Chess Mage of Faerûn

Chapter 599 First meeting
As night fell, the entire Candle Castle was shrouded in a quiet, almost desolate slumber, with only the gentle evening breeze stirring the bright flames atop the tower, carrying the subtle aromas of dinner being prepared.

Having just finished his business, Mr. Zhang's cravings were instantly whetted.

The monk, who had been immersed in the library from morning till night, focused on the great task of transferring knowledge, had no time for lunch. Now, starving, he headed straight for the restaurant.

As the seventh evening bell tolled over Candleburg, the mage was tracing a Möbius strip on an oak table with his finger dipped in the remaining ale.

The memories from Earth have not faded at all, just like the lingering, incredibly authentic taste of dill-roasted quail on the tongue.

"I hope you enjoy this last dinner."

Winslop served dessert, the sweet aroma of hot crème brûlée filling the air and earning a polite smile from Mr. Zhang.

"Uncle Gelian, please help me this once, please!"

The tavern door creaked open, and the cool night breeze carried the sound of a little girl's silver bells, causing the mage to pause for a moment as he held his spoon.

An elderly man dressed in a gray robe and looking like a scholar pushed open the door and entered. The girl was pulling on the sleeve of his other hand, and the wrinkles on his face squeezed out the word "helplessness".

The gaze passed over the old man and the young man, and was blocked by a high wall formed by a physique and muscles, landing on the body's owner.

Aberdel, the son of Baal, was so strong that even the most knowledgeable mages were somewhat surprised.

Standing nearly two meters tall, he had to bend over to avoid hitting his forehead on the door frame, and his thin summer clothes perfectly outlined his marble-sculpted muscles.

Aside from superhuman beings like warrior heroes or giants in the Dota world, this behemoth was the strongest person Zhang Yuan had ever seen.

Oh, wait, there's one more...

Thoughts flowed like a calm lake, reflecting an equally robust and strong figure.

It's so similar—the figure, the temperament, even the indifference in the eyes that seems to be isolated from the world, only lacking that ambition that lurks like molten lava at the bottom of the sea.

The monk leisurely enjoyed his snacks, his eyes glancing outwards as he mentally compared Mr. Aberdare with that Mr. "Cloversha".

“Oh, this is the Mr. Chanem I was talking about.”

Aymon had barely entered when he spotted Mr. Zhang, who was sitting alone at a table, and turned to greet him.

"Hello, Mr. Chanem, this is my friend Aberdare, and this old man..."

"Alright, I have my own mouth."

The old man lightly tapped the girl's head with his finger, then looked at the young man in front of him:

“Heir of Tyrantil, I have heard of your name, Lord Chanem.”

"I hope you had a fruitful trip to Candlecastle."

"Thank you for your greetings, Your Excellency Gregorian,"

Zhang Yuan returned the greeting and said:
May the light of knowledge remain here forever.

After a brief exchange of pleasantries, Aimon, quite unabashedly, pulled the two of them to sit down together, thus completing a mahjong table.

"(⊙o⊙) Wow, you're from the North? But your appearance is exactly like the legendary Karatu people of the Far East, yet your accent sounds like that of a city dweller from Baldur's Gate!"

As Aimon grabbed her knife and fork to work on the steak in front of her, she leaned her little head in to ask a question, the brass star-shaped hair clip in her hair making a clattering sound with each movement.

"Emond".

Gregion tapped the earthenware bowl lightly with a spoon, his beard still smeared with yogurt salad dressing.

The old man broke the rye bread into three pieces, one of which slid towards Zhang Yuan: "One should share bread and salt with visiting guests, not one's own curiosity."

"Then you should treat him to Jianwan rock crab soup, you stingy old man."

The girl muttered something under her breath, which made Ge Lian tug at his beard.

The dinner meeting was brief; after a few polite words, Zhang Yuan excused himself and left.

If neither party wants to talk in depth, it's wise to part ways sooner rather than later.

It wasn't that he and Gelian disliked each other, but compared to Candleburg leader Ulang, this old man's manners and refinement were far superior.

Recalling the dinner on his first night visiting Candlehold, the mage's eyebrows and eyes twitched slightly. One could only say that there are no bad nicknames, only bad names; the old vulture of Candlehold lived up to his name. His arrogance, conceit, and affected manner were like a cloying, intoxicating aromatherapy solution, seeping into his brain through his nostrils.

What's even more intriguing is that Ulang, the apparent supreme leader and guardian of the tomes, is not only not comparable to the chief reader and archmage Testoriel, but is also rumored to be inferior in magical skill to Grian and the sage Eltriwin.

Jealousy breeds bitterness, giving rise to the poisonous flower of arrogance, dripping with bitter sap.

Banishing the unpleasant memories from his mind, Zhang Yuan turned and left his seat. The identity of that son of Baal was far too sensitive. It was already risky to send a little tail to Aimon's side, and it would be unwise to create more complications.

"The noble Mr. Adrian!"

The girl stood with her hands on her hips, her pouting lips almost big enough to hang an oil bottle:
"Since we've run into Mr. Chanem, could you ask him for me?"

Upon hearing the honorific title of his surname from Aimon's mouth, Gelian immediately knew that the other party was throwing a tantrum.

The girl is still naive, really thinking that the other party is just a young man who came to study?

Do you know who Mr. Chanem is?

"I know, a magician who can summon beautiful birds!"

"..."

Having anticipated this, Gelian remained silent for a moment, then dipped his finger into the glass, dabbed some grape juice, and drew an arc on the table.

"Sword Coast".

Aberdare, who had been eating in silence, suddenly spoke up, dipping his nearly radish-thick finger in juice and touching the middle of the curve:
"We are here."

"You brat, I can't drink this grape juice anymore, why don't you use your own ale?"

"I've finished my drink."

Aberdare explained methodically, turning the wooden wine glass beside him sideways to reveal its dry bottom.

Gralian chuckled and shook his head, then drew a tall tower shape below the thick dot:
"This is the Highhold of Tyrantil, not far to the south,"

"Tyrantir?"

"That old man has a strange temper; you'd better not mess with him one day."

"Who would want to provoke a mage for no reason?"

Aberdare shook his head dismissively.

"A stupid person wouldn't do it, and a smart person wouldn't either,"

As Grian spoke, he glanced meaningfully at Aimon:
"What I fear most are clever little devils."

"Hey, hey, hey, how did we get onto that Tyran thing? I didn't..."

"The Mr. Chanem you mentioned is Tyrantir's disciple."

"You just said that, so what?"

"That alone wouldn't be a big deal, but he's still a powerful mage lord in Neverwinter, and he comes here to show off these kinds of tricks, tsk~"

As Gralian snapped his knuckles, the red liquid on the table trickled and intertwined, weaving the outline of the entire Sword Coast from Candlekeep to the Northlands.

"Wow, my lord, does he own a castle as big as Candlekeep?!"

Aimon's focus was clearly not on the same wavelength as the old man's.

"what?"

Just as Gelian was at a loss for words, he noticed the cunning look in the girl's eyes and immediately understood.

They're just passing through anyway, so there's no need to worry, right?
Silly child, I'm afraid Candlecastle isn't as invincible as you think.

Knowing the origins of his adopted son, Ge Lian couldn't help but worry. If it was just a coincidence, that would be fine, but what if the other party found out his identity...

The old man shook his head, banishing the unpleasant thought from his mind.

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