"Gold... Gold pound?!"
Seeing the elf pull out a gold pound from his pocket, Old John's eyes went wide.
But soon, he felt the tavern's burning gazes upon him, causing his heart to skip a beat.
One gold pound... perhaps to a professional, it's nothing, but for many apprentices or servants who haven't stepped into the Black Iron Rank, and the majority of drunkards and idle people in the tavern, it's a huge fortune.
Old John wasn't like the bartender, backed by the tavern. Speaking of... the Black Walnut Tavern's stability in the civilian district is inextricably linked with the gangs in the slum area. Forget one gold pound, even ten, and no one would dare to target the bartender.
But Old John was different; he was just a destitute freeman with no one to rely on.
If he were to actually take this gold pound, he had no doubt that once the elves left, he would become a target.
