CHAPTER 7 — The Inn of Questionable Mages
"So this is the place…"
Rowan whispered under his breath as he stood at the entrance of the inn.
The warm amber glow from lanterns washed over him. The smell of grilled meat, spilled ale, and something burnt-but-probably-edible floated in the air. The interior was louder than he expected — filled with laughter, arguments, and the occasional thud of someone falling off their chair.
Rowan stepped inside, boots tapping against the wooden floorboards.
His jaw dropped immediately.
'Are all these people… mages?'
His eyes swept across the room.
At one table, a man flirted shamelessly with a waitress, leaning so close their noses nearly touched.
At another, someone was eating like he'd never seen food before — cheeks puffed, crumbs everywhere, like a starving wolf reincarnated as a man.
Further in, an exhausted soul had fallen asleep on his own table, drooling into his stew.
Rowan blinked twice.
'No way all of these are mages. They look more like drunk mercenaries… or starved beggars.'
Relief washed over him.
'Right. It's an inn. They can't all be mages. No way.'
Then another concern hit him like a brick.
'Wait. How do I even identify a mage among this many people??'
Rowan frowned, scanning faces as if magic was supposed to glow purple above someone's head.
His gaze eventually settled on the bar counter.
Bingo.
Someone who works with alcohol all day probably knows everything about everyone.
He approached and sat down.
The bartender — a calm, well-kept man wiping a glass — smiled politely.
"What can I help you with, sir?"
"Actually… can you tell me if there is a mage in this inn?" Rowan asked.
The bartender paused. Looked at Rowan. Then leaned slightly forward.
"A mage? May I ask why you're searching for one?"
"I just want to talk to a mage."
The man hummed as if that was the most normal request of the day. His eyes scanned the hall before he pointed toward a corner.
"Table seventeen. That one's a mage."
Rowan followed the direction — and saw the customer practically gluing himself to a waitress with a grin that could melt metal.
His first thought:
'This one looks more like a pervert than a mage.'
"...Anyone else?"
The bartender shifted his gaze and pointed again.
"Table nine."
Rowan looked.
The man at table nine was shouting at the male waiter. "I'm not interested in MEN! Bring me someone hot to serve me — a woman!"
A Waitress arrived with food,"Here is your order, sir!"
He instantly dropped the argument and smiled, digging into his dish like nothing happened.
Rowan stared blankly.
'No. Absolutely not.'
"Anyone else…?"
The bartender continued listing table numbers. Rowan kept checking.
Every time, Rowan returned with the same deadpan expression:
"Anyone else."
"–Anyone else.!"
"ANYONE ELSE."
"A-N-Y-ONE..! E-L-S-E...!!"
After looking at every table and countless rejection after rejection. Finally, Rowan slumped forward, exhaling heavily.
"Why do they all look like… degenerates? Or something worse. None of them look like a mage."
The Bartender who was still polishing a glass calmly said,"Well, sir, that's just how they look."
Rowan groaned. "Whatever. Anyone else?"
The Bartender replied without even looking,"Only three remain. Twelve, six, and fifteen."
Rowan looked toward each.
Table 12:
A lone man, drinking and slurring, muttering to himself while hugging his bottle.
The other two:
Table 6 seemed to be arm-wrestling three people at once while shouting victory chants.
Table 15… someone was performing handstands on the chair while the table was on fire. And no one seemed bothered.
Rowan stared.
Compared to that… Table 12 actually looks reasonable.
Decision made.
He walked over and sat across the slurring man.
"Hello. Are you a mage?"
The man looked up with bleary eyes and a wide drunken smile.
"Why? Do I not look like one?"
Rowan sat down, slightly nervous yet determined.
"No — I just wanted to confirm."
The man ignored him completely and continued drinking, drowning himself cup after cup while Rowan sat there like a decorative plant.
'Is he even listening to me??'
Then the mage turned bottle upside down — empty.
A spark clicked in Rowan's mind.
He motioned a waiter.
"Bring me this— uhh, this wine… um, what's the name—?"
The Drunk Mage lifted his hand as he interrupted.
"No. Bring me that one."
He pointed at a different bottle with authority.
Rowan simply nodded,"Yes. Bring whatever he said."
The moment the wine was placed, the mage brightened like the sun and poured himself another full glass.
Now he spoke.
"So you wanted to ask something."
Rowan straightened instantly.
"Yes — I want to become a mage."
Serious eyes. Steady voice.
The mage continued pouring casually, not processing a single word.
Five seconds later — realization struck him late.
He burst into laughter.
"Hahaha! You? A mage?"
Rowan nodded firmly. "Yes."
"Then what type of mage do you want to become?"
Rowan froze.
'Type? There are types??'
Before Rowan could drown in confusion, the mage snickered.
"So you don't even know the kinds—"
Rowan quickly interrupted, "No! I—I want to become… a respectable mage."
The mage stared at Rowan's determined expression, then laughed again.
"The most respected mages are Renowned Warrior Mages."
Rowan's eyes lit up.
"Yes! That! I want to become a Renowned Mage."
'There are types among mages? I thought they were all just… mages.'
The drunken mage leaned back.
"Most Renowned Mages come from the Grand Aetherion Academy."
Rowan's mind jolted.
'Grand Academy… I've heard that name.'
He remembered the letter his brother once sent — enrolled in some Grand academy.
'Are they the same place?'
"So, which academy did you graduate from?"The drunken mage asked.
Rowan scratched his neck awkwardly.
"I… have never attended an academy."
"Do you know magic?"
"No."
The answer came like a hammer:
"Then it's impossible."
Rowan leaned forward urgently.
"There has to be a way."
No answer.
Rowan blinked, "Huh! Hello—Mister mage?"
The mage remained like a statue, staring at the table.
Then Rowan noticed it.
The bottle was empty. Again.
'HOW did he finish it so fast!?'
He immediately ordered the same wine.
The bottle touched the table and the mage came alive again, pouring and drinking.
Finally, the mage titled his head — signaling Rowan to continue.
"There has to be a way."
The mage thought — or pretended to.
"Yeah… You need a recommendation letter from a Mage Dojo."
Rowan's heart jumped.
"Then I could enroll in the academy?!"
The mage shook his head.
"No. But you'll be eligible for the entrance exam."
Rowan's excitement dipped— but still burned brightly. Rowan stood as he clenched his fist.
'A chance is enough. I can work with this.'
He turned to thank the man—
But the mage was already asleep, face smashed into the table, and the freshly bought bottle was also empty.
Rowan stared blankly.
"…What just happened."
Chapter Ends.