RoleplayNovel Chapter 109 Truth Revealed After Drinking
Chapter 109 Truth Revealed After Drinking
The abandoned city at night did not fall silent despite the sleep of the original inhabitants and some players.
In the distance, the ancient machine tool in the workshop area was still roaring. Players who had just finished their shifts gathered in twos and threes around the campfire, exchanging information about their loot and how they had been beaten up that day.
Meanwhile, in the old houses isolated on the edge of the camp, the caravan of the City of the Forest was overwhelmed by despair and exhaustion.
Several earth dragons huddled in the mud, their heavy breathing barely audible.
The guards, clutching their broken weapons, leaned against the wheels of the carriage, closing their eyes to rest, trying to conserve their energy through sleep.
In the darkness, three furtive figures evaded the patrolling civil engineering team and slipped to the edge of the quarantine zone.
The agent walked at the front, carrying a broken wooden tray with a whole roasted, juicy pig's hind leg lying on it.
The coarse sea salt granules are embedded in the golden-brown, crispy skin of the roasted meat, emitting an enticing aroma.
The little snail and the goose following behind him worked together to lift a heavy clay pot.
The mouth of the jar was sealed with damp mud, but the pungent smell of alcohol still wafted out.
"Hey goose, can you really drink that much?"
The little snail, smelling the strange, over-fermented odor, lowered its voice and asked:
"Don't kill these NPCs all at once. Dakru is always elusive. These people are our only combat instructors at the base right now. If we get poisoned, the GM will skin us alive."
The goose lowered its voice, its tone full of confidence:
"Don't worry, the alchemy of the Magic Forest includes brewing techniques, and I've combined it with a little of my own ingenuity. Although the methanol content might be slightly above the limit, it definitely won't kill anyone. Using this to extract information will definitely be effective."
The agent nodded: "This game has an absurdly high degree of freedom, and the NPCs' AI is just like that of real people."
That steward named Moss clearly possesses a great deal of information about this world.
Currently, we know that this game is similar to MapleStory in terms of map layout, but the overall details are completely different.
We haven't even fully explored the world map yet, so we have to rely on this traditional RPG approach of gathering information through tavern storylines to break through this impasse.
Not long ago, the three of them received the latest task assigned to them by Lynn.
If there are no taverns, then build taverns.
The three reached a consensus and swaggered into the quarantine area carrying their belongings.
Even though they walked very quietly, the strong aroma of roasted meat fat still awakened all the hungry guards immediately.
Old Gen was the first to open his eyes. He gripped the knife handle tightly, staring at the wooden plate in the agent's hand like a wild beast guarding its prey. His chapped lips trembled slightly, and his Adam's apple bobbed uncontrollably.
The dozen or so guards around them also stood up, making rustling noises in the darkness.
Moss, who had been sitting at the innermost part with his eyes closed, opened them and stood up, using his cane to support himself. He looked at the three uninvited guests, a hint of wariness flashing in his eyes.
"Warriors, what brings you here so late at night?" Moss's voice was hoarse, carrying an obvious sense of wariness.
The agent immediately put on a harmless and enthusiastic smile, strode forward, and placed the enormous plate of roast meat on the broken wooden box in front of Moss.
"Sir, don't be nervous."
During the day, our people learned a lot of real skills under the guidance of the various instructors, which our lord has noticed.
That's why they specially sent the three of us brothers over with some late-night snacks to treat everyone.
As the agent spoke, he gave a wink to the goose next to him.
The goose understood and smashed the clay seal on the earthenware jar, releasing a strong, pungent smell of alcohol.
For caravans that struggled year-round in damp underground environments and rarely had access to clean fresh water, high concentrations of alcohol held an irresistible allure.
Lao Gen and the others' eyes lit up. Their gazes darted back and forth between the barbecue and the wine jars. The tense hostility they had been holding began to crumble in the face of their physical desires.
Moss swallowed hard. Reason told him that these people were definitely not kind-hearted folks, but on Treasure Island, refusing food was refusing to survive.
Besides, now that we've settled here, it's not wise for a person to continue putting on airs and refusing the lord's kindness.
"Well... thank you for your generosity, Lord." Moss finally relented.
The agent casually pulled over a rock to sit down, drew a dagger from his waist, and skillfully cut the roasted pig leg into large pieces, distributing them to the guards around him.
The goose then took out several wooden bowls and filled them with strong liquor.
The guards could no longer care about being reserved. They grabbed the scalding hot roasted meat and tore into it, the mixture of sea salt and fat bursting in their mouths, filling their empty stomachs.
Lao Gen picked up the wooden bowl and took a big gulp. The high concentration of alcohol burned down his throat and into his stomach like a knife, making him shudder. He then let out a sigh of relief.
Moss was given the best piece of meat and a bowl of wine.
Under the deliberate flattery and frequent urging to drink from the agents, the manager, who had always maintained an air of authority, finally had two red patches on his face, and his tense nerves completely relaxed under the numbing effect of alcohol.
"Good wine...this wine has power!"
Moss let out a burp, his gaze towards the agents becoming more pleasing. "You bunch of outsiders, though you act strangely, are at least better than those man-eating scum from Pearl Harbor."
Upon hearing the words "Pearl Harbor," the agent and the little snail exchanged a barely perceptible glance.
The fish has taken the bait.
The little snail casually tore at the meat in its hand, and continued the conversation:
"The manager has been to Pearl Harbor too? We suffered a great loss there."
There's this woman named Bolton who's always collecting taxes under the guise of some Treasure Island committee.
That woman is rolling in money; she must be a high-ranking official with connections in your Forest City, right?
Upon hearing Bolton's name, Moss froze in mid-air, his hand holding the wine bowl.
His face, which had been slightly tipsy, suddenly showed a complex expression that mixed contempt and resentment.
"A high-ranking official?"
Moss laughed as if he had heard the biggest joke in the world; his laughter sounded rather desolate in the empty underground hall.
"That vicious woman who only knows how to extract oil—if she dared to step onto the edge of an anthill alone, even the lowest-grade thorny mushroom could kill her!"
The agent feigned surprise: "Isn't she a native of Treasure Island? Yet he monopolizes all trade on the surface, even the trade routes of Forest City have to defer to him."
"Of course she's not an indigenous person."
Moss said through gritted teeth, "That so-called trade arbitration committee doesn't belong to Treasure Island at all."
They don't farm, they don't mine, they don't hunt. They're like a swarm of ticks sucking blood from the island's wounds.
Moss grabbed the bowl and took another big gulp; the cheap alcohol burned his eyes.
His mouth was opened, and the truths of class oppression that were hidden deep in his heart were poured out without reservation.