Robert Miller hurried inside. The guards were already shouting as they began to push the heavy iron gate, preparing to close the town wall’s main entrance. Naturally, they would all take turns to go back and rest.

“The guards are always like this.” Robert Miller grumbled inwardly, neither agreeing nor disagreeing.

Once he reached the town, he sensed something was off. From a distance, he saw a dwarf walking down the street.

Although there were many intelligent races in the world, it was still rare to see one in town. For the newly arrived Robert Miller, it was his first time seeing one, so he observed carefully. The dwarf was clad in scale armor, with a leather belt at his waist, and a heavy battle axe strapped to his back.

As soon as Robert Miller saw the dwarf and his massive axe, his eyes lit up: “There really are dwarves and dwarf warriors in this world!”

Muttering to himself, he nodded repeatedly, though a trace of doubt crept into his mind.

“From what I remember, the town is mostly human, and even adventuring parties are rare. When did so many adventurers start coming here, and even dwarves? Did something happen in that Thorn Forest?” He frowned, unable to make sense of it for the moment.

The moonlight gradually brightened, and Robert Miller headed toward the inn.

This Matthew Miller Inn was located on the west side of the town. Matthew Miller had inherited it from his father, who had inherited it from his own father, making it three generations—nearly fifty years.

The inn’s wooden structure was of excellent quality, likely the result of much effort back in the day, so it was still usable now. However, garlic, cured meat, and sausages hung from the roof and walls, filling the air with a strong, mixed aroma.

Still, everyone here—whether the owner or the guests—seemed used to it. Below, a dim oil lamp, when lit, barely illuminated the entire hall.

“Robert Miller, you’re back?” As soon as he entered, a middle-aged man in a white vest shouted. He was coming in from the back, carrying a barrel of beer, with long hair and a long beard.

“I’m here, boss.” This was Matthew Miller. Robert Miller hurried over to help.

The original Robert Miller couldn’t remember anything before the age of seven. He had wandered for a time, but fortunately, the couple Matthew Miller took him in. The Matthew Miller couple ran an inn; they didn’t have much good food for him, and his clothes were patched and mended, but he never complained. After all, having experienced hunger and the terror of living outdoors, this life was already paradise.

Now, even though he was a druid apprentice, he still helped out the Matthew Miller couple out of gratitude.

“Oh! Robert Miller, allow me to extend my sincerest welcome, honorable Druid!” No doubt, this was the town’s famous drunkard, Ford Miller. He was often dead drunk, and ever since learning that Robert Miller had become a druid apprentice, he would often speak in this mocking tone.

Robert Miller unconsciously shrugged. He didn’t see any point in getting tangled up with this man, and glanced around the inn—in fact, there were few people like Ford Miller in town. After all, food and drink at the inn were expensive, and ordinary folks wouldn’t come here.

But perhaps because of what had just happened, the inn was quite crowded now. Two groups of adventurers had taken tables and were drinking.

Chapter 3: The Inn (Part 1)

Since business was booming, all ten tables in the inn were full. Besides the owner and his wife, a young boy was also helping out.

Even after becoming a druid, Robert Miller continued to help, carrying a tray with eight full mugs. After years of practice, he could weave quickly through the crowd without spilling or dropping anything.

He served the drinks one by one, then could take a short break. Some people, unable to find seats, didn’t mind standing, holding their mugs and chatting as they drank.

“Tomorrow is the Harvest Festival. I heard a new troupe has arrived, and apparently there’s a magician and some beautiful actresses,” someone said.

“A magician?”

“Of course. Did you really think a distinguished wizard would come perform? Our lord the baron would probably have to sell his ancestral armor to afford that!”

“Ha! Don’t make fun of little Caleb Miller. He just still remembers his childhood dream of becoming a great wizard!”

With a roar, the whole inn burst into laughter. Clearly, everyone knew this joke well.

Robert Miller snickered as he looked at the boy whose face was turning red and green, but he didn’t dare laugh out loud—after all, the boy was his friend.

This joke had been told for years and was no longer novel. Soon, everyone’s attention shifted: “But our Robert Miller, though he may never become a great wizard, with Miss Ellen Miller’s help, he just might become a druid.”

Suddenly the focus was on him, and Robert Miller grew a bit shy, quickly saying, “Not yet! Even with Miss Ellen Miller’s teaching, I still haven’t learned much!”

The crowd burst into laughter again.

A moment later, the topic shifted to the new troupe: “I heard there are eight young ladies in it. I wonder what their prices are?”