After that, others tried the challenge.
The outcome never changed.
Drinking the wine was one thing. Finishing three liang-about 150 milliliters-of a spirit that was nearly 90% alcohol within five minutes was another.
Then came the next requirement.
Five minutes to digest.
After that, a straight twenty-meter walk.
No one succeeded.
Either they couldn't finish the drink, or they finished it and immediately passed out, or they couldn't walk the line.
The challenge quickly became famous.
People were curious whether the wine was really that terrifying.
Naturally, there were skeptics.
So Morin stepped forward.
The tavern owner personally demonstrated.
He downed four confirmed bottles in one go, his face not even flushing, then walked the twenty-meter line flawlessly.
The doubts disappeared instantly.
No one dared question him again.
Who knew whether Morin, who looked perfectly fine, was actually drunk?
Drunk people were the most dangerous.
And the crowd had already heard enough legends about Morin-"demon," "magician," "the man who could rub stones into existence."
Anyone with sense wouldn't provoke him.
In the end, no one dared attempt the challenge again.
All the so-called heavy drinkers were already half-conscious.
Seeing the timing was right, Morin spoke up.
"Everyone, even if you don't want to try the challenge, you can still come in and buy other wines."
"I brought these back from my travels around the world. Hundreds of kinds."
"If you're interested, feel free to come in and try them."
Some onlookers dispersed.
More went inside.
Hundreds of wines.
They'd never even heard of that before.
From all over the world.
Given Morin's identity as a "traveler from afar," personally acknowledged by Governor Weatherby, people were inclined to believe him.
They lined up and entered one after another.
Turner immediately got busy.
He tirelessly introduced and sold different wines.
And the prices surprised everyone.
They'd assumed wine of this quality, from such distant places, would be outrageously expensive.
Maybe even a gold coin per bottle.
Instead, the price was only twice that of ordinary wine.
Far below expectations.
That expectation, of course, had been planted by Morin.
He'd hypnotized a few people to spread rumors beforehand.
If you expect to pay ten thousand and discover it's only five thousand, you feel like you've made a fortune.
You'll even think the owner is losing money.
You might swear you can see tears behind his forced smile.
Even in later eras familiar with this kind of marketing, it still worked.
In this era, the effect was absurdly strong.
Turner was puzzled.
Morin explained that the cost of the wine was very low.
Turner didn't believe him.
Wine with such purity, smoothness, and aroma couldn't possibly be cheap.
Morin could only sigh inwardly.
Even the truth wasn't believed anymore.
So he gave another explanation.
He'd paid a heavy price to acquire the wine, and everything was fifty percent off for the grand opening.
Strictly speaking, that wasn't a lie.
After all, he'd paid with high-tech products from a mecha world.
And given his relationship with Bruce, it was more of an exchange of favors.
Money was endless for Bruce.
Technology was something Morin could give freely.
So it was as if he hadn't spent anything.
Every coin earned was pure profit.
He didn't sell cheaper because prestige mattered.
The tavern also sold cheaper wines at market prices.
Overall, Morin was confident.
Market share.
Monopoly.
No risk.
A guaranteed win.
"Morin, business genius Yi," he thought calmly.
As expected, the tavern exploded in popularity.
"By the way," Norrington said, standing atop the city wall and watching the waves, "has the new tavern opened yet?"
"Yes. Today, I believe."
"Go buy some wine," Norrington nodded. "Price doesn't matter."
"Mr. Morin did me a great favor. Seven pirates captured. I'll receive a bounty and a medal soon."
"I'll give him the bounty later. For now, since his tavern is open, we should show support."
"Understood," the second-in-command replied. "What kind of wine, sir?"
"I don't drink often, but my tolerance is high," Norrington said confidently.
"Bring me the strongest one."
For some reason, the saying "a man drinks the strongest wine" was widespread.
Probably pride.
The same conversation happened in Governor Weatherby's mansion.
With the tavern packed and only one employee, Turner was overwhelmed.
When Norrington's man asked for the strongest wine, Turner simply warned him.
"This one's very strong. Drink carefully."
Then he sold it.
The second-in-command and a servant from the mansion each took a bottle of Polish Rectified Spirit back.
"Sir, I've brought the strongest wine," the second-in-command said, placing the bottles down.
"Also, Turner's working there now. He's no longer a blacksmith."
"I'm sure Mr. Morin arranged something suitable," Norrington replied.
He wasn't concerned.
He knew Turner liked Elizabeth, but didn't see him as a rival.
His gaze shifted to the bottles.
"Let's have a taste."
"Turner said it's better mixed with juice," the second-in-command added.
"That ruins the flavor," Norrington laughed. "Drinking it straight is exciting."
"I once drank royal tribute wine in London. Even I got tipsy from one glass."
"As expected of you, sir," the second-in-command praised smoothly.
"Alright," Norrington said, taking out two ornate glasses. "Let's try it."
After pouring-
"...I've just remembered something I need you to do," Norrington said, sniffing the wine.
His expression changed, then stabilized.
"I also like beer. Go buy some."
"Of course," the second-in-command replied, immediately understanding.
After he left, Norrington stared at the two full glasses.
His eye twitched.
He cautiously touched the liquid to his tongue.
Instant numbness.
Then burning.
Norrington: "..."
What kind of wine was this?
Governor Weatherby fared worse.
He'd bragged to Elizabeth about his drinking.
After pouring a glass, he ignored the aroma and took a huge gulp.
The result was immediate.
He spat it out, giving Elizabeth an alcohol facial and nearly passing out.
Then he remembered Morin and the tavern when the servant mentioned Turner.
That night, the tavern closed.
"One employee isn't enough," Morin said calmly.
"You can't handle this alone."
"Yes," Turner muttered, slumped like a dead fish. "Have you finally realized that?"
"I wanted you to experience it first," Morin replied seriously. "So you'd know how many people to hire."
"Mmhmm..."
Turner chose to believe him.
The boss was always right.
"As for wages," Morin continued, "they're doing odd jobs. Pay them triple a normal tavern worker."
"You'll find people easily."
"I understand," Turner said, instantly revived.
He'd thought Morin planned to pay everyone like him.
"What are you thinking?" Morin frowned. "I pay you more because you'll handle management and expansion."
"In the future, there'll be three of you."
"Each gets thirty percent. The remaining ten percent is for wages and expenses."
"Understood?"
"Then... what about you?" Turner froze.
That added up to a hundred percent.
"Do I need that little money?" Morin finally unleashed his superpower.
"I'm doing this for fun."
Turner: "???"
If you don't need money, why do this?
Just for fun?
Turner was completely stunned.
Morin's money superpower landed.
Critical hit.
It wasn't just for shock.
It expanded perspective.
Like farmers imagining the emperor plowing fields with golden tools.
Funny.
But enlightening.
Turner wasn't foolish, but he lacked breadth.
Morin planned to train him as one of three future managers.
He needed practice.
He couldn't afford embarrassment later.
And without perspective, Turner could easily be swallowed by future wealth.
Wealth and status corrupted countless people throughout history.
Morin didn't believe Turner, protagonist halo or not, was immune.
Training him now made sense.
"I finally talked my way through that," Morin thought.
"By the way, how much did we earn today?"
"About one thousand gold coins," Turner replied. "I'll calculate the exact amount later."
"No rush," Morin nodded. "Thirty percent is yours. Take it whenever you need."
He glanced at his Tavern Owner profession.
Primary rank.
Ten points gained.
So the conversion rate was clear.
One hundred gold coins equaled one experience point.
"Not bad."
"As for lodging," Morin added, "you can stay here or go home. Your choice."
He turned to leave.
"Sir!" Turner called.
"What is it?"
"This is... too much."
A thousand gold coins.
Three hundred were his.
Years of income earned in one day.
And Morin entrusted everything to him without supervision.
The weight was overwhelming.
"I don't hire people I can't trust," Morin said calmly, waving a hand. "And I don't hesitate."
"If you want to repay that trust, work hard."
"More important tasks are coming."
"Yes, sir!"
Morin entered his room.
In a flash, he vanished.
Batman world.
Nearly a thousand gold coins in sales proved one thing.
The marketing worked.
Sales would slow later.
Inventory wouldn't.
So this trip was for restocking.
And petting a cat.
Petting the cat was absolutely not the main purpose.
Absolutely not.
Find Advance chapters
And for More Fan fiction
👇
👇
[Support link: pat reon.com/RioRaRyu]
------------
More Bonus Chapters!!!!
Every 250 power stones = Bonus Chapter
Give me more Power Stones
------------