The Freed S*aves Became Obsessed

Chapter 125

Dwarven Drinking Duel

The rules were simple: a contest to determine who could drink the most—a crude and reckless way to settle matters.

It reminded me of medieval European trial by combat, though this was far less violent. If anything, it had a boisterous, festive edge to it.

Only the dwarves, who adored their alcohol, could have come up with such a contest.

“Hey, did you hear what that twig just said? He wants to challenge us to a drinking match!”

“Hahaha! Has he completely lost his mind?”

The dwarves, known for their pride in their drinking prowess, laughed uproariously, their mockery as hearty as their appetites.

“What’s all the fuss about, Roxar?”

“This twig of a human thinks he can teach us dwarves a thing or two! I’m about to show him the error of his ways!”

“Oh?”

The woman, the tavern manager Baldira, gave me a long, appraising look.

Her bold makeup, bright red lipstick, and the conspicuous mole near her lips, combined with her full figure, matched the description I’d seen in an illustration perfectly.

Baldira was said to be one of the great beauties of Doomheim.

‘Hmm.’

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