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Wine is a good thing, and it is of great help in enhancing feelings and mediating the atmosphere.

The premise is, don't drink too much.

The old dwarf has a very convenient magic prop, a wine pot. This wine pot is a silver flat pot, which looks extremely delicate and gorgeous, with delicate lines on it that are completely opposite to the dwarf's aesthetics. If you study it carefully, you can find that it is not painted with paint, but inlaid with countless tiny gems. Anyone with a little vision can see that it is an exquisite work of art; people with more artistic knowledge can also see that it has a significant elf style; as for those experts who study elf culture, they can judge after careful study that it is not the style of contemporary elves, but the style of the ancient elf kingdom.

In fact, it is not an ordinary wine pot, but an extraordinary treasure.

Its name is "Endless Wine Pot".

The name is enough to explain the problem. Every time it consumes the magic power equivalent to casting a low-level spell, it can produce some wine. If it is fine wine, it can produce about one jin; ordinary sweet wine or strong wine, about three jin; foaming beer or ordinary inferior wine, can reach five jin.

Mages who are familiar with enchantment spells and making magic props may know that there is a magic prop called "Endless Water Flask". This endless wine flask is something similar to it, but the efficiency of producing wine is much slower than that of producing water. After all, the level of detail of the two things is completely incomparable.

The older dwarf is not a very powerful spellcaster, but with his magic power, it is enough to pour enough strong wine from the wine flask, at least... enough for the entire exploration team to drink.

In fact, it is more than enough.

If it weren't for a few people like Hopps who either don't drink alcohol by nature or are smart enough to pretend to be drunk after drinking the first glass, perhaps the joint exploration team would freeze to death on the first night of arrival at the camp because everyone was drunk and sleeping outdoors.

Fortunately, there are still a few sober people.

Hops, whose face was slightly red because he had drunk a little bit of wine, took a few non-drinkers and dragged the drunk guys into the tent one by one, threw them on the bed with thick hay underneath, and covered them with quilts. Although the words of each person alone were not serious, the entire joint exploration team had hundreds of people, and now they were all drunk.

So, when the last drunk cat was dragged into the tent and covered with a quilt, everyone except Hops was exhausted.

"Rest, rest! Everyone should have a good rest!" Hops waved his hand and asked everyone to rest. He came to the huge bonfire in the middle of the camp, staring at the flames that burned inextinguishably with the power of magic, feeling the warmth coming from it, and sighed softly.

"It's so noisy on the first day, I wonder what the future will be like?"

On this cold winter night, he was not the only one who sighed like this.

About two thousand miles to the south, on the "border line" where the merchant faction and the noble faction intersected, there were also people who made similar sighs.

"It's so troublesome on the first day, what will happen in the future!"

The one who sighed was a middle-aged man with half of his hair white. He wore light leather armor that was convenient for movement and carried an equally convenient scimitar. Both the leather armor and the scimitar were dark black, and it was almost impossible to distinguish them in this cloudy night. The only thing that could be vaguely seen was the white hair on his head.

Near him, there were many people who were also wearing black leather armor and holding various blackened weapons. They even covered their heads with black hoods, looking like shadows that could move freely.

Grim, terrifying, and full of the breath of death.

In fact, what they did was indeed something that brought death.

Under their feet, a patrol team of nobles lay on the ground in a mess, and each of them had more than one wound on their body, and even the smallest and shallowest wound was enough to be fatal.

There is no doubt that these patrolmen are all dead. Many of them still have expressions of astonishment and surprise on their faces. It can be seen that they were suddenly attacked and even died before they could react.

"Check again." The middle-aged man sighed and said in an emotionless tone, "Make sure there are no survivors."

So the black-clad men who seemed to be hiding in the shadows waved their weapons again, adding at least two wounds on the bodies of each patrolman that were enough to turn a living person into a dead person.

The middle-aged man looked at all this with satisfaction, then waved his hand and led the group of people into the night, and soon disappeared without a trace.

The next morning, the noble officers who found that the soldiers who patrolled at night had not returned yet took some cavalry to search along the patrol route and soon found the bodies that were frozen stiff and even the blood had coagulated.

He frowned and looked gloomy, looking at the bodies carefully, and then ordered them to be transported back.

He was a knight, born into a baron family. These were the soldiers he brought from the territory, his family's private soldiers, and many of them even grew up with him, and were considered his iron team. He brought these people here to make achievements or make a fortune. But he never expected that so many people would die before they could get any benefits.

At noon that day, after he arranged some things, he led a few personal soldiers and galloped towards the station of his superiors.

When it was getting dark, they arrived at a small town. It was the residence of a viscount. Like the young knight, the viscount had come all the way to the border with his private soldiers to see if he could get any benefits. Because they had the same idea, they had a good relationship.

The knight introduced the attack on his patrolmen. The viscount was surprised and began to worry - if the enemy who could kill six experienced patrolmen came to attack him, his defense might not be enough.

So he became nervous and used magic props to contact his superiors - the earl who controlled this territory.

The earl did not make a fuss about the death of a few patrolmen. In his opinion, the death was really insignificant. He just regarded it as an attack by monsters.

Well, being attacked by monsters is a good explanation.

Although the knight repeatedly emphasized that the wounds on the patrolmen were definitely caused by weapons rather than the minions of monsters, the earl had already made a conclusion.

No matter how those patrolmen died, if he said they were attacked by monsters, then they were attacked by monsters.

The angry knight had no choice but to drink a lot of wine with the equally helpless and frightened viscount, and got drunk.

They were drunk until the afternoon of the next day.

When the joint exploration team of the Merchant Faction and the Northwest Republic finally woke up from their hangover and started working, the knight and the viscount who were awakened from their drunkenness received shocking news.

The Earl was attacked and injured, one of his knights died, and more than 20 soldiers were killed and injured.

Today is my birthday, and I will update one more chapter to celebrate myself (laugh).