As the laughter subsided, a gaunt middle-aged man looked at the slightly embarrassed guest and said, "Stranger, you actually believed Lumian’s story? He tells a different one every day. Yesterday he was a poor wretch whose fiancée broke off their engagement, and today he’s suddenly a morgue attendant!"
"Exactly! Rambling on about thirty years on the east bank of the Serenza River, thirty years on the right... just nonsense!" another tavern regular chimed in.
They were all farmers from Cordu, a large village, dressed in jackets of black, gray, or brown.
Chapter 857