"The Blood Tavern is not open to everyone. Unless you have an invitation from the Blood Tavern, you are not qualified to enter," the old man with a gray beard said with a faint smile, his voice calm but edged with warning.
Ethan frowned in surprise. This was something he hadn't expected at all.
An exclusive tavern, open only by invitation—this was no ordinary inn. This place was a stronghold, a lair where power determined privilege.
"So, now you're breaking into the Blood Tavern without permission," the old man continued, his smile sharp as a blade.
"According to the rule, those who break in will lose their hands and feet."
Ethan's eyes narrowed. "This blood tavern really has such brutal rules?"
He hadn't anticipated such severe measures. But it was fitting—a den of elites demanded elite standards.
"Then, how do I qualify to stay in this tavern?" Ethan asked deliberately.
