting drunk this easily? Impossible!

He shook his head vigorously, struggling to stay conscious. It was only then that he noticed his fellow dwarves gathered around the table, watching him expectantly—including his own brother, Falstad. They were all waiting for his verdict on the brandy.

He opened his mouth, and what came out was a loud, unrestrained burp.

"—Good stuff! Strong as hell!" Khadgar wasted no time scooping up another tankard. 

He then hopped down from the table, stretched onto his toes to slap Alaric on the shoulder (with some effort), and praised, "Brother Sand, you're something else! 

This brandy is even better than you described. I've never tasted anything like it!"

—So a good drink was all it took to become 'brothers'? Dwarves sure were straightforward.

The moment Khadgar voiced his approval, the rest of the dwarves reacted like runners at the starting line of a race. 

They swarmed the table, brandishing their tankards, eager to claim a share.

Each dwarf who managed to snag a cup took a deep swig and then bellowed their approval in rough voices.

Falstad, leveraging his status as Wildhammer King, tried to command some order, but in the face of fine liquor, all dwarves were equal. No one was about to give up their spot.

Watching this scene unfold, Alleria's gaze toward Alaric grew increasingly peculiar. She hadn't expected that, while she wasn't paying attention, her brother had managed to craft something so extraordinary.

She distinctly remembered that during their days in Silvermoon City, Alaric had bought several barrels of elven fruit wine.

But she had no idea how he had transformed that light and delicate elven wine into this robust and intoxicating brandy that had dwarves singing its praises.

Alaric was already a prodigy among mages, achieving feats surpassing even aged wizards. He also had remarkable talent in politics and military strategy. And now, it seemed he was an expert brewer as well.

How many more secrets did this brother of hers have?

Alleria narrowed her eyes but ultimately refrained from interrogating him on the spot. Instead, she joined the fray, leveraging her agility as an elven ranger to deftly claim a cup of brandy for herself.

The moment she took a sip, she nearly spat it out.

"This… is this even meant for people to drink?!"

As the brandy slid down her throat, an overwhelming wave of alcohol assaulted her senses, stinging her nose and bringing tears to her eyes. 

Her mouth felt parched, as if the brandy had sapped the moisture from her very being.

Brandy… was truly something else.

However, after the initial shock, Alleria proved herself a warrior in spirit. By her second and third sips, she had not only adapted to the taste but also developed a fondness for it. 

Before long, she was drinking just as enthusiastically as the dwarves, continuously raising her cup to toast Alaric.

Alaric couldn't help but feel that this woman was deliberately trying to get him drunk.

But brandy was far more potent than common ale. Without magical assistance, it was only a matter of time before Alleria succumbed.

Sure enough, as the massive oak barrel was gradually emptied, the entire dwarven company descended into drunken disarray. 

Many wielded their tankards like hammers, staggering around the hall in a drunken stupor. 

Others collapsed under the table, snoring loudly as they were dragged away by attendants and guards.

After all, this was their first time drinking such strong liquor—twice or even three times as potent as their usual ale. The result? The feast ended much sooner than anticipated.

In the end, the only person still standing in the great hall was Alaric. Everyone else—Falstad, Khadgar, and every other Wildhammer dwarf—lay sprawled on the floor in a drunken haze.

For this, Alaric earned the awed and respectful gazes of the dwarven guards and attendants.

After all, he was the man who had outdrunk the Wildhammer King and his warriors.

Seeing the chaotic aftermath, Alaric let out a satisfied chuckle. If this were modern times, he'd be tempted to whip out his phone and take pictures of the dwarves in their drunken stupor—just to tease them later.

For now, though, his priority was to support Alleria and get her back to her room.

Under the watchful, knowing gazes of the attendants, Alaric walked into the guest quarters, supporting a voluptuous and stunning high elf.

Since their arrival at Aerie Peak, the dwarves had noticed the subtle yet intimate rapport between them. 

Their camaraderie, mixed with faint traces of flirtation, had not gone unnoticed. This was one of the reasons the dwarves were so quick to accept Alaric.

After all, while Alaric was an "insidious and cunning" human, by association, he was practically half an elf.

But in truth, Alaric had his own struggles.

Anyone who had ever taken care of a drunk person knew how much of a hassle it was.

A drunken person had no control over their body, making them absurdly heavy to support—not that weight was an issue for someone like Alaric. 

But then there was the overpowering stench of alcohol, the constant unconscious fidgeting, and, worst of all, the ever-present threat of them vomiting all over you.

Who in their right mind would try to take advantage in such a situation? One wrong move, and you'd end up covered in puke.

Fortunately, Alleria wasn't too troublesome when drunk. As soon as Alaric laid her down on the bed, she lay there peacefully, looking for all the world like a sleeping beauty.

…Or so he thought.

But just as Alaric tucked her in and turned to quietly leave, something unexpected happened.

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