Farming in a Parallel World and Becoming a God
Chapter 588 - 464: Reaching the Pinnacle Half a Day after Debut_2

Chapter 588: Chapter 464: Reaching the Pinnacle Half a Day after Debut_2

And so he kept amassing, kept infusing.

This meant that Mr. Gaven didn’t just mix up a batch of Flame Fury and call it a day like Master Krewen, but rather he was able to continuously add ingredients, continuously mix drinks, just like an assembly line.

It all started with just one cup.

Then it became five cups.

Ten cups!

Twenty cups!

Finally, he reached the limit of thirty cups.

In the end, what limited Mr. Gaven’s performance wasn’t his control of emotions, but the size of the cocktail shaker.

The whole thing was a drink-mixing assembly line, and even so, the supply still couldn’t meet the demand.

The news that Master Krewen himself was mixing drinks spread like wildfire throughout Anfield Village.

There was no need for wings.

Anfield Village was small enough that if you stood at the entrance of the Deer Horn Pot Tavern and hollered, half the village could hear you.

By the time they gathered, they realized it wasn’t Master Krewen himself mixing the drinks but a strange young man, which initially caused some disappointment.

But then they heard this young man was Master Krewen’s newly accepted disciple.

The owner of the unique Ghost Vineyard.

A rare bartending prodigy who, after just one viewing, learned Master Krewen’s unique techniques and created a unique Magic Wine.

These Magic Wines included the unique Ghost Grape Wine.

And most importantly, they were free to taste.

Many were sharp-eyed old drinkers who, just by the ingredients used, guessed that in the City of Brilliance, each would cost at least ten Gold Coins.

Who doesn’t love free stuff?

Not to mention something worth at least ten Gold Coins; many people would never have the chance to taste such an expensive cocktail in their lifetime, as its cost was equivalent to half a month’s salary for an adult laborer.

"Line up, everyone line up, no skipping, one by one."

"Those who want to go Berserk after drinking, head to Malande crossroad, those who aren’t satisfied, get back in line. Father Krewen said, as long as Mr. Gaven keeps mixing drinks, our free giveaway won’t stop."

"You little rascal, what are you stirring up? You aren’t even as tall as my thigh, yet you want to drink. Scram! Go play on the side. This adult beverage isn’t for you; go home to your mom and drink milk."

Don’t be fooled by the six waitresses of the Deer Horn Pot Tavern, who previously stood in front of Mr. Gaven, each one with a charming smile, acting demure and gentle.

When things really got busy, especially in the face of chaos, they turned into little wildcats, hand on hip, loudly directing at the tavern’s entrance, their voices sharp and rapid, just like their hand movements.

The doors of the Deer Horn Pot Tavern by Longroad were wide open, turning the bar into a semi-open space, and Mr. Gaven’s juggling-like, flowing bartending process was displayed in front of everyone.

This design was, of course, meant to draw in customers; local residents accounted for only a third of the clientele. The remaining two-thirds mainly came from merchants and travelers passing through Longroad. Some who were in a hurry didn’t have time to linger in the tavern, but they could squeeze a few minutes to quickly grab a drink, and also to refill their flasks for their journey.

Master Krewen didn’t care about the tavern’s profits, but the servers working there certainly did, and so they naturally thought of ways to increase their revenue.

In the countryside, everyone had their tricks, even the small children whose buttocks were still exposed; they weren’t afraid of the waitresses and argued with reason: "You just said if we lined up, we’d get some. Now you’re discriminating against us kids because we’re little. That’s not fair. We lined up, so you must give us some too."

"Did your parents let you drink?"

"Heh, it was my dad who told me to line up, I’m not drinking, I can get it for him to drink."

"Here’s an apple and a cup of drink; choose one, your pick."

"Do I even need to say it? Of course, I’ll choose the apple. I can’t drink the alcohol, but I can eat the apple myself."

The kids certainly had their own calculations; compared to their father’s words of praise, a big, round apple was far more tempting.

The crowd chuckled good-naturedly, not giving the kids a hard time.

As sunset approached, more and more people who were out and about returned, and Malande crossroad became bustling, transforming the place not just into a queue for tasting wine but into a site for a bonfire party.

The excited men began what they were best at—wrestling and fighting contests.

The Flame Fury fully ignited their emotions, making them especially eager for a bout of strength and bravery.

Making herself the center of attention, a woman with dark skin, standing over two meters and forty centimeters tall—even among the Golia she would be considered tall—with long arms and legs, and agility that didn’t quite match her build.

This woman, named Delara, quickly became the reigning champion of the ring; many people were tossed out with just one hand. Especially after downing a cup of Flame Fury, she became overjoyed and called for a two-on-one challenge.

The men who cared about face couldn’t stand being provoked, each eagerly stepping into the ring.

They went in quickly, but flew out even faster.

Thankfully, she was just in high spirits, not Berserk, and did not lose her senses. When throwing people out, she used just the right amount of force.

Everyone appeared to be thrown out quite pitifully, but in fact, they landed on the tough parts of their bodies, not getting hurt in sensitive spots.

The ruckus in Anfield Village continued on into the night until Mr. Gaven’s twenty-kilogram barrel of Ghost Grape Wine, used as a mixing ingredient, was depleted.