Chapter 202: Fully armed, deep into the Mithril Zone!
Gretel immediately wanted to get a mask and put it on himself.
Forging, miners, spitting, gray-black thick phlegm. Putting these keywords together, a word immediately popped into Grete’s mind:
pneumoconiosis.
Pneumoconiosis is a collective name for a group of occupational lung diseases, mainly diffuse fibrosis of lung tissue, caused by long-term inhalation of production dust of different pathogenicity and retention in the lungs during occupational activities. Pneumoconiosis alone
The disease is not terrible. What is terrible is that pneumoconiosis is often accompanied by a series of complications:
Respiratory system infection, pneumothorax, tuberculosis, COPD...
Imagine a person with tuberculosis is coughing and spitting in front of you. He must wear a mask decisively! By the way, it seems that the physique of dwarves is much stronger than that of humans. In the eyes of dwarves, it is just a minor illness, and they can be put down anytime and anywhere.
Humanity!
I don’t want to cross over and die of tuberculosis!
I need to wear a mask!
It is best to use N95...
Sorry, no. Gretel tried his best and only prepared a batch of Wu Liande masks, plus a bubble mask to cover his head. However, because the other party spat at you, he took out the mask and put it on on the spot. Gretel felt that if he
If he does this, he will no longer be able to enter the forging area.
You will be collectively ostracized by the dwarves until death!
Grete silently dragged the accompanying mage back two steps. Seeing him like this, the old dwarf snorted and muttered a few words. The volume was too low, and the [Language Proficient] headband did not work, but Grete looked at his eyebrows.
From the look in the corner of his eyes, you can probably guess that he is talking about "weak chicken" or "coward" or something like that.
Grete was not angry at all. If this level of contempt could make him angry, he would have developed tension pneumothorax long ago after more than ten years of working in the emergency department. Instead, he squatted down slightly, looked at the old dwarf and tried to persuade him seriously.
:
"Old sir, if you feel your throat is uncomfortable, it's best not to drink."
Alcohol will increase the burden on the heart and lungs, irritate the gastrointestinal tract, and damage liver function. Whether it is pneumoconiosis or tuberculosis, or a simple respiratory infection leading to spitting, it is best not to drink alcohol...
The old dwarf choked. He instinctively wanted to say something, but when he saw Gretel's serious and caring look on his face, he swallowed it back. He turned around and returned to the tavern, with his beard squirming and mumbling something.
.
Grete watched his stocky back disappear into the tavern, toasting and drinking as he walked. He couldn't help but shrugged and smiled slightly. At this time, he used a healing spell on himself with his backhand - although it didn't
I don’t know if I can prevent and cure tuberculosis infection, but it’s better than nothing.
The fifth-level mage next to him gave him a tug:
"Hey, you offended him."
"how?"
"The dwarf hates it most when you don't let him drink..."
"But he's still coughing, so it's really best not to drink."
"What does that have to do with you?"
"I'm a healer. It doesn't matter if you can't see it. If you see it, you have to remind me."
After all, they did not enter the forging area immediately, but first settled in the wooden house outside. As they chatted with each other, Gretel learned that the name of the fifth-level mage was Taylor Dumfries, a thirty-eight-year-old native of Nevis.
Specializing in the school of change. Because he bombed a laboratory before, he had to sell himself to pay off his debts, so he accepted the mission and stayed here for two years.
"Those dwarves are hard to deal with..." Speaking of his mission, Master Dumfries complained:
"Everyone is stubborn, stubborn, and loves to drink. Apart from working time every day, they are noisy in the pub. If you want them to work more, they will not listen to anyone unless the old man in the lead speaks. That old man
And cunning...
Last time I asked them to pay ten more pounds of mithril, and he blackmailed me for 10 barrels of spirits! 10 barrels!"
Gretel: "...Not to mention whether this deal is worthwhile or not, wouldn't those dwarves not want to work even more when they are drunk?"
"That's not the case. There are two to three hundred dwarves in this forging area, and 10 barrels of strong liquor are just enough to moisten their throats... By the way, what are you doing?"
Grete spread out a large thick canvas and was cutting it, then using repair techniques to join it together to make clothes for himself... He came in a hurry. He didn't have time to buy the fire-resistant work clothes in the forging area, so he had to make them himself.
…
Early the next morning, Gretel and Master Dumfries, led by the old dwarf, walked all the way to the depths of the forging area. The forging area is deep inside the mountain, passing through two steel gates inside and outside. On both sides of the road inside, there is a room.
A connected forge room. Wizard Dumfries walked beside Gretel, muttering along the way:
"Why are you dressed like this? It's so ugly...Afraid of getting burned? Don't you have a mage armor?"
Gretel looked at him helplessly. Wizard Dumfries himself had fluttering robes and a three-piece set of [Mage Armor], [Resistance to Energy], and [Protection from Arrows] - the last spell, Gretel guessed was the main one.
It's an iron flower that protects against flying iron. The three spells are all invisible and don't seem to affect his appearance at all.
"But, you are a fifth-level mage, and I am only a second-level mage..."
"You don't know this spell, I'll bless it for you!"
However, Grete would never have the guts to hand over his life to others. He and Bernard were exactly the same, both wearing flame-retardant clothing made of thick canvas, long sleeves and trousers, with cuffs tightened. There were no ready-made hook-and-loop fasteners, Grete
I also specially found a piece of cocklebur, peeled it off and used magic to stick it to the edge of my clothes...
Clothes, coats, hats, and shoe covers are all made of thick canvas. Wear a Wu Liande mask on your face, put a bubble spell on the outside, and be fully armed before you have the courage to enter the forging area. As for how Dumfries muttered and laughed at him,
Gretel said that he couldn't care less...
The forging area was not a series of furnaces, but flowing fire pools. Gretel took a few steps closer and saw bright red magma gurgling in the pool. A smell of sulfur came to his face. Gretel
There was a miscalculation in the secret passage, he should have put on a gas mask to come in...
"Waste! The iron ingot is not soft yet!"
Suddenly a loud roar sounded in the room.
The whole forging room buzzed, and Gretel was startled. He almost stepped back but stopped. Then he saw a dwarf in front of the fire pool lowering his head and sending the iron ingot forward again.
Dip into lava.
Grete looked carefully and saw that the skin of the dwarf who was scolded was slightly smoother and his beard was not that long, while the dwarf who scolded him had a wrinkled face, and even if his beard was braided, it hung down to his chest.
He was swinging a hammer the size of a beer glass, clanging, clanging, clanging, and hitting the anvil causing sparks to fly.
Why don't they shave their beards? Aren't they afraid of burning their beards with this method?
Gretel did not want to comment on the level of labor protection of the dwarves. He followed Master Dumfries all the way inside. No dwarf took the initiative to say hello, and no dwarf even looked at him. If he wanted to invite someone to make an introduction or something, Gretel looked around and simply said
I stopped thinking about it.
The further inside, the brighter the color of the magma in the fire pool became. When they reached the last forging room, Gretel was still unable to breathe even though he had the magical effect of [cold and heat resistance].
"This is the place where mithril is smelted..."
Master Dumfries told him in a loud voice. No matter how loud he was, the mages couldn't stand up to the ping-ping-pong-pong-pong-pong-pong-pong-pong-pong-pong-pong-pong-pong-pong-pong-pong and the rumbling and rumbling sound around them, which was simply deafening.
Grete craned his neck to look inside, and saw an extremely majestic fire pool in the center of the room, about half a person tall and five or six meters in diameter. The edge of the pool shone brightly and was inlaid with a row of magic symbols. The edge of the fire pool was paved with bricks.
Three or four rows up the steps, a dwarf with a beard that stretched to the floor was busy alone by the pool.
The dwarves next to him were at least three meters away from him. This fire pool was also extremely active, with lava and steam spurting up from below. The color was translucent and blazing white, and from time to time there was an explosion.
Is this place safe?
Can I go in?
Gretel hesitated for a moment. Before he could decide, a middle-aged dwarf walked out of the room, with a white braided beard hanging down to his waist, and stood in front of them with a swagger: