“... Marin?” Blorbo couldn’t see Rob’s face from behind, but he could feel the rattle in his normally composed voice.

  Marin let out a deep, rumbling laugh, the kind that sounded like it belonged in a tavern after three rounds of ale. “By the Lord above, it is you,” he said, planting the butt of his halberd against the ground. “Didn’t expect to see you out and about. You never leave town, Rob. What’s the occasion?”

  Rob’s fingers twitched against the reins. “Just running some errands.”

  “An errand that consists of your entire family inside a wagon?” Marin peered in. Then his gaze slid past him, toward the wagon, where Lena and Ducaz were sitting stiffly. His eyes landed on Lena first.

  “Wait a minute,” he mused. “Is that your wife in the carriage?” He waved cheerfully. “Hi, Rob’s wife!”

  Because Lena was Lena, she flashed a bright, sweet smile and gave the most dainty, wifely wave she could muster.

  Anders snorted in Ducaz’s direction. “Look at you, such a perfect Rogue, he doesn’t even realize you exist.”

  The Knight called Marin patted on Rob’s horse’s neck and looked up at Rob. “I couldn’t find you anywhere after you whooped my butt in that Ranked Tournament. The organizers said you didn’t even attempt to clear the Finals so they couldn’t give you an official D-tier. Where did you go? It felt like you just dropped off the realm.”

  Is that the sanctioned ranking tournament that’s mentioned in the book? So Rob is supposed to at least be a D-tier? Why did he become a farmer then?

  “I’ve been busy,” he said flatly.

  “Busy?” Marin raised an eyebrow, still grinning. “With farming? C’mon, Rob, we both know you were meant for more than planting turnips.” He patted the horse’s neck again. “Man, it’s such a damn shame. If you’d just finished the Finals, you’d have your D-tier, maybe even higher. Everyone was talking about you, awakening your Paladin affiliation at such a young age! Then poof, you disappeared, just like that.”

  Lena furrowed her brows. “He never told me any of this.”

  “Why would he tell you everything? A good man keeps his secret,” Ducaz said as he took another bite from his wiener.

  “Life happens,” Rob muttered.

  But Marin was not done. “Well, hey, no hard feelings,” he said, waving it off like Rob’s entire tournament disappearance was a minor inconvenience. “Since you’re in town, why don’t we grab a drink? My treat! Bring the whole crew—your wife, the grumpy old man in the back, whoever else you’ve got stashed in there.”

  “Such a waste of time. Shoo him away!” Anders grumbled under his breath.

  Marin, still in his casual, easygoing tone, mentioned offhandedly, “I’ve gotta escort the Silverleaf family out of town tomorrow. So, tonight’s my only chance to kick back before dealing with that headache.”

  Anders vaulted over Blorbo and landed in the driver’s seat so fast it was a miracle he didn’t break something. The old man clapped a firm hand on Rob’s shoulder, grinning widely at Marin. “Any friend of my son is a friend of mine! What a pleasure! Say, where’s the nearest tavern?”

  What a charlatan, double-faced, good-for-nothing old toad! I would never stoop down that low.

  A quest showed up in Blorbo’s line of view.

  [SIDEQUEST: Have some fun (1)]

  Objective: Let Marin fill up his ale jug five times while placing it on your surface.

  Reward: + 14 EXP, + 3 CP, +2 END

  Prerequisite: Synchronized Sitting & Forked Tongue unlocked (You can accept this quest).

  Failure: You will not have some fun.

  Accept: YES/NO

  He willed Yes.

  The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.

  Any friend of Rob is a friend of mine! What a pleasure! Say, where’s the nearest tavern?

  Blorbo hated this tavern already. The crooked sign hanging above the door, The Drunken Mast, swayed gently in the evening breeze, and its faded letters were barely legible. It smelled of cabbage and unwashed bodies. How anyone could think cabbage was an appropriate food for this establishment was beyond him.

  Then, of course, there were the chickens. The stray chickens. They pecked at the cobblestones, clucking loudly as they strutted around, unfazed by the hustle of the tavern's patrons. They’d occasionally wander inside, causing the door to swing open with a squeak, squawking at anyone who dared to step in their path.

  As the group made their way into the tavern, Blorbo sat alone, grumbling to himself. This was it, he thought, the perfect chance to complete a quest, and I left myself out here in the cold. Stuck as an abandoned piece of furniture again. No ale jug. No fun. No EXP. He could practically hear the experience points slipping away as the tavern door slammed shut behind them.

  Even the cat was carried inside, but not him. Nope. They didn’t have the basic decency and common sense to bring a wooden table alongside them into a tavern.

  Just when he thought it couldn't get worse, the tavern door creaked open again. Out stumbled Ducaz, looking thoroughly unimpressed. His face was a mix of annoyance and disbelief.

  “Ridiculous!” Ducaz grumbled under his breath. “They ran out of tables, and when we asked for one, the owner really said, 'bring your own!' And I have to be the one who carries—” He stopped mid-rant when he saw Blorbo sitting there, stiff as ever.

  Ducaz stared directly at Blorbo for a second then said, “This table is pretty ugly, but it will do.”

  Excuse me? Look at your own face! If your face was any flatter, it’d be mistaken for a freshly paved road.

  Ducaz hauled Blorbo onto his shoulder and carried him in.