Chapter 468: Chapter 492: Cold Drink Shop Chapter 468: Chapter 492: Cold Drink Shop The tavern, simulating the interior of ice and abyss, was indistinguishable from any other tavern in the Abyss, except that the temperature was noticeably colder than outside. Six columns supported the hemispherical roof, above which magic candles burned on candlesticks, casting a blue glow devoid of warmth. In the center of the room was a hexagonal counter, surrounded by hexagonal tables that imitated the structure of snowflakes.

At this moment, it should have been the busiest time for a tavern, but the business here wasn’t doing too well. A Brezu Demon was playing some sort of dice game with four Tiflins, three pairs of Devilspawn and Succubus couples were dating in the corners, and a large Goblin sat silently, seeming to be waiting for someone.

As someone came in, these customers immediately looked up warily, but quickly averted their gazes. Using his sharp Spiritual Sense, Lancelot noticed that most of them were actually paying attention to old Reap; they clearly recognized or at least knew of the Werewolf’s identity. The only ones who took a few more glances at him were the Succubi, probably because of his almost public, ambiguous relationship with the Succubus Lord.

“Welcome to the Wonderful Frozen Death…” a listless voice came from behind the bar in the center of the room, “What would you like to order?”

Lancelot looked in the direction of the voice and saw a purple-skinned male Tiflin with a broken right antler, presumably the Priest Mohoi Olul. He seemed very despondent, like a living dead who had lost hope in life. Although this plane was indeed very despairing, the state of the Tiflin was visibly not normal.

“You wouldn’t think it, but this is actually a cold drink shop.” The Werewolf surreptitiously responded to the coquettish glances of several Succubi as he walked toward the central bar, then said to Lancelot, “Shall we have a drink first before we talk business with the owner?”

“I’m good with that.” Lancelot shrugged, “You seem pretty familiar with this place?”

“One signature ice drink, non-alcoholic.” Old Reap leaned on the bar, took out two Gold Coins from his bosom and placed them on the counter, then turned his head to Lancelot and said, “Take a look at what you want, this round is on me.”

“Thanks.” Lancelot nodded and studied a block of ice embedded in the bar, with the menu carved in Abyssal Text–a spell prevented the ice from melting. For Lancelot, there were very few options, as most of the items on the menu contained ingredients he found hard to stomach.

Razor Vine matcha, Coward Devil eyeballs, humanoid thumb fragments, Werewolf pine nut kernels, fermented Bartez corpse fluid, cilantro juice…
“What’s this ‘Embrace of Frost’?” Lancelot pointed to the topmost option on the menu, “And this ‘Escape from the Abyss’?”

“Embrace of Frost is a slushie made of pure water with a bit of blue thorn juice added. The taste is a bit sour, and it’s definitely worth a try,” The Werewolf introduced enthusiastically, “As for ‘Escape from the Abyss’… well, that stuff is made for the native creatures of the lower planes, it’s mixed with water from the Stygian River, which can give these beings, who are immune to normal alcohol, a taste of a true hangover, along with a brief respite from their miserable fates. But for us mortals, it’s better to skip it.”

“Alright then, I’ll have the Embrace of Frost.” Lancelot nodded to the antler-broken Tiflin behind the bar, who silently swept away the two coins on the counter and turned to prepare the drink.

A moment later, the bartender slapped two large beer mugs in front of them, filled with the prepared slushie. Lancelot’s was a beautiful light blue, and everything seemed normal, except for the one unsettling detail–the spoon for eating the slushie was a tiny white bone claw, looking a bit like a baby’s palm.

“Good heavens, Mohoi, my friend here is not the kind of creature you think he is.” Old Reap slapped his hands on his face, “Can you give him a more normal spoon, please?”

The Tiflin bartender roughly snatched the spoon from Lancelot’s cup, then with the same lack of patience, thrust a black iron spoon into it.

“Much appreciated,” Lancelot shrugged, scooping up a spoonful of the icy slush into his mouth. Surprisingly, it tasted quite good– the cold sensation with a hint of sourness was invigorating.

“Listen, Mohoi… We’re here to see you… It’s official business,” the werewolf scooped up a big spoonful of his orange-red slush, “You wouldn’t mind if we move somewhere more private to talk, would you?”

The Tiflin glared at the werewolf in front of him, who was focused intently on his food without any intention of providing further explanation. Helplessly, he shook his head and tapped twice on a copper bell behind him, producing a low humming sound. Soon, a particularly skinny Quasimodo Demon crawled out of the cupboard.

“It’s not time yet!” The Quasimodo Demon yelled at the ice drink shop owner with a shrill voice, “You already underpay me, and now you want me to work overtime!?”

“Just for a little while,” Tiflin’s voice finally showed some emotional fluctuation, and Lancelot could tell he was suppressing his anger, “You can have this gentleman’s ‘Embrace of Frost’, as he clearly has had his fill.”

Lancelot shrugged and pushed the cup in front of him forward. The Quasimodo Demon still wanted to complain, but after seeing Lancelot’s face clearly, suddenly swallowed back everything he was about to say.

“Oh, you recognize me?” Lancelot asked, somewhat surprised.

“You… you are… Dingke’s… master?” the Quasimodo Demon answered with a trembling voice, “I…I didn’t know…”
“Keep it down.” Lancelot smiled at the little demon, “Your boss’s slush tastes really good, I just had enough is all.”

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He was telling the truth. After reaching the Foundation Establishment Stage, Lancelot had essentially reached the point of subsisting on wind and dew, no longer needing mortal sustenance.

The bartender beside him opened a horizontal plank on the bar, revealing a spiral staircase leading downward behind him. Lancelot and Old Reap followed the Tiflin with broken antlers down the steps, entering a modest living room.

“So, what brings you to me?” Mohoi sat down on a furry sofa, made of what seemed like bear fur, which also looked like it could double as a bed, “Did Tijana send you to kick me out of Twin Bridges Town?”

“Dear Mohoi, how could that be?” Old Reap sat down carelessly on a stool in front of Tiflin, appearing rather like a Warden interrogating a prisoner, “We’re here to ask for your Goddess’s help. No need to pretend, you don’t believe we don’t know that you’re a Priest of Olul, do you?”

“Whatever you want, I can’t help you,” Tiflin said with a hoarse voice, “The Goddess has long since stopped responding to my prayers.”