Chapter 59: Departure

After Quevedo finished speaking, he looked toward Erich and Karl.

Though their expressions remained impassive, their words were firm:

"Of course, I don't betray friends."

"My noble upbringing dictates that honor comes before all. Those who betray friends are without honor."

Hearing their assurances (though unsworn), Florent instinctively trusted them. These were people who could be relied upon.

Yet, inwardly, he sighed, 'Even if my friends won't sell me out, secrets never stay buried forever. Staying in Trier and constantly hunting for mystical materials in gatherings and bazaars isn't sustainable... It's time to leave...'

Seeing their promises, Quevedo turned to the contemplative Florent and the habitually silent Erich and Karl:

"Let's move past this. How about I share some amusing tales from the mystical world?"

Florent pushed his thoughts aside and joined in, chiming in with Quevedo's stories while Erich and Karl occasionally interjected.

Nearly an hour later, Cardros stood again and cleared his throat...

The room fell silent as he announced, "Time's up. This gathering is now concluded."

With that, he sat back and watched as servants ushered participants out. Quevedo led Florent and the others out as well.

Once on the tavern's first floor, Quevedo didn't rush to leave. Instead, he guided them to the main bar.

By now, it was around eight o'clock, and the tavern was even livelier than before. Alcohol flew freely amid the rising clamor, and gamblers at the tables recklessly wagered everything they had.

The central bar was packed, but Quevedo pushed through the crowd, bringing the group to Old Man Sage.

Sage was in the middle of a heated discussion with a group of drunkards, but excused himself with a few quick words when he spotted Quevedo. Some patrons laughed uproariously; others downed their drinks.

Approaching Quevedo, Sage grinned, "So? How was the gathering?"

Quevedo smiled back, "As always, your gatherings never disappoint..."

Sage waved a hand dismissively, "Oh, I don't host those. I'm just a humble tavern owner. The organizers are more like... tenants. Whatever trouble they stir up isn't my responsibility."

Quevedo, intrigued, didn't immediately ask about the passes, "So, your tavern's gatherings have caused problems before?"

Sage chuckled, glancing at the rowdy drinkers around him, "Of course. Some criminals love drinking and attending gatherings. The police have raided this place more than once to catch them. But me? I just rent the space. Innocent as a lamb."

Quevedo smirked, 'More like the Church cracking down on unauthorized gatherings...'

But he played along, "Right, Sage, you're completely uninvolved."

Then, cutting to the chase, he asked, "So, about those passes for my friends... Are they ready?"

Clearly waiting for this, Sage pulled three cards from his pocket, "Of course! And let me tell you, my artistic skills keep improving. These passes are practically masterpieces now."

Quevedo barely held back a laugh as he took the cards, "Oh yes, Sage, you're a true artist. These are... 'very' artistic."

He handed them to Florent and the others.

Florent stared at his card in horror... 'This is a masterpiece?'

The portrait was so grotesque, it looked like the artist had a personal vendetta against him. The resemblance was technically there if one squinted past the abysmal quality.

In both his lifetimes, Florent had never seen a depiction of himself so hideous. Rendered speechless, he exhaled slowly.

Glancing at his companions, he noted that while Karl and Erich's expressions hadn't changed, the air around them had grown noticeably colder. Meanwhile, Quevedo (who bore at least half the blame) was laughing shamelessly.

His mirth didn't last...

Karl and Erich's icy gazes locked onto him, and Quevedo shuddered as if struck by an unseen chill, "Huh? Why's it suddenly so cold? Oh right, winter's coming to Trier."

Once the shock wore off, Quevedo turned back to Sage, "Well, we'll take these... artistic passes. Time to go."

Sage beamed, "Safe travels!"

Quevedo waved and led the group out.

Hawthorn Street was now aglow, the light split between traditional candles and newly installed oil lamps.

The lamps, however, were clearly subpar... either cheaply made or counterfeit. A faint kerosene stench hung in the air.

While Florent wasn't repulsed, his past life's experience with smog made him dislike the smell. Quevedo, however, inhaled deeply, relishing it.

He turned to the group, declaring, "Ah, the air of Trier... intoxicating day and night! The daytime breeze is fresh but dull. But this? This pungent night air? It smells like progress. Let us thank Governor Roselle once more!"

With that, he took another hearty whiff of the fumes, leaving Florent horrified.

Erich's eye twitched, "This smell is from defective lamps. Proper Roselle-designed ones don't reek like this..."