As Dylan pushed open the oak door, a salty, fishy smell mixed with the scent of watered-down ale hit him in the face.
This was a tavern for dockworkers and sailors, dirty and noisy, and Dylan liked this kind of environment.
"Stew and a mug of ale, to my room." He flicked a few copper coins to the owner and then walked straight through the crowd, heading upstairs.
This was Dylan's third day in Clark. Tomorrow, a ship at the dock would depart for the Archipelago and was still willing to take passengers. Dylan had been waiting for its departure for three days.
In recent days, the patrols and inspections by the guards had been strict, perhaps due to the incident with Keroro killing that pampered rich kid.
Nevertheless, Dylan stayed mostly secluded.
He barely interacted with anyone except the tavern owner and the ship's first mate.
Back in his room, Dylan took a bottle of Magic Potion from his luggage and drank half of it in one gulp.
