The Lord Demon King is Unfathomable!

"What Mr. Horace gave us isn't coins, but this thing!"

"What the hell..."

That blacksmith was completely stunned, almost unable to believe his eyes, his mouth agape for quite a while.

The bartender behind the counter was the same, even stopping the hand that was wiping glasses, using the cloth to clean his own glasses.

This was rare.

These paupers actually used silver pounds to make purchases!

Just days ago, the bartender was adamant about not accepting these paper notes, but now he hesitated about the authenticity of this thing.

He pulled out a small bill-checking lamp from under the counter and pretended to check thoroughly before hurriedly making change.

"No doubt... it's the real thing! Ahem, what would you gentlemen like to drink?" He wasn't quite sure how to verify the authenticity but instinctively accepted this Thunder City's hardest currency.

The textile worker didn't look at the menu, rolled up his sleeves, and sat down with an air of extravagance, shouting.

"Bring out your best beer! We'll find change after we've had our fill!"

The priciest beer at the tavern in the New Industrial Zone was barley-brewed, served in barrels as tall as a person.

Even with Thunder City's soaring prices, 10 Imperial copper coins could buy a mug big enough to dip your face into!

If they used Thunder City's hardest silver pound to pay, these three guys wouldn't just drink to the point of vomiting, they'd even go home with a pocket full of copper coins!

As long as they drank without ordering food.

Seeing this scene, other workers in the tavern threw envious glances, wishing they could be the ones joyously drinking and eating.

The mates who previously stood up for these "poor souls", upon witnessing this moment, were left speechless, only able to lament their own youthful naivety.

In a corner of the bar.

The drunkard who had proudly boasted about waiting for the Andes Bank to go bankrupt, and then making a fortune with "Rare Silver Pounds", was now sighing helplessly, lamenting how luck was indeed unfavorable.

Luckily, it was truly unfavorable.

If he had indeed bet on the right horse, it would mean the Campbell Duchy had ultimately failed, squandering its hard-earned national fortune.

The drunkards sitting here would have to continue producing things they could never consume, things not even meant for them.

"It's really maddening!"

Fuming, he pulled out his "collection" from his pocket and slapped it onto the table, "Bartender, give me the most expensive drink!"

He wasn't really at a loss.

He exchanged borrowed copper coins for this bill, and could easily pay back those 120 copper coins by spending it almost anywhere.

The remaining 30 coins were his own.

One drink...

The bartender resisted the urge to roll his eyes, but still accepted with a smile the second silver pound received today, burying his head to rummage through the drawer for change.

Amidst the clinking of glasses, a brand new topic immediately became popular in the tavern—

What indeed caused Horace, that miser, to suddenly become generous?

A well-informed coachman seemed to actually know something and, with a mysterious air, said to the crowd eagerly listening.

"I heard from a fellow driver that today the mysterious Lizardman ambassador personally went to Horace's factory!"

A lathe worker from the mechanical factory couldn't help but swallow.

"And then?!"

Seeing everyone interested, the coachman enthusiastically recounted.

"Then... that Lizardman cursed, saying you humans are truly evil. Adding iron to silver coins was bad enough, but you even crammed people into textile machines! Our Gutaf United Kingdom does not want bloodstained fabrics; they would dirty our Queen's scales!"

"Saint Sis above..." The lathe worker couldn't help but gasp, recalling the previous accident at Horace Textile Factory.

"That's slander! We're not canning factories; Horace would never do such a thing!" A textile factory worker couldn't help but shout, though his voice was quickly drowned out by a larger uproar.

"So that's it!"

"Clearly Mr. Sak pressured that miser! I don't believe he'd willingly take out silver pounds from his pocket!"

This rumor instantly filled the entire tavern, even brewing a tale of the Dragon God's Angel Envoy leaving in a huff.

After all, those kind-hearted Lizardmen even took care of the insects in the Southwest Swamp, how could they resist standing up for justice upon witnessing Horace's barbaric behavior?

This made perfect sense!

An excited porter raised his freshly filled beer trying to stand on the table, only to accidentally fall off.

But his shout reverberated throughout.

"Praise the Dragon God—"

The sound immediately resonated with countless intoxicated drunkards in the tavern, inciting chaotic and excited cheers.

"Praise Lord Gutaf!"

"To the Dragon God's generosity—cheers!"

Oppressive emotions always need an outlet. Cursing Horace the miser was one; praising Gutaf was naturally another.

The raucous noise nearly lifted the tavern's rooftop, almost scaring the bartender who's searching for change away.

Have these fools gone mad?!

Though the Dragon God was once an ally of Saint Sis, Saint Sis doesn't deny that this joker contributed in dealing with the Netherworld God, but to loudly praise a different deity is ultimately disrespectful.

Yet he was overly cautious.

No pious priest would step into this filthy slum tavern upon nightfall.

It was rumored vampires particularly enjoyed the blood of priests, followed by that of nuns.

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