Looking at the pub that had completely changed its appearance, and the bright light spilling out from several newly opened windows, Turner raised his hand and knocked on the door. The wooden sign reading Under Renovation still hung there.
"The pub opens officially tomorrow," Morin's voice came from inside.
"Sir, it's me. Turner," he replied respectfully.
Morin's performance over this period had completely won Turner over.
Seeing pirates with a single glance.
Lifting a legendary curse with a snap of his fingers.
And that advice-how to explain to others why you weren't taking orders-which Turner had followed exactly.
The results had matched Morin's words perfectly.
Without realizing it, Turner had already built an almost omnipotent image of Morin in his mind.
"Come in."
Turner pushed the door open and froze.
After returning that day, he had been busy forging his sword and fulfilling previously accepted commissions. Today was the first time he'd had a moment to come over.
The dark, oppressive atmosphere was gone.
The pub was now spacious and bright. It even had a courtyard. Morin had bought and connected the two neighboring houses, forming a large open space.
Ventilation and lighting had improved drastically compared to before.
Behind the counter, Morin stood among bottles of various shapes and sizes. Wine. All of them.
And-
"Sir," Turner asked, pointing at the symbol carved above the fireplace, "what does that mark mean?"
"Oh, that?" Morin replied casually. "Something I saw in Hawaii. Thought it looked interesting, so I used it."
Everyone knew you could learn anything in Hawaii.
If a washing machine could learn to fly a helicopter there, then Morin picking up a few skills was only natural.
As for the symbol itself, it originally came from a Hearthstone tavern design in the Blizzard world. Morin only noticed the resemblance after construction was finished, so he simply added it.
It looked better that way.
I'll dock that designer's pay when I get back.
"So," Morin said, standing behind the counter, casually juggling two wine glasses in a smooth, practiced motion. "Are you done with your work?"
Morin's physical control was already precise enough.
Add the [Kato's Hand] skill from the [Magician] profession, and these coordination-heavy tricks were effortless.
"Yes... ah," Turner replied, staring at Morin's hands. A bad premonition surfaced.
Is this... what I'm supposed to do?
He looked down at his muscular arms and calloused hands.
A tragic future flashed before his eyes.
Broken glasses. Endless apologies.
"Relax," Morin said, glancing at his expression. "You won't be doing this. Just a small trick I picked up in Hawaii."
Turner visibly relaxed.
"What you need to do is very simple," Morin continued.
As he spoke, he poured the mixed liquor into the glasses layer by layer. The colors separated cleanly, reflecting a dreamlike glow under the candlelight.
He placed one glass in front of Turner.
"..." Turner stared at it, hesitated, then asked, "Am I supposed to drink this?"
"No. Well-this glass is for drinking," Morin said, puzzled. "But your job isn't drinking. It's pouring."
"Of course, if you can drink without getting drunk, you can drink as much as you want."
"I'm pretty good at drinking," Turner said confidently.
"Then prove it," Morin replied, gesturing to the glass.
Then, without hesitation, he picked up a bottle of Polish rectified vodka from the counter.
Ninety-six percent alcohol. Distilled more than seventy times.
Morin opened it and chugged half the bottle.
Immediately, his [Pub Owner] profession panel updated.
Below [Entry-Level Beer Constitution], two temporary skills appeared:
[Entry-Level Battle-Hardened Constitution - Temporary]
All intimidation effects increased by 100%.
Against bears: +200%.
Cold resistance +100%.
Courage +100%.
[Entry-Level Hydrogen Bomb Knowledge - Temporary]
A vodka in the left hand, a PPSH in the right, singing Katyusha, Natasha in his arms, then throwing a Tsar Bomba.
Suka blyat! Ura!
Morin: "..."
What kind of bonuses were these?
Battle-hardened made sense.
But why did drinking alcohol give hydrogen bomb knowledge?
Did the developers drink this 96% vodka while designing the Tsar Bomba?
Morin was genuinely shocked.
Still, that didn't stop his brain from instantly memorizing everything.
The Tsar Bomba was a good thing.
Meanwhile, Turner caught a whiff of the vodka and immediately felt dizzy.
Just the smell made his head spin.
His heart filled with dread.
This... this is terrifyingly strong.
And Morin had just drunk half a bottle like it was water.
Morin's face wasn't even red.
Turner stared at him in disbelief.
Maybe it just smells strong?
He picked up the layered drink and swallowed it in one go.
"Pfft-!"
Turner spat it out immediately.
Morin, already prepared, appeared at the other end of the pub in an instant, avoiding the spray.
"Cough-cough-cough-!"
Turner doubled over, face going from pale to bright red. Tears and mucus poured out as he choked.
It took him a long while to straighten up.
"There's water in the courtyard," Morin sighed. "Go wash up. Then clean this place."
"You should respect the unknown," he added. "And be careful when trying new things."
"And it looks like you won't be enjoying the employee drinking privilege for a while. At least until you build some tolerance."
Turner couldn't respond.
He had never tasted anything like that.
A burning sensation ran from his mouth, through his throat and nose, all the way to his stomach.
Every drop was over forty degrees.
He rushed to the courtyard and washed his face repeatedly.
It took a while before he recovered, though the burning lingered.
"Is... all the wine you sell like this?" Turner asked while cleaning.
"No," Morin replied. "There are low-concentration beers too. And other types."
"In short, I can get any kind of wine you want."
High-alcohol drinks existed in this era, but compared to Morin's supply, they were crude in purity and taste.
And Morin could guarantee endless supply.
That alone would shake the entire winemaking industry.
Morin's plan was simple.
Either don't do it at all.
Or do it on a global scale-and be the biggest.
Only that way could he generate enough income.
And income meant experience points.
He had both the confidence and the ability.
"From now on, your job is to manage these wines," Morin said. Then paused. "By the way... can you read?"
"Uh... a little," Turner scratched his head.
"A little won't do," Morin said. "There are over a hundred types of wine here. You'll need to recognize every one of them."
"As an employee, literacy is mandatory."
"I understand," Turner nodded seriously.
He'd already decided to commit.
Besides, learning to read was something he'd always wanted. Life had simply never allowed it.
"That makes things easier," Morin said, satisfied.
"I'll teach you myself. We open tomorrow."
"And now-your salary."
Turner's eyes lit up.
Money was the first step to changing himself.
As a blacksmith, even with skill, he could only survive.
Impressing Weatherby and marrying Elizabeth was impossible that way.
He came here because Morin was wealthy.
Someone who casually threw around piles of gold during renovations wouldn't be stingy.
Morin's next words proved that.
And exceeded it.
"Thirty percent of the pub's total income," Morin said calmly. "Including all future pubs."
Turner froze.
"...Is that too little?" Morin asked casually.
"No-no!" Turner waved frantically. "It's too much!"
He wasn't lying.
He knew wine.
Compared to Morin's, everything he'd drunk before was impure and crude.
There weren't many entertainments in this era.
Drinking was one of them.
And this was a seaside town.
Turner understood enough to know this business would explode.
And Morin was giving him thirty percent?
It was frightening.
"Don't misunderstand," Morin said. "You're not getting this just for pouring wine. You'll help manage multiple pubs, not just this one."
"You didn't think I'd stop here, did you?"
"Even so... it's still too much," Turner hesitated.
"I've only seen two kinds of people lower their own price," Morin said calmly. "Those who think they're incapable, and those afraid of responsibility."
"Why did you come here? To earn a little more than blacksmithing? Or because you don't think you can handle it?"
"I-I can't right now," Turner said quickly. "But I can learn!"
Elizabeth's face flashed through his mind.
He clenched his fists.
"I can learn."
"That's enough," Morin nodded. "At least you're not rotten wood."
Turner wasn't the protagonist.
But he had protagonist luck.
And solid character.
He just needed training.
Motivation mattered.
Besides, all pub income counted as Morin's first. Salaries were secondary.
The experience points were already secured.
That was why he was generous.
As for why only thirty percent-
He planned to hire more people.
"Alright," Morin said. "Since that's settled, here's what you'll do tomorrow."
"I'll make signs for each wine. Names and prices included. You just sell according to them."
"But what if I can't recognize them?" Turner asked.
Morin smiled.
The candlelight flickered.
"The night is still young."
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