"Uncle Reynolds, what troubles are brewing at the winery?" asked Logan, his brow furrowed in concern as he gazed across the room at his Uncle, Reynolds.
The question wasn't merely one of curiosity. Though Reynolds seemed less haughty these days, his usual poised demeanor had given way to something resembling the uncertainty of youth, a man seeking approval in unfamiliar territory. To Logan, this newfound vulnerability was unexpectedly endearing.
Reynolds' head wagged emphatically. "No...no, not at all!" His denial came out rushed, almost comical.
Begon, overhearing the exchange, struggled to stifle a giggle. His brother had transformed, under the stern guidance of his nephew, into something akin to a chastised child; both amusing and touching.
"Then proceed as usual, Uncle. You mentioned before that the winery has been making strides, haven't you?" Begon interjected, bringing a tone of seriousness to the conversation.
"Indeed, I did," Reynolds responded, regaining some of his composure. He straightened up, nodding firmly. "The winery has successfully produced sugar thrice now, managing 2,000 kilograms with each effort. We've amassed a stockpile of around 5,000 kilograms of maltose."
Logan listened, his expression unreadable as Reynolds continued, "And as for our brewing, we've completed three batches of wine. The latest yielded 11,600 kilograms just the day before yesterday. We now have roughly 20,000 kilograms of rye liquor in storage."
"And the perfumes?" Logan prompted after a brief pause.
"Around 3,000 kilograms spread across four varieties," Reynolds concluded, his voice steadier.
"Finished?" Logan asked with a small, knowing smile.
"Yes!" Reynolds replied, his nerves still on edge.
"It sounds like Uncle is performing admirably. Our tribal winery's capacity to brew 10,000 kilograms of liquor at a time marks significant progress," praised Logan, easing the tension in the air. "Given our partnership with the Elf Chamber of Commerce, it's imperative that you keep pushing to expand and enhance production, Uncle."
"I understand fully!" Reynolds exhaled a deep breath of relief, reassured by his nephew's approval.
"The winery is a cornerstone for our tribe's prosperity," Logan continued, thoughtful. "And soon, with the harvest of sweet potatoes and potatoes, we'll begin producing liquors from them as well."
Reynolds blinked in surprise. "Sweet potatoes and potatoes can make wine too?" Stay tuned for updates on m-v -NovelFire
"He might have been influenced by my father's stern advisories, which perhaps were overly harsh, eroding his confidence," Begon mused, a tinge of regret in his voice.
"Though his old arrogance was grating enough that your father often clashed with him, I think this change is ultimately for the better. He's throwing himself into the winery's work. Even his son mentions that he's become more tempered at home."
"It's peculiar yet positive," Begon concluded with a chuckle. "He's rejuvenated, embracing the zeal of youth once more." His smile broadened, appreciating the transformation in his brother.
As Logan approached the door of the conference hall, his footsteps echoed softly, marking his leisurely pace. He turned to Begon with a playful grin, "Uncle, you're hardly forty. Even Grandpa hesitates to call himself old."
Begon shook his head gently, his eyes reflective. "Age isn't always a measure of feeling old, you know." He watched his nephew, a thoughtful gaze lingering even as Logan reached for the door.
After a moment, Begon's voice broke the silence, tinged with a mix of melancholy and curiosity. "I've heard rumors of your advancement. Have you really reached the sixth level?"
Logan paused, turning to face Begon, his expression one of genuine surprise. "You knew?" He hadn't announced his progress yet, and it startled him that Begon had sensed his growth.
"It's not the sixth level, Uncle. I've reached the seventh," Logan corrected himself after a brief hesitation, deciding there was no reason to withhold the truth from Begon.
"Seventh level?" Begon's voice faltered, disbelief etching his features. As a seasoned level five warrior himself, the idea seemed almost inconceivable. "You're telling me you're now at the seventh level?"
"Yes," Logan affirmed with a nod, his smile broadening.
"How... I mean, I don't understand. How did you advance so quickly?" Begon stammered, his thoughts racing back to just two months prior when his father, Barnett, had mentioned Logan nearing the sixth level.
"It might have been the dragon blood potion," Logan explained casually, his tone light as if discussing something mundane. "After breaking through the sixth level, the potion had an unexpected effect, it catapulted me straight to the seventh."
"Dragon blood potion?" Begon's eyes widened, a mixture of shock and realization dawning upon him. He felt a stir of relief understanding the extraordinary aid his nephew had, but a twinge of envy also touched his heart.
"You've soared to the seventh level," Begon muttered, his voice laced with a bittersweet note. "No wonder you managed to enlist three level six warriors to our tribe."
Logan caught the slight bitterness in Begon's tone and approached him, placing a reassuring hand on his shoulder. "Uncle, it's the potion, yes, but it's also the guidance I've received from warriors like you. We rise together, as a tribe." His voice carried a sincerity meant to bridge the gap between their experiences, recognizing the role Begon and others like him played in his rapid ascent.