At noon in the scorching sun, Downton walked on the stone road of the mine to the canteen.
Jackson, wearing a light leather armor of the 'Hundred Warriors', followed behind, his glowing green eyeballs roving back and forth on the heads of the surrounding humans, wondering where to start his mouth, which would be easier to bite.
“I really want to have a big meal!”
Jackson lamented that if it weren't for Downton, it would have gone on a killing spree. Although he was very grateful to his master for taking him out of the dead underground city, it was a huge regret that he couldn't enjoy the food to his heart's content.
"Watch your mouth, if you let me know that you eat people, don't blame me for kicking you back to Polusna!" Downton reminded, the demon servant has wisdom, but it is also a troublesome thing.
Jackson had had enough of war space, which was no different from a prison, so he strongly demanded to come out for ventilation, even threatening suicide.
It's not that Downton is unkind, it's just that it's too eye-catching to go out with a ghoul.
"You have the title of Paladin on your head, what are you afraid of? Just say that under your divine inspiration, it has realized its sins and is repenting!" Homer felt that Downton was too cautious and couldn't help educating him, "
If anyone doesn’t believe it, let him talk to Jackson about life.”
"Jiejie, I will definitely teach them the principles of life." Jackson smiled strangely and couldn't help complaining, "Master is too kind. If you ask me, if anyone dares to talk nonsense in front of you, I will chop them down with an ax and hit them.
Until I dare not look directly at you again."
"And then give you the corpse to eat?" Downton sneered, "And what's the point of your laughter? It's so disgusting!"
"Doesn't it sound scary to laugh like that? I used to read some novels out of boredom, and the big devils in them all laughed like this." Jackson was stunned, "Oh, doesn't it look stupid?"
"That's silly!" Downton and Homer nodded, one spoke and the other projected text, "Wipe the saliva from the corners of your mouth."
"Hey, I'm sorry, we're all hungry." Jackson was pretending to be bitter again. I have to say that this guy has no self-esteem at all. He doesn't look like an undead monster who is about to advance to the intermediate level.
Carrying Jackson actually has some advantages. He can hold the grimoire and carry the Dragon Fang Tearing Ax on his back at the same time, allowing Downton to use it in battle at any time.
Coupled with the backpack filled with supplies, in short, Jackson is a servant responsible for carrying heavy loads and occasionally a part-time guard.
Of course, Jackson also has a deterrent effect. A ghoul with intelligence and good fighting ability is enough to make some scofflaws re-examine Downton and understand that provoking him will cost a lot.
"To be honest, Jackson's appearance is not bad either."
The aestheticist Homer rarely had a good word for Jackson.
Even though Jackson was a junior and was much more complete than those tattered ghouls, he was still ugly, so Downton wrapped his body with white bandages. Only a pair of eyes and mouth were left, just like in Egypt.
Just like Leah's mummy. Such a dress, with a straight figure and black light armor, actually exudes a strange sense of beauty.
"Really?" Jackson couldn't help but ask. He posed in a muscular pose and asked hurriedly. "Like a big star of a touring opera company?"
"Like a rotting corpse in a tomb!" Downton rolled his eyes. Fortunately, low-level ghouls with good strength don't smell bad, otherwise he would never take this guy with him.
"Even if it's a dead corpse, it's still the most beautiful corpse." Jackson muttered narcissistically.
It was lunch time. There were a lot of people crowded in front of the canteen, but when Downton walked in, the miners immediately gave way. Even some who didn't know him were pulled aside by the people nearby.
Gotze was squeezed in the middle and saw the crowd parting. When Downton walked by, they either lowered their heads or smiled. This made him extremely envious, considering that a few days ago, the two of them had the same status.
"Big Foreman!"
When a dozen of his cronies who had been waiting nearby saw Downton, they immediately crowded over and pushed aside the unsighted miners, allowing the foreman to pass unimpeded.
As soon as they stepped into the cafeteria hall, the aroma of food wafted over, and the crowds were noisy. It was only at this time that the bitter and tired miners could have a short rest.
Although they complained about the poor food, they still devoured it and ate cleanly.
"Foreman, let me help you prepare meals." A middle-aged miner found an opportunity to show courtesy and walked up to Jackson, "Where is the dinner plate?"
"No, you go and eat. I'll queue up myself." Downton was not used to being served by others. In essence, he was still a kind-hearted young man.
In the special seating area of the hall, black-uniformed supervisors and mine bosses gathered together. Ever since Downton entered, they have been hostile to him.
"Next!"
The chef shouted to the miners to move faster. They took spoons to scoop the potato broth into the rice bowl, and then put two palm-sized pieces of bread and three slices of bacon on them. The whole process was neat and tidy.
If you are familiar with the chef, you can occasionally get an extra piece of bread or a spoonful of potato soup. Even if you see this, no one dares to complain to his face, because if you offend the chef, you will be hungry in the next few days.
It was Downton's turn. He stood in front of the counter and handed over the plate.
"Next!"
The chef glanced at Downton and lowered his eyelids.
Downton was stunned.
"Next, if you didn't hear me, get out of here if you don't want to eat." The chef knocked hard on the iron bucket containing the food with a spoon, making a banging sound.
"You are looking for death, this is our Downton foreman!" The cronies who were following behind didn't dare to cross Downton to get food. Besides, seeing this scene, they were already furious and yelled.
"I don't care who you are, this is a canteen. If you come here to eat, you must abide by the rules." The chef yelled louder, and the spit foam almost splashed into the broth.
He has received orders from above to make things difficult for Downton and make him understand that a big foreman in the Dagger Mine is nothing.
"Haha, it's really embarrassing for a big foreman who can't afford to eat."
"Come, come and eat, I have chicken legs here!"
A sharp-chinned mining bully grabbed the chicken drumstick from the dinner plate, shook it, and threw it at Downton's feet. They were all prisoners, and they were found by the supervisor just to deal with Downton.
"Do you still want to eat? Hurry up, next one!" the chef shouted, but he found that there was a long queue of more than 300 people. No one dared to come over to get food.
"Let's eat!" Downton said calmly, but did not take back the plate. He still remembered Homer's words: Don't be special. You must eat with the miners to gain their approval.
The chef knew that once he cooked for Downton, his job would be over and he would definitely be fired. But being stared at by so many people, especially with a pair of glowing green eyes, made him even more worried.
The pressure is huge.
"It's done, next one!"
The chef scooped up half a ladle of broth, grabbed a piece of bread with his dark, greasy hands, rubbed it on his greasy pants, and put it all on the dinner plate.
Downton ignored the laughter of the overseers, glanced at the dinner plate, and said louder, "Additional food. Fill it up for me."
"One spoonful at most. Even if you are the foreman, you can't make an exception." The chef complained, but in the end he did not dare to go against Downton's words and give him extra food.
The attitude of those ordinary miners made this veteran feel that he might be in big trouble, but he soon became proud of himself.
"I'm so smart." The chef said proudly, thinking that his ability to adapt to situations was good, and letting Downton eat dirty food was also a kind of punishment. He was just thinking about whether to take credit from the head chef, when a plate flew away.
come over.
Bang, the chef was knocked backwards, and the boiling potato broth was poured on his face and into his neck, making him scream in pain.
The commotion here also attracted everyone's attention in the entire hall.
Downton wanted to add extra food in order to hit the chef. He put his right hand on the counter, climbed inside, grabbed the greasy chef's hair, and pulled him toward the wall.
"No!" Looking at the rapidly approaching dark wall, the chef struggled, but to no avail, and then his head hit it hard.
Bang, bang, bang!
Downton grabbed the chef's hair, used his face as a walnut, and slapped it against the wall.
The bridge of his nose was broken, blood was pouring out like an open faucet, half of the teeth in his mouth were missing, and his mouth was swollen.
"Please, stop fighting." The chef cried, and the screams made the entire hall fall silent.
A group of sweaty kobolds walked in. Seeing this scene, they stopped in shock. Then after confirming Downton's back, the leading guys exchanged glances.
"Do you know what to do?" Downton stopped, picked up the chef's head, and pulled it in front of him.
"I know, I know." The chef's entire face was deformed, and his chest was stained red with blood.
"Why don't you go get some food after you know this!" Downton abandoned the chef and stood at the front of the team again.
The ordinary miners in the hall looked at the blood-stained walls, then glanced at the unlucky chef, and suddenly cheered. They had long wanted to beat up these chefs who had deprived them of their food. Downton's actions really gave them a slap in the face.
Bad breath.
The chef endured the severe pain, prepared the meal, held it with both hands, and handed it to Downton respectfully.
"Foreman, your food!"
The chef even used honorifics, and the plate was full of bacon. Even the potato broth was the thickest.
"The miners in the back will be given meals according to this amount. If you can't do it, you can go home." Downton took it and walked to the dining table.
"Long live the Foreman!"
Hearing Downton's words, the chef's expression turned bitter, but the miners cheered even louder. No big foreman had ever offended the chef for lowly workers like them.
"Bah, boy, you are so arrogant!" The sharp-chinned mining tyrant led a group of people to Downton, coughed dryly, and spat a mouthful of thick phlegm on the dinner plate, "Don't you want extra food?
Come, let’s give him some extra food.”
Before the mine tyrant finished speaking, Downton's right hand held the dinner plate, and a hand suddenly shot up and hit him hard in the face. (To be continued...)