A New Guest
"Huff... Huff..."
Demian, captain of the Brion Holy Kingdom's First Holy Knight Order, had spent the past three months waging war on the front lines at the Pope's command. He had never once refused a mission to purge the vile demon race, yet now he stood wounded and utterly isolated in the heart of the Demon Realm.
It had been a fatal error in judgment. Following a routine report of a small demon patrol, he had charged in as always, only to find a colossal demon dragon and its dragon knights lying in wait. Their overwhelming assault had annihilated his unit and, in the chaos, cost him the holy sword the king himself had bestowed upon him. For a holy knight, there could be no greater shame... or so he thought, until a mysterious wooden building suddenly appeared before his eyes.
"...A tavern?"
The large signboard proclaimed Beer Bar in Another World in the common human tongue, with additional text written beneath it in an unfamiliar language. Having devoted his life to the church, Demian immediately recognized the lower script as part of the demon race's common language.
A moment later, the rich, savory aroma of barley drifted from within, and Demian swallowed despite himself.
Gulp...
The sign clearly advertised a beer bar. How such a place could operate undetected by demon forces on the front lines was a mystery, but Demian had no energy left to ponder it. After days of wandering wounded with his supplies exhausted, this tavern—its sign written in human script, its air thick with the smell of barley, and apparently open for business—pulled him forward like a carnivorous plant luring prey with sweet nectar.
Ting-a-ling, ting-a-ling.
The bell above the door chimed brightly as Demian stepped inside. The air that greeted him was saturated with the sweet scent of beer. Within, patrons of various races sat together in cheerful conversation, each cradling a mug filled with golden liquid.
"Welcome!"
A red-haired woman in the corner greeted him warmly. Demian was stunned that a tavern this deep in hostile territory even employed staff. He turned toward the voice and immediately noticed the single horn protruding from her head.
"A d-demon?"
In alarm, Demian reached for the sword at his hip. His hand closed around empty air. Just as he had remembered, his holy sword was gone. On these front lines, its absence was synonymous with death.
"Whoa, easy there, friend. Calm yourself," an orc who had turned at the outburst said, raising both hands in a peaceful gesture.
"First time here?"
"What?"
"Don't panic. Just look over there."
Demian followed the orc's pointing finger. A large sheet of paper hung on the wall, covered in writing. He narrowed his eyes and read.
This establishment hereby declares itself a complete neutral zone. Any fighting inside the shop or in the immediate vicinity will be met with severe punishment.
Pietro Empire Emperor, Del Pietro III
By the Pope's decree, all combat in and around this establishment is strictly forbidden.
Pope's Proxy, Beltro
This shop is a complete neutral zone. Fighting will not be permitted.
Demon King Nemesis
"What... is this?"
To Demian, none of it made any sense. An unidentified tavern in the middle of the battlefield. Humans and demons drinking together in perfect harmony. A demon working as a waitress. And in the corner, a notice jointly signed by the Empire, the Holy Kingdom, and the Demon King.
For a brief moment he wondered if the notice was a forgery, some elaborate demon trap. But that was impossible. The distinct holy power radiating from the section written by the Pope's proxy could never be replicated.
It was then that a new voice spoke.
"Ah, a new customer?"
A human man appeared from the corner carrying a large oak barrel. From his clothes and the direction he'd come from, Demian guessed he must be the owner.
"Just what is this place...?" Demian asked after a long, wary pause. He had been imagining the demons suddenly dropping their friendly masks and lunging at him.
But no such thing happened. Instead, the owner smiled brightly and answered.
"It's a beer bar."
With those words, he tilted a mug. It was no ordinary wooden tankard but something made of remarkably clear material. He positioned it beneath a faucet-like device and slowly pulled the lever.
Glug... glug... glug...
Was he pouring carefully to avoid excess foam? As Demian wondered, the owner suddenly straightened the mug and yanked the lever hard.
Whoosh!
The carefully measured pour vanished, replaced by a perfect mug with a rich head of foam occupying exactly one quarter of its volume.
Demian generally disliked beers with too much foam. He believed it reduced the actual volume and dulled the flavor. He eyed the mug with suspicion and made no move to take it, but the owner extended it with an innocently cheerful expression.
With little choice, Demian grasped the handle.
It's cold?
This was nothing like the lukewarm beer he was accustomed to. The mug felt refreshingly, almost shockingly cold, as though it had just come from a freezer—or spent days inside a blizzard. The sensation startled him. His starved, parched stomach and throat reacted at once, urging him to drink.
Gulp.
Demian swallowed. Then, as though tasting a rare delicacy, he slowly raised the mug to his lips.
Gulp... Gulp...
The golden liquid slid down his throat. Once again, Demian was stunned.
It's... delicious?
First came the crisp chill, followed by a gentle sweetness of barley. Then a deeper malt flavor that gradually shifted into a pleasant bitterness, ending with a clean, refreshing aftertaste as the final drop gave way to air. It was incomparably better than any of the tepid beers he had known before.
Even the foam he had distrusted behaved differently this time. The perfect amount seemed to fill the empty spaces in his mouth before dramatically amplifying the beer's natural refreshment.
All the flavors and sensations flashed through his mind in an instant. There was only one thing left to do.
He kept drinking until the bottom of the mug was visible.
"Haa..."
Only after draining the beer without pause did Demian finally draw breath again.
"Did you enjoy it?" the owner asked, watching him with a smile.
Demian looked at the man, hesitated, then spoke.
"What exactly... is this place?"
It was unbelievable. In the middle of the front lines, inside this tiny wooden shack, to serve beer of this caliber. And without any food to accompany it—just the beer alone. His starvation over the past several days might have heightened the taste, but that no longer mattered. This beer would have been exceptional even if he had eaten well.
Reading Demian's expression, the owner replied with a playful grin.
"I already told you. It's a beer bar."
Somehow the empty mug had already returned to his hand. He placed it beneath the tap once more.
"Care for another?"
The owner smiled. And Demian, as though succumbing to temptation, nodded.
"Yes..."
As if he had expected nothing less, the owner pulled the lever again.
Glug glug glug glug...
When the golden liquid once more filled his hand, Demian brought it to his lips without hesitation, drinking far more quickly than before.
Gulp-gulp-gulp-gulp...
Watching him, the owner smiled. At some point the red-haired demon waitress had approached and now leaned close to whisper in his ear.
"If he's reacting like that to just a lager, it'll be worth watching when he tries the others."
The owner's eyes widened, then he burst into laughter.
"Haha! Hearing you say that makes me happy! Especially coming from you!"
The waitress looked slightly annoyed and shot back.
"Hey! What's that supposed to mean?"
"Don't you remember what you said when we first met? What was it again? 'Would such a trivial beverage truly taste good to a noble dragon like me?' Wasn't that it?"
"That was ages ago! And I apologized immediately, didn't I?"
She grabbed the owner's collar and shook him back and forth. As the owner laughed and swayed along with her motions, the orcs at the neighboring table exchanged glances.
"The boss really is one of a kind, huh?"
"You can say that again..."
"I don't really care. Owner! Another number-two stout over here!"
"A pilsner for me!"
"I'll have a Belgian ale, please!"
With its new guest, the tavern shook off its brief silence and grew lively once more. Simply enjoying their drinks. Just like heavy drinkers.