They were all farmers from the large village of Cordu, dressed in short jackets of black, gray, or brown.

The black-haired young man called Logan Smith propped himself up on the bar with both hands, slowly stood up, and said with a beaming smile, “You know, I didn’t make up this story. My sister wrote it. She loves writing stories and is even a columnist for something called ‘Fiction Weekly.’”

After speaking, he turned his body and spread his hands to the visiting guest, grinning brightly, “Looks like she really writes well.

“Sorry for making you misunderstand.”

The man in the brown coarse wool jacket, with an ordinary appearance, was not angry. He stood up as well and replied with a smile, “It’s a very interesting story.

“How should I address you?”

“Isn’t it common courtesy to introduce yourself before asking others?” Logan Smith said with a smile.

The out-of-town guest nodded:

“My name is Ryan Scott.

“These two are my companions, Walter Reed and Leah Carter.”

The latter sentence referred to the man and woman sitting beside him.

The man was about twenty-seven or twenty-eight, with a bit of powder on his blond hair. His not-so-large eyes were a shade deeper than lake blue. He wore a white vest, a blue fine-wool jacket, and black trousers—clearly dressed with care before going out.

He looked rather indifferent and barely glanced at the surrounding farmers and herdsmen.

The woman appeared younger than the two men, her long light-gray hair styled into an intricate bun, wrapped with a white veil as a hat.

Her eyes matched her hair in color, and she looked at Logan Smith with an unabashedly amused gaze, as if she found what had just happened simply entertaining.

Under the glow of the tavern’s gas wall lamps, the woman named Leah Carter revealed a delicate nose and beautifully curved lips—by Cordu village standards, she was certainly a beauty.

She wore a white, pleatless cashmere dress, paired with an off-white short jacket and a pair of Marcille boots. There were two small silver bells tied to her veil and boots respectively. When she entered the tavern earlier, the bells jingled all the way, drawing plenty of attention and making many men stare.

In their eyes, this was the kind of fashionable attire only seen in big cities like the provincial capital Bigorre or the national capital Trier.

Logan Smith nodded to the three outsiders:

“My name is Logan Thompson, but you can just call me Logan Smith.”

“Li?” Leah Carter blurted out.

“What’s wrong, is there something wrong with my surname?” Logan Smith asked curiously.

Ryan Scott helped Leah Carter explain, “Your surname is a frightening one. I almost couldn’t control my voice just now.”

Seeing the surrounding farmers and herdsmen looking puzzled, he further explained, “Anyone who’s dealt with sailors or sea merchants knows there’s a saying that goes around the Five Seas:

‘Better to encounter those pirate generals or even kings than to run into a man named Frank Thompson.’

“That man’s surname is also Li.”

“Is he that scary?” Logan Smith asked.

Ryan Clark shook his head:

“I don’t know, but since there’s such a legend, it can’t be for nothing.”

He dropped the topic and said to Logan Smith, “Thank you for your story. It’s worth a drink. What would you like?”

“A glass of ‘Green Fairy.’” Logan Smith was not shy at all and sat back down.

Ryan Scott frowned slightly, “The ‘Green Fairy’… absinthe?

“I think I should remind you, absinthe is harmful to the human body. This drink can cause mental derangement and make you hallucinate.”

“I didn’t expect Trier’s trends to have reached here already,” Leah Carter added with a smile from the side.

Logan Smith let out an “oh”:

“So people in Trier also like to drink the ‘Green Fairy’…

“For us, life is already hard enough. There’s no need to care about a little more harm. This drink helps us relax even more.”

“All right.” Ryan Clark sat back down and looked at the bartender. “One ‘Green Fairy,’ and add a ‘Fiery Heart’ for me.”

“Fiery Heart” was a famous fruit spirit.

“Why not get me a ‘Green Fairy’ too? I was the one who told you the truth just now, and I can tell you everything about this kid!” The thin, middle-aged man who first exposed Logan Smith for telling stories every day shouted discontentedly, “Outsider, I can tell you still doubt whether that story is true!”

“Peter Harris, you really will do anything for a free drink!” Logan Smith shouted back.

Before Ryan Clark could decide, Logan Smith added, “Why can’t I tell the story myself? That way I could have another ‘Green Fairy’!”

“Because they don’t know whether to believe what you say.” The middle-aged man called Peter Harris grinned smugly, “Your sister’s favorite story to tell the kids is ‘The Boy Who Cried Wolf.’ A person who always lies is bound to lose credibility.”

“All right.” Logan Smith shrugged, watching as the bartender pushed a glass of pale green liquor in front of him.

Ryan Clark looked at him and asked, “Is that okay?”

“No problem, as long as your wallet can cover the cost of these drinks.” Logan Smith said carelessly.