I'm a Immortal Tavernkeeper, But My S-Rank Daughter Doesn't Know That!

"Victor? What happened, man? You started looking at me with that scared expression suddenly."

"Huh...?" Victor reacted astonished to hear the voice of a man with a large belly and most of his head without hair.

Seeing his friend’s reaction, Marcos frowned completely.

"I told you I was going to stay here and I asked when you were going to Serenity, mate."

"Huh...?"

Marcos then put a hand on his forehead and began to massage it. "Are you sure you’re okay with Wanda’s disappearance, Victor? I believe you’ll find her all right, I’m praying for that, but this reaction of yours suddenly starting to stare at me makes me a little worried," he said, putting one of his hands on his waist.

"Wait, I already told you not to worry about me and that I wasn’t even sure Wanda was in this town." Victor said, looking at the still fully loaded wagon.

"What? When did you say that? I must not have heard you then, but, you know, if you have any problems, come to me here and I’ll try to help you in any way I can." Marcos said, crouching down to pick up a small crate from his wagon.

Then Victor Shieldman looked around.

"Huh? What? What’s going on?"

He was so perplexed that the most he could do was literally stare in shock.

For some reason, he was in the Town Market Square again, which was still as crowded as ever, a real meeting place in Kozáni, where people gathered to buy, sell, and socialize. It was a large space, surrounded by old stone buildings, with arcades that gave its structure an air of elegance.

Colorful stalls lined up in neat rows, displaying a variety of fresh produce, from fruit and vegetables to textiles and household utensils.

"Come, noble lords and ladies! The rarest spices from the Orient are on sale here, brought by our brave seafaring merchants!"

"Listen up! The region’s finest vintages of wine and beer are available at my stall. Quench your thirst with the nectar of the gods!"

"Don’t miss out, brave warriors! Sharp swords, tough armor, and magical artifacts! Equip yourself for the next battle and emerge victorious!"

The sellers exclaimed with all the strength in their throats without stopping, trying to attract customers.

Victor looked up and saw how the late afternoon sun was shining brightly over the Municipal Market Square, casting its orange rays over the heads of the people walking around.

However, according to Victor Shieldman’s memories, it must have already been night. The abrupt change from day to night was what made everything even stranger.

Victor blinked a few times, trying to clear his foggy mind, and remembered the pain he had felt a few seconds ago. With a certain eagerness, he looked down, groped around, and found his legs in the right place this time, perfectly joined to his body.

"Have I been... cured?" asked Victor with his shirt slightly raised, showing a little of his scarred abdomen.

Victor had no doubts, he had certainly lost the battle against that woman with the black hair and frightening strength, which had resulted in him being cut in half. He was sure that would be the end of him. However, there wasn’t even a scar, no sign of blood, no dust on his clothes.

To check one thing, Victor slipped his right hand into the belt inside his cloak and soon found a small pouch of bronze coins. This same purse was the one Victor had given Marcos to thank him for the journey, and this was all the proof he needed to start thinking that, in every sense, he had returned to the starting point of his investigation into Wanda.

Normally, that would be enough to drive anyone crazy. However, Victor was a logical man, who tried to understand the situations around him in parts and rarely despaired. Realizing that there might be gaps in his memory, Victor struggled to remember what happened after he was on the ground, but nothing came to mind apart from a deep darkness and then Marcos’ voice.

Looking around, everything indicated that he was back on the exact afternoon he arrived in Kozáni. Nothing seemed to have changed, at least not enough to be noticeable.

’I had a vision...? Or worse, was it a premonition?" Victor thought.

These were the only explanations he could think of.

’I’ve heard about psychics and people with supernatural gifts for seeing the future, but I’ve always thought of them more as charlatans."

In the end, Victor was in a personal dilemma about what he believed.

The possibility that everything he had experienced in the last few hours had been a lucid dream was minimal, but it was no less likely than the probability that he had lived in the future and gone back in time.

"Everything seemed so real..." muttered Victor, clutching the left side of his chest. "Especially when Wanda hugged me."

Although he was still very confused and the storm of thoughts was causing him an acute headache, Victor had no way of knowing for sure whether what he had experienced was real or not, so his only alternative was to be rational and stick to his initial plan.

Naturally, he left the Municipal Market Square and went to the suburbs. Just as in his memory, the streets of the suburbs were made of dirt and the alleys were filled with unsavory people.

In these dirty alleys, a discreet tavern with a peculiar charm attracted Victor. Its exterior was like that of an uninviting tavern, and the old wooden doors creaked as he entered, contradictorily revealing a cosy atmosphere, lit by torches on the stone walls. The aroma of food and the silence in contrast to the bustling streets were comforting to Victor, but at the same time it bothered him, because so far everything was exactly as he had seen it in his "vision".

Victor sat down facing the counter, where two other customers were laughing and chatting without yet noticing his arrival.

Soon, a man in a black apron came out of the kitchen and smiled when he saw Victor. After rounding the counter, he asked Victor:

"Hello, how are you? What would you like to drink?" With a shrewd smile, Kyrillos said hello.

However, unlike the first time, Victor didn’t keep his head completely down. He took a good look at his friend’s face and said:

"I’ll just have a coffee."

Kyrillos smiled discreetly and nodded, then began preparing the dark drink, pouring pre-boiled hot water into a teapot with a coffee filter on top.

The other two customers in the place looked at Victor out of the corners of their eyes and became quieter than before. One of them mumbled something while pointing to a crumpled piece of paper, and the other just nodded in response. This was the exact same scene that Victor had seen, without taking away or adding any more elements.

Finally, Kyrillos placed a cup of coffee in front of Victor and said:

"Here’s your coffee, sir."

Kyrillos’ words made Victor’s heart race. It was amazing that even people’s sentences were precisely as he remembered them.

Victor looked at his coffee but didn’t drink a single drop. He would only have to wait a few minutes until the customers decided to leave and he could have his chat with Kyrillos. However, with each passing second, his breathing became wheezy and his heart raced.

The fact that he was still in this place, in this damn little tavern, and that he hadn’t yet run to that shed near the walls was as if he was trying to deny what he had seen, or rather, what he literally felt he had experienced. In his mind, the "vision" would prove to be wrong at some point if he followed it carefully, but, come to think of it, if he continued to persist in this stubborn and skeptical idea and didn’t change anything, the end would most likely be the same. He would find Wanda, go to the shed and there they would both die to a mysterious assassin.

Whether or not things would turn out exactly as Victor had experienced, he had no way of knowing, but he certainly wasn’t willing to take the risk of seeing Wanda die again. So he got up from the counter and left the tavern without saying a word.

Confused, Kyrillos and the others heard the sound of the wind coming in and the bell swinging over the door, and there was not a single trace of Victor’s presence left in the tavern apart from the cup of coffee still hot on the counter.