Chapter 205: Fully Armed, Deep Into the Mithril Zone!

Gretel immediately wanted to find a mask and put it on himself.

Forge, miner, spit, 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 caused by long-term inhalation of production dust of different pathogenicity and retention in the lungs during occupational activities. It is mainly characterized by diffuse fibrosis of lung tissue. Pneumoconiosis alone is not terrible. What is terrible is that pneumoconiosis is often accompanied by a series of complications:

Respiratory system infection, pneumothorax, tuberculosis, COPD...

If you imagine a person with tuberculosis coughing and spitting in front of you, you must wear a mask decisively! By the way, it seems that the physique of dwarves is much stronger than that of humans. What seems like a minor illness to dwarves can bring down humans anytime and anywhere!

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. Grete tried his best, but only prepared a batch of Wu Liande masks, plus bubble technology to cover his head. However, because the other person spat at you, he took out a mask and put it on on the spot. Gretel felt that if he did this, he would never 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 murmured a few words in a low voice. The volume was too low, and the [Language Proficient] headband didn't work, but Gretel could probably guess from the look on his brows and eyes that he was saying "Weak chicken" ”, “coward” and the like.

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 in the emergency department. Instead, he squatted down slightly, looked straight at the old dwarf, and earnestly persuaded:

"Old sir, if you feel your throat is uncomfortable, it's best not to drink."

Alcohol increases the burden on the heart and lungs, stimulates the gastrointestinal tract, and damages 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 else, 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, his beard twitching and muttering something.

Grete watched his stocky back disappear into the tavern, toasting and drinking as he walked, and couldn't help but shrugged and smiled slightly. At this time, he used a healing technique on himself - although he didn't know if it could prevent the spread of tuberculosis, but it was 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 it."

After all, they did not enter the forging area immediately, but first settled in the wooden house outside. After chatting with each other, Grete learned that the name of the fifth-level mage was Taylor Dumfries. He was thirty-eight years old, a native of Nevis, and specialized in the school of change. Because he bombed a laboratory before, he had to sell himself to pay off his debts, and took over the task of stationing here for two years.

"Those dwarves are difficult to deal with..." Speaking of his mission, Master Dumfries complained:

"Everyone is stubborn, stubborn, and loves to drink. Every day except for work time, 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 ten 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. Ten 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 deep into the forging area. The forging area is deep inside the mountain. Passing through two steel gates inside and outside, there are forging rooms connected to each other on both sides of the road inside. 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?"

Grete looked at him helplessly. Wizard Dumfries himself had fluttering robes and a three-piece set of [Mage Armor], [Energy Resistance], and [Arrow Protection] - the last spell, Gretel guessed, was mainly to protect against flying iron flowers. All three spells are 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, Gretel never had the guts to leave his life to others. He and Bernard were exactly the same, both wearing flame-retardant suits made of thick canvas, long sleeves and long trousers, with cuffs tightened. There were no ready-made Velcro fasteners, so Grete specially found a piece of cocklebur, peeled it off and used magic to stick it to the edge of the clothes...

Clothes, coats, hats, and shoe covers are all made of thick canvas. Wear a Wu Liande mask on your face, put on the air bubble technique outside, and be fully armed before you have the courage to enter the forging area. As for how Master 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 pools. A smell of sulfur hit his face, and Gretel secretly thought that he had miscalculated. 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 entire forging room buzzed, and Gretel was startled and almost took a step back. I saw a dwarf in front of the fire pool with his head lowered, sending the iron ingot that was about to be picked out forward again, and immersed it in the magma again.

Gretel looked carefully and saw that the skin of the scolded dwarf was slightly smoother and his beard was not that long, while the face of the scolded dwarf was wrinkled and his beard hung down to his chest even if it was braided. In his hand, he was swinging a hammer the size of a beer glass, clanking, clanging, and sparks flying when he hit it on the anvil.

Why don't they shave their beards? Aren't you afraid of burning your beard with this method of smashing?

Gretel did not want to comment on the level of labor protection provided by the dwarves. He followed Wizard Dumfries all the way inside. No dwarf took the initiative to say hello, and no dwarf even looked at him. Wanting to invite someone to make an introduction or something, Grete looked around and simply gave up the idea.

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..."

the Wizard of Dumfries told him loudly. No matter how loud they were, the mages couldn't stand the ping-ping-pong-pong-pong-pong-pong-pong-pong-pong-pong-pong-pong-pong-pong-pong-pong-pong-pong-pong-pong-pong-pong-pong-pong-pong-pong-pong-pong-pong-pong-pong-pong-pong-pong-pong-pong-pong-pong-pong-pong-pong-pong-pong-pong-pong-pong-pong-pong-pong-pong-pong-pong-pong-pong-pong-pong-pong-pong-pong-pong-pong-pong-pong-pong-pong-pong-pong-pong-pong-pong-pong-pong-pong-pong-pong') and the sound that rumbled and rumbled. It 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. There are three or four rows of steps on the edge of the fire pool. A dwarf with a beard that touches the floor is busy alone by the pool.

The dwarves next to him were at least three meters away from him. This fire pool is also particularly active, with lava and steam spurting up from below. The color is translucent and blazing white, and from time to time there is an explosion.

Is this place safe?

Can I go in?

Gretel hesitated. Before they could decide, a middle-aged dwarf with a white braided beard hanging down to his waist had already walked out of the room, standing in front of them with a swagger:

"You! Don't go in!"

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