Who Designed This Underworld Dungeon?
Chapter 293 - 226 Clues of Brother Shrimp and the Blacksmith

Chapter 293: Chapter 226 Clues of Brother Shrimp and the Blacksmith

"Wow, who are you?!"

Merca, startled, took a step back and finally got a clear look at who had made the noise.

It was a person, presumably a human? Wearing an iron helmet that covered the entire face, making it impossible to discern any facial features.

But there was no fur or barbed scales on the body, and the smell and voice were normal, so it should be human.

Wait, if there’s someone here, why didn’t I notice?

Merca instantly became wary, her eyes sizing up the stranger. She finally understood why she hadn’t detected this person.

Because the other person had no emotional fluctuations just now; usually, when you see a stranger, you get some kind of feeling, like malice, fear, disgust, etc.

But this person, this person wearing an iron helmet, had all his attention solely on the pot in front of him, as if the whole world only consisted of the pot and the bright red shrimps boiling inside. It seemed that as long as he didn’t pay attention to the outside world, the outside didn’t exist at all!

Such a state of absolute focus is something very few can achieve!

Merca fabricated a whole bunch of assumptions in her head, but luckily, she felt that this person in front of her seemed not very powerful, which prevented her from further Demiurge-like paranoia.

"Who are you... ahem, may I ask who you are?" With the intention of friendly communication, she composed her words carefully in her mind.

After all, this shrimp-cooking Rascal didn’t seem like a normal adventurer. Who in their right mind would choose to cook shrimps here?

"Mind your own business, if you’re not buying shrimps then scram, I have no interest in chatting with strangers."

He spoke irritably right away, gesturing to shoo Merca away.

Hey, this guy is even more temperamental than the menopausal Vienma. Merca raised her eyebrows, then said with a smile, "Can’t we talk if I’m not buying? The fog is everywhere in Lienia, I’m so scared, and it’s so hard to find someone to chat with."

"If you’re not buying, then scram. I might just slaughter you," the Rascal’s voice was still brusque.

No matter what Merca said afterward, he responded with the same sentence, turning the Elf’s complexion as red as the Big Lobsters in the pot.

[Why are you getting angry with a residual shadow?] Lizna’s magical telepathic message sounded in her mind.

Merca stiffened for a moment, then pretended nonchalantly to dust off the non-existent dirt on her clothes and said:

[Of course I know it’s a residual shadow. If I talk more, maybe he’d say something else. It’s called gathering information. Can’t you even see that?]

[Hehe]

[Buy a shrimp and try it] Vienma’s voice also comes through.

Buy shrimps again... Merca pursed her lips; the barbecued Big Lobster she had eaten earlier was not tasty. Although the flesh was firm, it had a strong earthy smell, and it was hard not to think of the ferocious appearance of the Big Lobster while eating.

But the appearance of the shrimps being boiled in the Rascal’s pot seemed quite good, with sizes only half the length of a person and even smaller ones the size of a palm, which seemed much gentler compared to Big Lobsters, making it easier to eat.

Capturing small lobsters should be easier than Big Lobsters, right? Not really.

Merca distinctly remembered that small lobsters only moved in groups following the Big Lobsters, so to capture them, one would inevitably clash with their elders.

With this in mind, to catch and sell lobsters in the dangerous Lake Lienia, this guy with the iron helmet was really ruthless!

"I want to buy a shrimp." To be honest, she felt the term "shrimp" was a bit strange, why not just call it lobster, but since the Rascal called it "shrimp," she did the same to align with him.

"Oh, changed your mind, huh? Then I’ll get you a shrimp, but you’ve got to give me something equivalent in return."

At first, Merca thought she had to exchange it for some specific item, but it turned out what he wanted was just souls.

A palm-sized shrimp for 200 souls, and the half-human sized ones for upwards of a thousand; these prices weren’t cheap at all.

But considering how difficult it is to obtain "shrimps" as an ingredient in Lake Lienia, the price seemed somewhat normal.

"Here’s your shrimp."

After Merca paid with souls, the Rascal unceremoniously fished out a palm-sized lobster directly from the boiling pot using his merciless iron hand, fluidly detached the tail and handed it to Merca.

As she looked at the reddish, translucent lobster meat, Merca hesitated for a moment before finally accepting it.

Even if it tastes bad, I’m okay with it. With that thought, she took a bite.

"Eh?"

Her exclamation made all the surrounding Elves look over. What’s wrong? Was it poisoned?

"This, this..."

Merca, covering her mouth with one hand, said while looking at the partially eaten lobster meat: "It’s really tasty!"

"That’s just an ordinary boiled shrimp, but it’s like a flavor bomb exploding in your mouth, brimming with shrimp taste, tender yet juicy without losing any bounce. And the seasoning, especially the salt, is just right, I could eat this for a lifetime!"

Don’t just start a food broadcast out of the blue!

Her description made the surrounding Elves involuntarily swallow and all start to look towards the Rascal, who was then mobbed in the next second.

But Merca was quicker, already saying, "Give me another one!"

"Oh, coming back for more, huh? You got the hang of it." You couldn’t see his face behind the helmet, but the Rascal’s lips would definitely be curling up. "This one’s on me; anyone who likes shrimps can’t be a bad person."

Shrimp was delicious, and the word "free" doubled the deliciousness of the food. She happily nibbled at the shrimp meat, graciously giving up her spot to her fellow shrimp-buying Elves.

Soon, a small mountain of shrimp shells piled up around the Rascal, and the Elves sat in rows, all eating shrimps rhythmically and in unison, which was charming in an odd way.

Just as everybody was relishing the delicacy, Vienma was the first to notice something amiss.

"[Mid-tier Identification Skill]"

She cast a spell that could identify one’s own status on herself. This magic could display whether a creature was under positive or negative effects, and the mid-tier Identification Skill could even vaguely determine the intensity of these effects.

Upon retrieving her own information, her eyebrows raised in surprise, just like Merca tasting something delicious.

"What’s up, Boss?" Lizna wiped the corner of her mouth and asked. Her original words might have been "what happened", but because of a curse, whatever she said to others would come out with altered meaning, making her statement sound like something Maru would say.

"Identification Skill shows that I’m protected by a mysterious force, which can reduce the damage from attacks other than magic," Vienma analyzed carefully. "It can only last a few minutes, but the damage reduction is... quite effective."

Wow, do cooked shrimp have this kind of effect?

Why didn’t the Big Lobster they ate before work this way? Could it be that only the shrimp sold by Rascals have such an effect?

If Steeran were here, he’d definitely say: I knew nothing that comes from the Sain Dungeon would be useless.

Originally, the shrimp was just delicious, but with these special effects, its value became incomparable. Even the price of 200 souls seemed cheap to the Elves.

Merca quickly turned her gaze to the big pot, and the others did the same.

There was a second of silence in the air, followed by a clamor.

"Boss, I’ll buy everything!"

"Go to your ancestors, I want to buy too!"

"Our ancestors are from the same line!"

"So what, they’re all buried anyway!"

Unlike Curry, who just had to reach under the counter to keep producing an endless supply of goods, the Rascal had limited shrimp to sell – once the pot was empty, that was it.

Tastiness, buffs, plus the most important feature—"limited availability"—these three traits were enough to start a scramble.

The commotion nearly tipped the big pot over, and when the shrimp were finally sold out, the Rascal recited his classic line.

"If you like shrimp, you can’t be a bad person; I get along with you guys."

But at this moment, the Elves, who were nearly fighting over their shares, paid him no attention.

It was only when Vienma struck one of the troublemakers with a vine whip that peace was restored.

Not knowing what triggered it, the Rascal had a new line of dialogue.

"You guys must be the ones who stumbled in here by mistake, following the guidance of a blessing, right? Too bad I can’t see it."

"Someone like me, a small-time thug, foolishly dreaming and running over here—it’s quite a laughable matter. I’ve even discarded my name; just call me Rascal."

"I’ll just stay here and sell shrimp; if you want some, come back later. Maybe there will be new goods to buy in the future."

Vienma felt as though there was a hidden foreshadowing in the Rascal’s words, but without understanding, missing key information—like what exactly is the blessing? Does it refer to the blessings from the Endless Reincarnation? What is the Rascal’s "foolish dream"?

They tried to inquire, but the Rascal did not elaborate, only saying "if you want shrimp, come back next time."

Now was the time for fragmented storytelling, which was everyone’s favorite. Vienma was not Leon; she wasn’t good at making up stories on her own, and kept her doubts to herself.

Oh, that’s right, before setting off, Steeran had mentioned what they might encounter in the Lake District, but he definitely didn’t mention anything about the Rascal.

Shoot, did they accidentally stumble upon something new?

"If only we had a map," Merca muttered, as she pocketed the prawn they had snatched and looked around to memorize the place for future visits.

Some high-level magic could achieve the same effects as eating cooked shrimp, but shrimp was cheaper, and the effects were immediate upon consumption, which was much more convenient than magic. Plus, not everyone could learn high-level magic.

Having been comforted by the food, the Elves’ spirits were slightly revived, and they planned to continue heading west.

At that moment, seeing them set off to the west, the Rascal suddenly spoke up.

"Are you heading west? Then do me a favor, and I’ll treat you to crabs on your return."

"Sure, what do you need help with? We’ll do our best—no, we’ll definitely help," Merca asked cheerfully.

"Take this."

The Rascal pulled a... hammer? Out of his pocket.

Not a weapon, but one for forging weapons.

"A Blacksmith from Academy Gate Town left his hammer here; I think his name is Andre or something. He thought he lost it further west, and even went looking there, but it turns out it was here all along."

"If you can find him, please return the hammer to its rightful owner. Once he gets his hammer back, he’ll probably go home satisfied and might even forge weapons for you."

"If you do find him, remember to see me again; I’ll make you a shrimp feast—after all, both you and the Blacksmith are good folks who like shrimp."

Who would have thought the Rascal, initially coming on strong, would show such a friendly side? Even his fierce iron helmet seemed kinder.

"Alrighty, will do," Merca accepted the hammer readily, flipped her cloak with a swish, and said, "Let’s go, lads, time to rescue the absent-minded Blacksmith!"

"Who are you calling ’lads’? I’m older than you, watch your tongue!" came a protest from among the Elves.

"Can’t you indulge me for once? It took effort to say something so cool."

"No way!"

As they embarked on their adventure once again, the Elves were filled with a cheerful atmosphere. You’d rarely see such a jovial adventurer team.

They were like a bunch of ultimate extroverts.