Chapter 57 - A Real Comradery
Pao leaned forward slightly, her gentle voice cutting through the chorus of chants. "Don't listen to them, Amukelo. If you don't want to drink, just say it." Her green eyes softened as she offered him a reassuring smile. "But, if you ask me, there's nothing bad in it. It's... fun, sometimes."
Amukelo's grip on the mug loosened slightly, her words offering a momentary reprieve from the overwhelming pressure. He opened his mouth to thank her, but then noticed her glance sideways at Bao, silently asking for support.
But Bao was grinning, clearly enjoying the moment as she clapped along with the others. "Drink! Drink! Drink!" she chanted, her sharp voice rising above the noise.
Pao's shoulders sagged, her expression falling flat in mock defeat. She gave Amukelo a small, apologetic look before she, too, joined in—albeit quietly, her voice barely above a whisper. "Drink... drink..."
Amukelo's jaw slackened in disbelief. He blinked at Pao, who gave him a sheepish grin and shrugged as if to say, "I tried." Then, the pressure was back in full force. The chants, the laughs, the excited faces—it all swirled around him like a whirlpool.
He let out a deep breath, closing his eyes for a brief moment, before tightening his grip on the mug. "Alright..." he muttered under his breath, his heart pounding.
With a determined lift, he raised the mug to his lips. The rich, earthy scent of the ale filled his nostrils, and he hesitated for a split second before tilting it back. The bitter liquid hit his tongue, heavier and harsher than he expected. It was nothing like the sweet, fermented drinks his mother would sometimes prepare during festivals—it was strong, sharp, and burned slightly as it slid down his throat. But he didn't stop.
The table erupted into cheers and laughter as Amukelo kept drinking. Bral clapped his hands together with excitement. "Good! All the way, lad! All the way!"
Amukelo forced the last gulp down, the mug finally empty. He lowered it and exhaled, only to immediately cough as the bitterness caught up with him. He coughed hard, his throat burning. "Why... why is this so bad?" he managed between coughs, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.
Idin leaned over and clapped him on the back, nearly knocking the wind out of him again. "You'll get used to the taste," he chuckled. "The first time is always rough."
Bral leaned back in his chair, his arms crossed and a wide grin plastered across his face. "So, how do you feel?" he asked, his voice filled with amusement. "It's your first time, so I wouldn't be surprised if you got drunk just from one mug."
Amukelo blinked, glancing around the table. His head felt... normal. Maybe a little warmer, but nothing else. "I... I feel fine? Normal, I guess? How am I supposed to feel?"
Bral burst out laughing. "Haha! You'll see after a few more. That first one just softens you up. The real fun starts after the third or fourth."
Amukelo's brow furrowed slightly. "Am I supposed to drink more?"
"Of course!" Idin declared as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. "We're celebrating your arrival, after all."
Before Amukelo could respond, Bral raised his hand and waved over a passing waiter. "Hey! Two more for each of us!"
The waiter nodded, already scribbling down the order. "That'll be ten more. Be right back."
Pao giggled softly, watching Amukelo's bewildered expression as he processed what was happening. She leaned over. "Don't worry. You'll be fine. Besides, it gets easier after the first few."
While they waited for the next round, Idin gestured toward Amukelo's plate. "Here's a trick. Pair the ale with this—" he said, lifting a chunk of roasted meat dripping with juices, "—and it'll taste way better. Cuts the bitterness."
Amukelo glanced at the food on his plate, skeptical but curious. He picked up a piece of the meat, warm and tender, and took a bite. The smoky flavor exploded in his mouth, rich and savory. He chewed thoughtfully before reaching for the ale again, taking a cautious sip.
His eyes widened in surprise. "Wow... it actually tastes better!"
Idin grinned. "Told you. That's how you do it."
Amukelo eagerly took another bite, followed by another sip. For the first time, he felt himself genuinely relaxing. He wasn't just awkwardly following along anymore—he was part of the group.
The waiter returned, balancing a tray loaded with mugs of ale. He set them down one by one, the frothy tops sloshing over slightly. Bral immediately grabbed his mug, raising it high.
"Alright! Another one for the team!"
"Cheers!" everyone echoed, slamming their mugs together again.
Amukelo joined in, this time without hesitation. He wasn't sure if it was the food or the growing warmth in his chest, but the ale didn't taste quite as bad now. The roasted meat paired perfectly, and with each sip, the flavors blended better and better.
As the laughter grew louder and the mugs emptied faster, Amukelo couldn't help but smile.
After another few rounds of ale, the lively energy at the table began to mellow. Laughter still echoed through the pub, but the heavy drinking had taken its toll. Pao gently pushed her half-finished mug of ale away, her cheeks flushed with a soft pink. "I'm done drinking," she said, her voice light but resolute.
Bao followed suit, placing her mug in front of her. "Yeah, I'm also done. I don't want to get drunk," she declared, crossing her arms with a slight grin, though her own face had taken on a rosy hue.
Amukelo sat slouched in his seat, his body warm and his head swimming ever so slightly. He blinked a few times, trying to steady his gaze on the wooden table. The voices around him felt softer, distant, like they were muffled through water. "Hey, guys," he mumbled, gripping the edge of the table as if the room might tilt. "I think there's something wrong with this... I feel... weird."
Bral chuckled, swirling his mug in his hand. "You got simply drunk, my friend. Welcome to the club!" He leaned forward, eyes glinting with amusement. "But honestly, you don't look it at all. How do you feel?"
Amukelo scrunched his nose, trying to find the words. "It's like my body's fine, but my mind's on a boat somewhere... rocking back and forth," he said, waving his hand as if to mimic the swaying motion.
Bral burst out laughing. "Haha! That's the best description I've ever heard!" He raised his mug. "You're handling this way better than I expected. I thought you'd be rolling on the floor by now." He grinned wide. "Come on, let's drink some more. I want to see how resistant you really are to alcohol."
Amukelo burped slightly, his hand covering his mouth as he grimaced. "I think... this one will be my last." His voice was light, but there was a tinge of dizziness in his tone.
Bral sighed dramatically, leaning back in his chair. "Well, if you say so. I'm not going to push you. But I think Idin and I will keep going for a bit longer." He waved over to the waiter. "Six more, please!"
Idin lifted his head from his nearly empty mug, raising an eyebrow. "Six? Bral, come on. Three at once? At this pace, I'll be stoned before we even make it back to the inn. I'll wait a bit before diving into the next one." He chuckled but didn't seem entirely opposed to the idea.
Amukelo, now feeling the haze lifting slightly, shifted his attention back to his plate. He picked at the roasted meat, enjoying the warm, savory flavors, and the brief clarity it brought.
Bral glanced over at him, eyes narrowing in curiosity. "So, Amukelo," he began, his tone still casual but with a noticeable shift, "what made you live in the wilderness?" He swirled his ale, watching the foam circle the rim. "I mean, you've had it tough—no doubt about it. Those scars don't just happen from chopping wood or chasing squirrels."
Amukelo tensed. The fork in his hand froze mid-air, a bite of meat hovering in front of his lips before he slowly set it down. He swallowed hard, his mouth suddenly dry. The gentle hum of the pub faded into the background, replaced by the pounding of his heart.
He tried to laugh it off, scratching the back of his head, a sheepish smile crossing his face. "Well... I just wanted to get stronger," he said, forcing the words out. "I wanted to become like Elian the Resolute, you know? From those old tales... haha." His laugh was hollow, echoing in the heavy silence that followed.
Bral didn't laugh back. Instead, he leaned in closer, his eyes studying Amukelo carefully. "Like Elian, huh?" he repeated, but his voice was softer now, almost gentle. "Come on, man. That's not the whole reason. No one would put themselves through that just to get stronger... unless there's something else behind it." His tone wasn't accusatory—it was filled with genuine curiosity.
Pao made a soft "hmm..." sound, her eyes wide with interest. "I've been wondering that too," she admitted, her delicate hands clasped together on the table. "You're so strong, Amukelo, but... why? Why go through all that?"
Amukelo could feel their eyes on him—all of them waiting for an answer. The fog from the ale evaporated, replaced by a sudden clarity that felt almost painful. His lightheadedness vanished, replaced by a sinking feeling in his chest.
He stared at the table, his hands gripping the wooden edge. His heart raced, but his mind was blank. "I..." he started, but the words caught in his throat. The thought of opening up, of sharing the truth, gnawed at him. He wanted to say it—but he didn't know how.
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The weight of the moment pressed on him, heavy and suffocating. The warmth from the ale was gone, replaced by a coldness that crept into his bones. He could hear the distant chatter of other tables, the clinking of mugs, but here—at their table—there was only silence. A heavy, expectant silence.