Night had already fallen, and inside a lively tavern, a drunken, cheerful voice echoed.
The owner of the voice was a talented warrior, standing at the sixth ring despite being only twenty years old. This was mediocre for the high nobility, but impressive for a commoner.
His pants were sliding down his hips as he staggered on top of a table, shouting with a jug of wine in his hand.
"Of course I'll be the chosen one! Who the hell do you think you are to question me, the great—"
"The great hero of the falling pants?" Another customer interrupted him, eliciting resounding laughter from everyone there.
The drunken young man ignored him, pulled up his pants, and roared, "No, the great Lauliel!"
The moment his roar ended, he collapsed, his head hitting the wooden floor with a thud.
He remained like that for a moment, his butt up and his head on the floor, fighting the vomit rising in his throat.
Qingyi, standing in the distance, just watched everything with an amused look.
