Anbaixiu did not care much about mortal morality. Peeping meant nothing to him, so he had no inherent moral objection to it, but he could not allow his products to gain such a vile reputation.
If word got around that his drones had started out as tools for peeping into women's bathhouses, how would he ever sell them?
Many people mistakenly believed that things catering to humanity's darker impulses sold best. In truth, the market for aphrodisiacs could never match that of cold medicine, just as tavern bards who only sang bawdy ditties could never out-earn those who performed grand epics.
"Peeping into bathhouses is not something I can do. I am afraid we cannot complete this transaction."
Anbaixiu refused decisively. He could not afford to lose sight of the bigger picture for the sake of small change.
Yet while Anbaixiu turned them down, the orc ranger grew displeased, refusing to let go of the remote control.
"We agreed on a free thirty-minute trial! How can you go back on your word now? Dare to swindle me, and do you know what will happen to you?"
The orc's biceps bulged on their own, twitching with such force that his sleeves looked ready to burst at the seams—a feat of physical intimidation only an orc could pull off.
Such petty threats, however, were entirely useless against Anbaixiu.
Anbaixiu raised his voice, shouting loudly, "What?! Just because I won't help you peep into the upstairs bathhouse, you want to beat me up?!"
His voice rang out so loud that every patron in the tavern heard it. Every head turned toward Anbaixiu's table.
The orc ranger was completely dumbfounded. He had never expected Anbaixiu to bellow like that.
Peeping was the kind of thing one could whisper about in private, but airing it in public instantly made one a target for everyone's wrath.
Sure enough, the barkeep began lining up empty bottles on the counter, and the patrons stared at the table with glittering eyes. It had been quite some time since they had found an excuse for a good brawl.
The orc ranger opened his mouth to defend himself, but Anbaixiu gave him no chance. Standing up with an expression of tragic outrage, he cried, "I heard you were being persecuted by your adventuring party, so out of the goodness of my heart, I recommended some alchemical gear to you! And in return, you tried to force me to peep at women bathing?! When I refused, you threatened to beat me?! Do you have any decency left?! I never should have been kind enough to help you!"
"No, that's not—"
"Not what?! You took my merchandise and refused to give it back! Isn't the proof right there in your hands?!"
"I... this... I'll give it back to you!"
The orc ranger hurriedly tossed the remote control back to Anbaixiu.
Catching it, Anbaixiu sneered. "Afraid now, are you? What is everyone waiting for?! A chance to legally thrash someone doesn't come along every day—and he's an orc, built to take a beating!"
The patrons in the tavern rose to their feet one after another, encircling Anbaixiu's table, eager anticipation written across every face.
Anbaixiu was entirely right. These adventurers risked their lives day in and day out; they had been pent up for far too long. The broke ones had to pinch every copper just to buy an ale, leaving them with practically no outlet to blow off steam.
Now, a justifiable and righteous excuse to beat someone up was a rare treat.
Seeing his clumsy-tongued companion on the verge of a beating, the tiefling rogue chimed in, "Wait! This alchemist is lying through his teeth! He's tricking you—he's the one who wanted to peep at people bathing!"
Anbaixiu chuckled and produced a memory crystal.
The tiefling rogue's eyes bugged out. This guy actually recorded it?!
Anbaixiu shot him a look of utter disdain. "I believe in fair business. To avoid disputes, I always record my negotiations. Who would have thought I'd run into two such vile customers?"
With words pushed to this point, the first bottle came whistling through the air, hurtling straight at the orc's head.
As a ranger, the orc's reflexes were lightning-fast. He reached out and caught the bottle, but it did him no good, as dozens more followed right behind it.
Anbaixiu had already slipped quietly to the side. Listening to the cacophony of shattering glass and flying fists, he sighed in appreciation. "The folk customs of Sweetdew City are as simple and honest as ever."
By the time the tiefling and the orc were lying battered and bruised on the floor, the barkeep finally strolled over to them and dropped a long bill beside them. The broken bottles, smashed tables, and shattered chairs were all pinned to their tab—such was the simple moral code of adventurers.
Anbaixiu had long since returned to the bar, sipping the ale he had left unfinished for ages.
The barkeep walked back, wiping a mug with a rag. "Guest, every time you come, you bring plenty of excitement to our tavern."
Anbaixiu gave the barkeep a curious glance. This was a tall male tiefling. In Anbaixiu's memory, he had never seen this man before. Hadn't the one serving him last time been an orc barkeep?
"You recognize me?" Anbaixiu asked.
The tiefling barkeep explained, "We keep records on notable guests. Even though you alter your appearance each time, we have our own methods of identification. Last time, you showed up with the Elven Queen. That was an esteemed guest our humble establishment might not see once in a century."
"Impressive."
Anbaixiu's praise was sincere.
Catherine's disguise last time may not have been entirely flawless, but it was certainly not something an ordinary person could see through.
The tiefling barkeep said, "Next time, please don't play this game again. We can't always recover our losses in full." While taverns across the land held an elevated status among adventurers, collecting compensation still came down to an owner's own capability. Sometimes adventurers did not have two gold coins to rub together, and selling them into slavery wouldn't even cover the damages.
And if they ran into swift runners, they couldn't even find anyone to pursue.
The two unfortunates today belonged to an established adventuring party, which made claiming compensation relatively straightforward.
Since his identity had been seen through, Anbaixiu saw no need to hide. "What should I call you?"
"Akilov," the tiefling replied.
"Oh? Judging by your accent, you hail from the Kingdom of the Unholy Hymn?" Anbaixiu asked.
"You are quite well-traveled, guest. Mine is merely a rustic accent from the kingdom's countryside."
"I once adventured there myself."
Anbaixiu cast his mind back. Throughout his centuries-long life as an adventurer, the country where he had lingered the longest was probably the tieflings' Kingdom of the Unholy Hymn.
There, he had slain a chosen of Lolth the Spider Queen, swindled an Elven King, and encountered countless people—friends and foes alike. It was also in that land where he had discovered a stone tablet, unlocking the powers of a divination wizard from the knowledge recorded upon it.
His life had begun to change from that very moment.
Recalling those bygone days stirred a wealth of sentiment within Anbaixiu.
Akilov smiled and poured Anbaixiu a cup of wine, then poured another for himself. "This one is on the house. To the Unholy Hymn of the past."
The two clinked cups and drained them in one gulp.
Anbaixiu could not taste the wine, but he could hear the unspoken sorrow beneath the barkeep's words.
"Has the tiefling kingdom changed now?" Anbaixiu asked.
Akilov said, "Of course it has. Why else would I have left my homeland? Ever since Ryan began its wars of aggression, the Unholy Hymn was forced to rely on the power of Hell to hold them off. We tieflings spent so much effort throwing off the shackles of our bloodline, only to be forced to become half-breed mongrels all over again."
Anbaixiu understood his lament all too well.
The tiefling race was inherently unique. Their ancestors had forged a pact with a great lord of Hell, tainting their blood with devilish corruption.
Consequently, most tieflings possessed fiery red skin, horns upon their brows, scales across their bodies, and tails trailing behind them. Those whose bloodlines suffered severe atavism could even sprout demonic wings, making them resemble cambions.
Generally speaking, tieflings were not evil by nature, but because of the prejudice their appearance invited, the majority often ended up embracing chaos. When people judged them through colored lenses no matter what, they might as well turn to the dark side.
During the era of the Demonic Dragon Tyrant, tieflings had actually faced far less discrimination.
The reason was simple: beneath the dragons, all were mere ants. Whether one was a devil half-breed or anything else, all were slaves, and everyone was equal.
Later, the Demonic Dragon Tyrant was slain by Arthur Ryan. That holy king helped the tieflings establish the Kingdom of the Unholy Hymn. While the name carried a touch of self-mockery, the tieflings back then were determined to seize the opportunity to sever all ties with Hell.
Having finally earned the right to live with dignity, to stand on equal footing with other races, and to have a home of their own in a remade world, who would willingly fling filth into their own house?
Thus, for a long time, tieflings cast aside the moniker of half-breed mongrels.
Yet Ryan had changed, and the tieflings were forced to change with it.
The royal house of the Unholy Hymn fractured into two factions: one held firmly to their past decision, keeping their distance from Hell, while the other actively reached out to Hell in order to withstand Ryan's relentless military might.
What should have been a fight to the death between the two sides was miraculously stabilized by a certain sage.
Anbaixiu had heard that over a century ago, this sage persuaded the conservative royal faction to yield their authority. The Unholy Hymn was now completely governed by the hell faction, yet under the sage's guidance, their use of infernal power remained remarkably restrained. As a result, the kingdom had neither devolved into a colony of Hell nor provoked the intervention of the gods.
That was no simple feat. For many deities, should Hell launch a full-scale invasion of the mortal realm, they would strike without hesitation, fully within the bounds of the rules laid down by Ao.
Therefore, maintaining the delicate balance of borrowing Hell's power without bringing divine lightning crashing down upon their heads proved just how brilliant that sage's methods truly were.
Bolstered by this infernal might, the Unholy Hymn denied Ryan any advantage against them. Were it not for this, the kingdom likely would have lost vast swathes of territory, just like the dwarves and the orcs.
Now, over a dozen Gates of Hell were anchored along the border. The tieflings proclaimed that so long as Ryan did not invade, they would not detonate these hell portals; if Ryan dared cross the line, the blame would rest squarely on Ryan's shoulders, as the tieflings were merely acting out of sheer desperation.
Ryan could only proclaim day after day that the tieflings had fallen, becoming pawns of Hell destined for a reckoning sooner or later. In the meantime, they vented their fury on the dwarves and the orcs instead.
Akilov looked fairly young. The change he spoke of was unlikely to be as simple as the hell faction taking power; drinking poison to quench thirst by turning to Hell against Ryan had already happened many decades ago.
Could it be that something new had gone wrong in the tiefling kingdom?
Chapter 279