Chapter 205

Chapter 205

Garrett immediately wanted to find a mask to wear.

Forging, miners, spitting, dark gray viscous phlegm. These keywords put together immediately brought a word to Garrett’s mind:

Pneumoconiosis.

Pneumoconiosis is a collective term for a group of occupational lung diseases caused by long-term inhalation and retention of various pathogenic production dusts in the lungs during occupational activities, mainly characterized by diffuse fibrosis of lung tissue. Pneumoconiosis itself is not terrible, but what’s frightening is that it often comes with a series of complications: respiratory system infections, pneumothorax, pulmonary tuberculosis, chronic obstructive pulmonary disease...

Imagine someone with pulmonary tuberculosis coughing and spitting in front of you; it’s definitely necessary to wear a mask! Moreover, it seems that dwarves have much stronger constitutions than humans. To dwarves, it’s just a minor ailment, but to humans, it could easily knock them down!

I don’t want to die of tuberculosis! I want to wear a mask!

It would be best if it’s an N95...

Sorry, there isn’t one. Despite his best efforts, Garrett had only prepared a batch of Wulian masks and bubble spells to cover his head. However, if he put on a mask as soon as someone spat at him, Garrett felt that he wouldn’t be allowed into the mithril area.

They would collectively ostracize him to death!

Garrett quietly pulled back with the accompanying mage. When the old dwarf saw him like this, he grunted, muttered a few words in a low voice, too low for the comprehend languages headband to work, but from the expression on the dwarf’s eyebrows and corners of his eyes, Garrett could probably guess that he was saying something like "weakling" or "coward".

Garrett didn’t get angry. If he got angry at this level of disdain, after more than a decade in the emergency department, he would have developed tension pneumothorax long ago. Instead, he crouched down a bit, looked the old dwarf in the eye, and earnestly advised: for new novels

"Sir, if you feel uncomfortable in your throat, it’s best not to drink alcohol."

Alcohol increases the burden on the heart and lungs, irritates the gastrointestinal tract, and damages liver function. Whether it’s pneumoconiosis, pulmonary tuberculosis, or simply a respiratory tract infection causing coughing and phlegm, it’s best not to drink alcohol...

The old dwarf paused. He instinctively wanted to say something, but seeing Garrett’s serious and concerned expression, he swallowed his words. Turning back to the tavern, he shrugged his beard up and down, still muttering something.

Garrett watched his stout figure disappear into the tavern, still drinking, and couldn’t help but shrug his shoulders slightly, smiling bitterly. At this point, he realized that he should cast a healing spell on himself—although he didn’t know if it could prevent or treat tuberculosis infection, at least it was better than nothing.

The level 5 mage next to him gave him a tug:

"Hey, you offended him."

"How?"

Inside the forging area were not individual furnaces but a series of flowing magma pools. As Garrett walked a few steps closer, he saw bright red magma bubbling in the pools, bubbling and bubbling. A strong smell of sulfur hit him, and Garrett secretly regretted not wearing a gas mask...

"Waste! The iron ingot hasn’t softened yet!"

Suddenly, a loud roar echoed in the room.

The whole forging room buzzed, and Garrett was startled, almost stepping back. He saw a dwarf in front of a pool of fire, bowing his head, pushing the almost squeezed-out iron ingot forward again, and plunging it back into the magma.

Garrett carefully

observed that the dwarf being scolded had slightly smoother skin on his face and his beard wasn’t as long, while the one scolding him had wrinkled skin and his beard, even braided, still hung down to his chest. Swinging a hammer the size of a beer mug, clanging and clanging, clanging and clanging, on the anvil, sparks flying.

Why don’t they shave their beards? With this method of pounding, aren’t they afraid of accidentally burning their beards?

Garrett didn’t want to comment on the dwarves’ labor protection level. He followed Mage Denfrees and walked inside, without any dwarves greeting him proactively, or even giving him a proper look. Wanting to pull someone over for an introduction or something, Garrett looked around and simply gave up on this idea.

The further they went, the brighter the color of the magma in the pools, and when they reached the last forging room, even with the magic effect of resistance to cold and heat, Garrett felt suffocated.

"This is where the mithril is smelted..." Mage Denfrees told him loudly. Even if he didn’t speak loudly, the deafening sounds of clanging and banging all around made it almost impossible to hear oneself think.

Garrett craned his neck to look inside, only to see a particularly grand pool of fire in the center of the room, about half a person tall and five to six meters in diameter. The edge of the pool was shining, with a row of magic symbols embedded in it. Three or four rows of steps were built around the edge of the pool, and a dwarf with a beard trailing to the ground was busy by the poolside.

Several other dwarves were at least three meters away from him. This pool was particularly active, with magma spurting up from below, accompanied by steam. The color was bright, shining white, and occasionally, there was an explosion.

Is this place safe?

Can we go in?

Garrett hesitated for a moment. Before he could decide, a middle-aged dwarf walked out of the room, with gray braids hanging down to his waist, blocking their way with a swagger:

"You! You’re not allowed in!"

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