Just as he took a step, Richard suddenly thought of something, looked at the bartender, raised his hand, and handed a silver coin to him, then took out two new silver coins and pushed them in front of him.
Richard said to the bartender, "Your words have solved all my questions. So as agreed, these three silver coins are yours."
"Thank you, rich man whose name I don’t know." The bartender smiled, skillfully tucked the three silver coins into his pocket, and said with a grin, "If you have similar business next time, I hope you’ll come to me!"
After speaking, the bartender looked around, found that no one was paying attention to him, and the tavern owner was not around. He quickly grabbed a bottle of freshly brewed beer from the shelf behind him and handed it to Richard.
"Here, take this, rich man," the bartender said, "Consider it a return gift for this business. Uh, don’t hurry to refuse. I know that people of your status don’t like drinking this stuff. I actually don’t like it either; it’s sour and bitter, like expired vinegar.
But, just because you don’t like it, and I don’t like it, doesn’t mean others won’t, like the person you’re about to talk to—Mr. Waltz, who is down on his luck, loves it. If you go to talk to him empty-handed, he might acknowledge you, but he won’t be very warm. If you take this bottle of beer, things might go smoother, and he might just completely agree with you."
Hearing the bartender’s words, Richard glanced at him, reassessed his evaluation of him, and without being polite, took the bottle of beer and turned to walk toward Waltz.
Richard approached Waltz in the corner and was immediately met with the stench of cheap alcohol.
Waltz, sharing a name with a certain famous dance on Earth, was sitting alone at the table, looking to be in his forties, and appeared terribly unkempt. His clothes were wrinkled, his hair greasy, his body slumped, eyes bloodshot, silently drinking.
Richard placed the beer bottle on the table in front of him with a light "thud." Waltz noticed, slowly raised his head to glance, then lowered it again and said in a tone warning strangers to keep away: "Stranger, if you want to drink, I suggest you go to another table. I’m a jinxed man; best keep your distance so my bad luck doesn’t rub off on you."
"No need." Richard spoke, looking at him, "I’m here specifically to find you, Mr. Waltz, and the beer is meant for you."
"Oh, meant for me?" Waltz listened and raised his head again, but instead of eagerly reaching for the bottle like a drunkard, he asked warily, "What do you want? I’ve got nothing left; what could possibly make you treat me to a drink?"
Evidently, Waltz, who had gone from an ordinary person to a mine owner, was quite shrewd. Even at a low point in his life, he remained astute and wouldn’t be swayed by a mere bottle of beer. From this perspective, the bartender underestimated Waltz a bit.
In fact, Richard didn’t think a beer bottle would have much effect—it was better than nothing. Looking at Waltz, he said, "Mr. Waltz, what I want is simple: I want you to take me to see your No.13 Mine."
"Visit my mine, why?" Waltz took a heavy swig of cheap beer, drank too quickly, and choked. He coughed loudly several times before recovering and looked at Richard: "My mine has become a Horror Graveyard, filled with nothing but death and corpses. Why would you be interested in that place?"
"I’m curious about what happened there and want to uncover the truth," Richard said.
"Are you serious?" Waltz studied Richard deeply, then shook his head, "I advise you to drop that idea. It’s not like other places, it’s dangerous—more dangerous than you can imagine. I don’t know if the rumors of demons are true, but my dozen employees, including my favorite nephew Hua Nuo, all died there overnight. So, ordinary people would be going to their death; you’d better not go."
"Thank you for your concern, Mr. Waltz, but I believe I have some ability to handle danger," Richard said.
"Oh, really?" Waltz didn’t quite believe him, lecturing Richard, "Confidence is great, like I was before, but in the face of real danger, it crumbles easily, understand, boy!"
After speaking, Waltz didn’t want to say more, grabbed his beer bottle, and tipped it toward his mouth.
Richard watched and pointed a finger at Waltz’s beer bottle.
Waltz maintained his action, pouring the beer into his mouth, but after one, two, three shakes, nothing came out. It seemed as if the mouth of the bottle was blocked.
What a strange occurrence!
Waltz paused, feeling the weight of the bottle. Clearly, there was still a quarter of the beer left. Confused, he raised his head to look inside the bottle and could faintly see the murky liquid swirling inside, but nothing was obstructing the mouth—it just refused to pour out.
What on Earth was happening?
Waltz was puzzled; just then, Richard withdrew his finger from pointing at the bottle.
The liquid inside the bottle suddenly flowed out, splashing all over Waltz’s face.
Richard promptly said, "Apologies, Mr. Waltz, this was just a small demonstration of my ability. I hope it didn’t upset you."
"Hmm?" Waltz wiped his face, looked at Richard, then at the bottle, his eyes darted quickly, guessing a possibility, "You did something?"
"Yes." Richard did not deny it.
"So..." Waltz was initially angry, wanting to stand up to vent, then suddenly realized something and paused, scrutinizing Richard for a long while.
"Hmm—" Waltz showed a look of understanding, reined in his actions, nodded slightly, and said, "So you are the Master Wizard. Ha, I didn’t expect that someone as distinguished as you would appear here and be interested in the mine of a down-and-out figure like me. Truly surprising."
"Mr. Waltz, I am indeed a Wizard," Richard said. "And I am indeed interested in your mine for certain reasons, believing there are things I need in your mine. I sincerely hope you can take me to your mine for a thorough look.
You’re a smart man, so I don’t think you’d ask, ’What are the consequences if I refuse?’ And I can assure you, if things go well, I can help you out of your current predicament."
"Then..." Waltz hesitated slightly, then in the next moment, he grabbed the beer bottle Richard had placed on the table, pulled off the cork, took a big swig, and said to Richard, "Alright, I’ll take you to the mine now."
After speaking, Waltz didn’t dilly-dally, carrying the bottle, and walked out of the bar, with Richard quickly following him.