The last person left wasn't anyone else but the Centurion seated on the left, also the lowest-ranking person present.
His status was not even comparable to these stewards, which is precisely why he was put last.
And at this very moment, it was finally his turn. One could say that after such a long wait, he had been in torment.
Every time someone else drew a jar of wine, his heart couldn't help but skip a beat while he silently thought to himself, "This doesn't bode well."
He was quietly calculating exactly how many jars of wine had been drawn. With each jar that was taken away, he felt his chances becoming more and more slim.
Because so many people had already been in line, he thought that by the time it was his turn, there certainly wouldn't be any wine left.
Or rather, when even half of these people were done drawing, he feared all the wine would have already been sold out.
But that last shred of hope and that craving for fine wine were what kept him standing here.
