Anna's past was extremely unfortunate. In fact, the experiences of her whole family could be considered tragic. Besides Anna, Old Hoyt originally had two sons.

But both of these sons died in battle against the orcs in the Thunder Mountains, leaving no children behind. Anna's husband also died in the orc war, leaving only one son.

This son, who carried the hope of the Hoy family’s continuation, was taken by pneumonia caused by a cold when he was just seven years old. The loss of hope nearly broke Anna's family at the time.

Fortunately, Old Hoyt managed to pull through. He used the compensation from the city lord to open this small tavern, but he appeared even older, and his once-straight back was now bent under the weight of fate.

One big reason Carter was able to come work at the tavern as a helper was because he shared many traits with Anna's deceased son.

First, the two were about the same age, both had black eyes, and both had soft black hair. The first time Anna saw Carter, her heart softened and tears welled up in her eyes. Old Hoyt, who understood his daughter's feelings well, nodded without hesitation.

Of course, the former Carter didn’t know any of this; it was all deduced by James Carter from his memories.

In fact, Anna really did treat Carter very well, with a kind of motherly gentleness.

Just like now, as she was busy in the kitchen and saw James Carter come in with a change of clothes, she immediately nodded in approval: “Child, this is how you should dress in winter. That’s the only way to stay warm. Otherwise, if you catch a cold, it’ll be bad.”

In the past, Anna had also made clothes and shoes for Carter, but unfortunately, the boy’s stubborn pride blinded him to the kindness of others, and he refused Anna’s goodwill.

So young, yet already such a stubborn old man. James Carter sighed inwardly. If he had accepted the clothes earlier, he would have had not just five silver coins in his bag, but twenty.

Breakfast was simple: a sufficiently large piece of rye bread, worth a copper coin. But there was an extra thick layer of butter on top—Anna’s gift.

The nutrition was decent. Picking up the rye bread, James Carter began to wolf it down—he was starving. Anna busied herself nearby, glancing at James Carter from time to time with a gentle smile. That expression, that look in her eyes, was just like a mother watching her own son.

Business at the tavern was always good, so by the time James Carter huffed and puffed a barrel of ale up from the cellar beneath the kitchen to the counter, there were already more than a dozen customers in the tavern. Except for a big man sitting in the corner, the rest were all familiar faces from the neighborhood—most of them drunks.

As soon as these guys saw James Carter, they all greeted him enthusiastically.

“Hey, kid, you’re looking lively today! Carrying such a big barrel of ale and you’re not even out of breath. And look at your new clothes—did you spend your whole dowry on them? Haha.” The speaker was Maglai, a mercenary who was a regular in Wildfire City, living a life on the edge and known for his bold personality and love of violence.

Indeed, the old Carter, though he insisted on training, only had strength but very little stamina. Any slightly strenuous work would leave him gasping for breath. This showed his body’s poor foundation and lack of potential.

Now, James Carter was skilled in various techniques for exerting force, knew how to save energy, and how to nurture his body. So even though he had only been in control of this body for less than twelve hours, subtle changes were already happening, and everything was moving in a better direction.

In response to the mercenary’s teasing, James Carter smiled and opened the ale barrel, pouring a full mug and responding loudly, “Mr. Maglai, a mug of ale?”

Maglai lounged comfortably in his chair and replied indifferently, “Of course, that’s my habit. Once you taste Old Hoyt’s ale, you never forget it.”

But unexpectedly, as soon as he finished speaking, the big man who had been quietly drinking in the corner suddenly slammed the table and shouted, “What kind of dogshit ale is this! Even horse piss doesn’t taste this bad. I don’t want this drink—take it back!”

After speaking, the big man pointed at the mug of ale on the table, which was already two-thirds empty.

These words were a direct slap in the face to Maglai. The hot-tempered mercenary immediately jumped up, said nothing, and swung his chair straight at the big man.

This guy really was prone to violence—no talking, just action.

The chair whistled through the air, looking fierce, but it didn’t cause any real damage. The big man caught it steadily in his hands.

“Boss, I just saved one of your tavern chairs—let’s call it even for the drink!” the big man shouted to the tavern owner, Hoyt.

“Save your mother’s chair! I’ll pay for it myself! You penniless drunk!” Maglai had already rushed over, swinging his fist viciously at the big man.

If he didn’t beat this guy until even his own mother wouldn’t recognize him, he wouldn’t be the ‘Wild Wolf’ Maglai!

But the big man was completely unfazed. He opened his large hand, grabbed the incoming fist like a pair of iron tongs, and with his other hand, counterattacked mercilessly—a quick, powerful hook landing squarely on Maglai’s cheek.