Chapter 6: The "Wild Heart" Bar

Angel woke up to find the sun setting outside her window, casting a golden glow across the entire bedroom.

After the " Tarot Club" ended earlier, Angel decided to take a nap before dinner. She tidied up Lily Granger's room a bit, and to her surprise, the bed underneath the dust cover was unexpectedly clean. She made it her bedroom and promptly fell asleep.

Looking at the clock, she saw it was past 5 PM.

Resisting the temptation to sleep more, Angel went to the kitchen. Using marinated lamb, washed potatoes, and onions, she prepared her first proper meal in this world.

"Isn't this even simpler than breakfast?" she thought, looking at the lamb and potato stew with sliced white bread. She couldn't help but reminisce about the tangy Fettuccine Alfredo and creamy mushroom soup from the Silver Crown Restaurant, lamenting how easy it is to go from frugal to luxurious, but how difficult it is to do the reverse.

She needed to save money for a fake identity and other potential needs. Without income, she had to be frugal.

With this realization, Angel bit into the white bread and took a spoonful of the hot stew, barely blowing on it before drinking.

The stew was too salty, possibly from over-marination. Despite this, the hungry Angel gulped down the scalding broth and even the under-fermented bread tasted delicious.

Indeed, when hungry, everything tastes good.

After quickly finishing the stew and bread, Angel felt satisfyingly full. If she didn't have to go out tonight, she would have returned to the comfortable bedroom to lie down.

"Ah, even in a different world with a new identity, I'm still destined for a life of toil," Angel sighed to herself as she began preparing for the evening's activities.

She went to Cole Granger's bedroom on the second floor and changed into more practical clothing, though slightly oversized, it was far better than a dress for her purposes.

Returning to the study, she took out the revolver, unloaded it, and disassembled it for pre-use maintenance.

The tools came from Cole Granger's collection, purchased on the shopkeeper's recommendation when he bought the gun. They were comprehensive but never used.

"The rifling is worn as expected," Angel frowned as she examined the gun's condition. The poor barrel material and hard bullets, combined with lack of maintenance, made this inevitable. This damage greatly affected shooting accuracy and couldn't be repaired with the tools at hand. She could only clean the residual gunpowder from the barrel, cylinder, and hammer, lubricate the frame, and polish the wooden grip to restore the weapon to its best possible condition.

The .45 caliber bullets, neatly wrapped in oiled paper and placed in a box, had massive recoil that would drastically reduce rapid-fire accuracy. However, for a handgun essentially used as a "close-quarters weapon," greater stopping power was its unique advantage.

After selecting and inspecting twenty rounds, Angel fully loaded the revolver and put the rest into speed loaders, five rounds each.

Next was the true close-quarters weapon, the dagger that Cole Grant, as an "assassin," preferred to use.

It was a small steel dagger with blood grooves on both sides, a non-reflective coating, and a leather sheath. Angel, originally a Templar, wasn't proficient with daggers. She just swung it a few times to get a feel for its weight and length before sheathing it and strapping it to her left thigh.

Donning a cloak to conceal her face and weapons, Angel counted out fifty pounds from the money drawer in the desk. After a moment's thought, she added another twenty pounds for contingencies.

Fully armed, Angel stood quietly in the living room until the clock struck nine. Then she opened the back door and stepped into the brightly lit streets of Tingen City under the red moon.

...

Angel walked along Daffodil Street to the adjacent Iron Cross Street, avoiding the ubiquitous hired carriages and the cheaper, more crowded rail coaches.

Iron Cross Street, true to its name, consisted of two perpendicular streets forming Upper, Lower, Left, and Right streets. Daffodil Street intersected with Iron Cross Left Street, while Angel's destination - the "Wild Heart" bar - was located on Iron Cross Lower Street.

She slowly walked past the city square at the street intersection, avoiding the circus clowns handing out flyers, and along Iron Cross Left Street, wide enough for six carriages to pass side by side, until she reached Iron Cross Lower Street.

The "upper, lower, left, right" division of Iron Cross Street made sense, as Lower Street was visibly more dilapidated than Left Street. The road was narrower due to street vendors, the paving stones uneven from lack of maintenance, and even the pedestrians' clothing and demeanor differed noticeably from Left Street, let alone Daffodil Street.

The street was lined with three to four-story apartment buildings without individual balconies. Laundry hung haphazardly from windows, sewage flowed in front of doors, and litter was strewn about. As a main street, it was even dirtier than the back alleys of Daffodil Street.

Walking here, Angel felt as if garbage might fall on her head at any moment.

Though less bustling than during the day, Iron Cross Street at night still had many vendors trying to make their last sales and plenty of pedestrians. Angel clutched her pocket, wary of potential pickpockets, as she navigated around the noisy street stalls, breathing in the air mixed with both pleasant and foul odors, carefully stepping through puddles and garbage.

After a challenging journey to the somewhat gaudy howling wolf head sign of "Wild Heart," Angel greedily inhaled the alcohol-laden air, feeling as if she had been reborn.

In Angel's inherited memories, Cole had visited the "Wild Heart" bar a few times, sometimes to meet with task clients, sometimes to gather information. In his mind, this place was an information hub and a drunkard's paradise, but never a dangerous place.

However, in Angel's eyes, "Wild Heart" concealed far more dangers than appeared on the surface.

Just by walking around the bar's exterior wall once, she caught the attention of the guards at the door. The shirtless, muscular doorman kept a close eye on the "suspicious hooded figure," seemingly ready to call for backup at any moment.

The window on the second floor of the apartment across the street was always open, but there was no light inside. Angel could sense a vague gaze sweeping over her from within - likely the bar's lookout.

A carriage was parked next to the bar's back door, with the driver dozing in the driver's seat and the horses already harnessed, ready to depart as soon as the owner boarded.

This could be a dignitary's carriage parked at the back door for privacy, or a means of escape for an important person from the bar. Angel believed it was the latter.

The street in front of the bar had more standing water than elsewhere. Upon closer inspection, several drainage outlets near the bar had lost their function. If this wasn't due to lazy municipal workers causing blockages, this section of the street sewer was likely being used for other purposes.

Returning to the bar entrance, Angel had gained a deeper understanding of this outwardly unremarkable establishment. She hesitated, wondering if it was worth risking for an identity document, but ultimately decided to trust the "Hanged Man" from the Tarot Society.

"If I get duped, I hope Mr. Fool will punish him," she muttered to herself.

After secretly complaining, Angel strode into the bar.

With that thought, Angel stepped into the bar.

It was almost midnight, but the bar still had many customers. Most were local residents having a drink after work, along with unemployed workers numbing themselves with alcohol. In dark corners, furtive conversationalists were hatching new schemes. In the center of the hall, a group of excited patrons alternated between shouting and hanging their heads in regret. Two half-sunken cages in the floor hosted a "dog catch rat" gambling game, with bettors intently watching their chosen dogs, wishing they could transform into dogs themselves and dominate the arena.

The bartender, polishing wooden cups behind the counter, had already noticed Angel as she entered. Her cloaked figure stood out in this environment; even the conspirators in the corners showed their faces and hands as basic etiquette.

After scanning the chaotic, noisy bar, Angel finally turned her gaze to the bartender and approached the counter, skirting around the dog cages.

"What'll you have? Rye beer for 1 penny, South Well beer for 4 pence, newly arrived butterbeer for 7 pence, ice cold!" the bartender offered routinely as she approached.

"The 'Captain' sent me. He said you could help with identity documents," Angel stated directly, without ordering a drink.

The bartender stopped polishing the glass and looked up at the clock hanging high, its outer glass already broken. It showed five minutes to ten o'clock. "It's not time yet. You're early."

"I can wait."

The bartender put down the glass and cloth, saying, "Alright, I'll call you when it's time. Want something to drink?"

"Then I'll have a 'half and half,' extra sugar," Angel finally remembered the password "Hanged Man" had given her.

Recognizing the password, the bartender nodded and turned to mix the drink. Soon, a glass of "half and half" - a mixture of beer and wine - was placed on the counter.

"Wasn't that just a password? You actually serve the drink?" Angel frowned at the bartender.

"Might as well make some money. That'll be 1 soli."

Angel counted out 12 pence, tossed them on the counter, took the glass, and found an empty table to sit at.

She had expected the bartender to call her as soon as it turned ten, but she sat there until quarter past ten without any news.

Seeing the bartender chatting with other customers, she finally couldn't wait any longer and was about to get up to inquire when the bartender pointed in her direction. The "customer" turned around, and Angel realized this was the person she was looking for.

"New here?" The man wore a black coat that concealed his build, with messy, greasy black hair and a face that looked unwashed for half a month. He sat down across from Angel with a huge wooden mug, continuing without waiting for her answer, "I'm Hagrid. Everyone knows I'm always late, usually showing up around 10:30. Only newbies like you come early."

Ignoring his self-introduction with its implicit mockery, Angel directly stated her request: "I need an identity document. I'll provide the information. It needs to have verifiable records."

Hagrid took a big gulp of beer, let out a satisfied "Ah," and then replied, "Forty pounds, come back in a week."

"That's not what the 'Captain' said. Thirty pounds," Angel countered. It wasn't that she minded the extra ten pounds, but from experience, such concessions only encouraged more unreasonable demands.

"Hmph, tell that 'Captain' guy to stop using prices from years ago to trick rookies like you into getting deals from me. Saving my life once doesn't change that," Hagrid said angrily upon hearing Angel's offer. "Every time the Kingdom's party changes, we have to rebribe the people in Backlund. These parasites are asking for more and more. You think we make that much? Besides, Tingen's not peaceful lately. Several university students have gone missing, and I heard some even committed suicide yesterday. The police are checking all outsiders. You don't want to be arrested as an illegal resident, do you?"

"Thirty pounds."

"You won't succeed in business like this... Thirty-five pounds, that's the lowest. I'll have it ready in three days," Hagrid conceded.

"I can give you forty pounds, but I need it tonight," Angel, seeing his concession, timely changed her demand and handed over a diary page filled with writing. "The identity information I need is on this. Fill in the blanks as you see fit, but don't make it too outlandish."

Hagrid was clearly surprised by the "regained" extra five pounds. He instinctively took the paper, thought for a moment, then nodded, "Alright, I'll squeeze you in. Wait here for two hours. Have a drink," he pointed at Angel's untouched glass, "or go watch the dog catch the rat."

Angel shook her head, "I'll just wait here."

Although she didn't mind alcohol, consuming it in a place where she might need to fight at any moment wasn't a good choice.

As for the boring "dog catch rat" gambling, she couldn't muster any interest in it at all.