Chapter 8: A Letter from Home

Ironhammer burst into the tavern like a storm. He was an extremely tall and powerfully built man with a great beard. He seemed almost as tall as the tavern’s doorway by himself. Wearing a heavy Bearskin Coat, his bald head steamed with heat. An ugly, thick scar from a heavy knife slash twisted across his face like a many-legged centipede writhing.

Hearing Lin Qi’s shout, Ironhammer, who was brawnier than a giant bear from the Frozen Plains, guffawed loudly and strode toward Lin Qi. He grabbed Lin Qi around the waist, lifted him high, and tossed him upward. Lin Qi let out a strange cry as Ironhammer nearly threw him against the ceiling. Luckily, Lin Qi was quick and nimble. He pushed off the ceiling with his hands. Otherwise, his head would have smashed and bled.

“Young Master, it’s great to see you here!” Ironhammer wiped his nose roughly and roared toward the bar, “Women, get this master a good drink! I warn you, if anyone dares add even a drop of water to my liquor, I will smash every bone in her body!”

The barmaids, both behind and in front of the counter, all turned pale. Working at Cripple’s Tavern, they had seen all sorts of tough guys from the Dock District. But Ironhammer, in both size and ferocity, was undoubtedly more terrifying than any they had met before. They had no doubt that this huge fellow, who looked anything but kind, meant every word. If he said he’d break all their bones, he would do it.

Lin Qi and Ironhammer shared a heavy embrace, and Lin Qi laughed heartily. He turned to Enzo and said, “Enzo, this is Uncle Ironhammer, my first teacher in combat skills. Uncle Ironhammer, this is Enzo, my good brother, my right-hand man, a very skilled swordsman!”

Enzo stared at Ironhammer in shock. He sensed a fiery, intense power radiating from the bear-coated giant. Even though wind and snow blew in through the doorway, Enzo, standing before Ironhammer, felt his whole body grow hot, as if he were standing before a red-hot ingot of iron.

Ironhammer gave Enzo a deep look. Enzo felt a sudden heat in his chest, as if struck by a heavy hammer. He staggered and nearly stepped back, but he tensed his muscles and firmly held his ground. Ironhammer nodded approvingly, slapped his bald head, and laughed, “Young Master, this brother of yours is good! Heh, at his age, to have such strength—not bad!”

Ironhammer turned and kicked the tavern’s heavy wooden door shut with a loud slam. He roared again toward the bar, “Women, are you deaf? Good liquor, give me good liquor! On such a cold day, with a guest arriving—especially me, an old friend of your boss—how can you not serve a drink?”

Ironhammer’s roar was almost like the cry of a magical beast. Bottles and glasses on the shelves rattled loudly. The barmaids trembled in fear, almost collapsing to the floor. The bravest of them shakily grabbed a large mug that could hold a full liter of spirits and hurriedly poured an entire bottle of strong Rum into it.

Grunting with satisfaction, Ironhammer waved a hand from about seven or eight meters away. A chain as thick as his little finger shot out from his sleeve with a sharp whistle, snagged the large mug, and brought it flying to him. He took a deep breath of the liquor’s aroma, raised the mug, and exclaimed, “Young Master, seeing you in good health makes Ironhammer happy!”

With a gulp, Ironhammer downed the full liter of strong liquor. He burped contentedly, plopped down on a wooden chair nearby, and fumbled inside his coat. He pulled out an envelope and handed it to Lin Qi. “Young Master, you haven’t been back for three whole years. The master said that this year, during your holiday break, you must return no matter what.”

After another satisfied belch, Ironhammer took a leather tobacco pouch from his sleeve, grabbed a handful of tobacco, and stuffed it into his mouth, chewing vigorously. Mumbling through the chew, he said, “The master has tasks for you. Oh, Young Master, you’re a university student now. The master is proud. He wants you to come back and show off in front of those local rich folks, to make him look good!”

Swallowing, Ironhammer turned and yelled at the barmaids again, “Where’s Cripple? If he isn’t dead, tell him to get out here and greet an old friend! Ah, I haven’t seen the old scoundrel in three years either—I actually miss him a bit! Haha, hasn’t anyone broken his other leg yet?”

As Ironhammer bellowed, Cripple quietly emerged from a dark corner of the tavern. Cripple looked “surprised” to see Ironhammer, spread his arms, and cried, “Ah, haha, look who’s here? Isn’t this Ironhammer? How does it feel to be wanted by the Borelly Constabulary? Haha, now that you’re in Borelly, besides my place, you wouldn’t dare go anywhere else, would you? When did your ship arrive?”

Ironhammer gave a few odd chuckles, stood up, and hugged Cripple firmly.

Cripple asked sincerely, “How is Blackbeard Old Man’s health?”

Ironhammer patted Cripple’s shoulder proudly and laughed, “The master is as tough as ever! Hmm, just that the recent harvest hasn’t been great, so he’s a bit unhappy!”

Nearby, Lin Qi opened the envelope and read the letter in his father’s handwriting. The familiar script was still rigid and deliberate, every stroke looking as if it were chopped with a heavy axe, full of a wild, fierce energy. Seeing those words, Lin Qi felt as if he saw his father—that wildly untamed, bear-like brute.

Curious, Enzo leaned close to Lin Qi, tilting his head to look at the letter. Enzo knew a little about his leader’s family background. According to Lin Qi, his father was a miller in the Empire’s third-ranking Port city, Dun Er Ke. He specialized in the flour business, controlling almost all flour imports and exports in Dun Er Ke. At least three Provinces in the northern Empire got their flour supplied by his father’s mill.

From what Lin Qi said, he should have come from a well-off, generations-long merchant family. But how could a child from a decent, honest, wealthy family establish an organization like the Iron Fist Brotherhood in just three years?

Glancing sideways at Ironhammer, Enzo grew even more curious: How could a properly operating miller have a top fighter like Ironhammer working for him? A wanted man by the Borelly Constabulary—ordinary small-time crooks didn’t even qualify for that list!

Cripple continued, asking Ironhammer a question based on their earlier talk: “How can that be? In recent years, the Empire has had good weather and abundant harvests. Blackbeard Old Man’s business should be growing bigger and bigger!”

Ironhammer sighed helplessly, looking up at the ceiling. Shaking his head, he said, “Wrong, wrong, Cripple. The better the weather, the worse the master’s business. Too much flour—can’t sell it for a good price! What the master hopes for most is natural disasters every year in the Empire, famine everywhere. Only then can our wheat sell for sky-high prices!”

A thick middle finger pointed straight at the ceiling as Ironhammer roared, “Curse the Gods! If you don’t bring a big drought to the Empire for a few years, us brothers will have nothing to eat! The boss has stored up twenty warehouses of wheat—when will we ever sell it all?”

Cripple sighed deeply in agreement and quickly called for the barmaids to bring more liquor and meat.