Chapter 40

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Chapter 40: Angaso Forest

As the two construction teams in Angaso Forest gradually began to talk to each other, the situations in Red Gum County and Deer Horn Town were also changing.

There are new types of food at the stalls now.

Not only are there milk, bread, grilled meat, and honeydew melon on the stalls, but new food items are added every day. Yesterday, there was a row of large, white eggs in small boxes, much bigger than normal eggs; today, they displayed freshly cut and delicious fish meat on the chopping board, with the fish skin looking fresh and tempting, and the fish meat having a tender texture. A short man lifted the cutting board with the fish on top, his short stature making the fish appear exceptionally huge, like a child holding a fish.

Many people were drooling over it. Since the forest has been closed off, the fish that used to come downstream are no longer available. Aryan is located in the southeast corner facing the sea, but the coastline several kilometers away is steep and dangerous, where fishing boats could be shattered on the rocks below, and even the most skilled sailors cannot guarantee a safe return every time. Moreover, the sea eagles living near the rocks are not friendly towards competitors. In the past, the sea was not a frequent source of fish near here.

There used to be a lake in Angaso Forest, with wetlands where one could fish, gather bird eggs, and pick wild vegetables and aquatic plants. A river ran through the forest, flowing even during the dry season. In late summer and early autumn every year, a type of red-spotted trout would swim against the river’s strong flow, jumping out of the sea and leaping over waterfalls that seemed insurmountable during high tide, as they made their way back to their birthplace to spawn. This annual event was a feast for the brown bears and humans along the way.

Those are all things of the past.

The wetlands have merged with other ruins now, and it is the season of feasting, but the river and Angaso Forest have vanished in thin air together. The alternating assaults of the Magic Cannon and the withering curse have completely destroyed the river that survived through numerous drought years, dooming the bears preparing for hibernation to starvation, if they have not already perished in the conflict. The red-spotted trout cannot find their migration path, the adult fish carrying eggs have nowhere to return to, and the young fish that grew in distant rivers cannot come back. At least recently, in this region, this delicious fish species that sustained many creatures has disappeared without a trace.

Only at the magical stall of Hybrid can one still see such things.

People restrained themselves with a resilient sense of distrust from approaching to make exchanges. By the next day, the fish no longer appeared, causing many to sigh with regret. The increasing variety of food items changes daily, repeating irregularly in cycles. This sense of "limited sale" makes people even more eager and anxious. When it is finally time for fish to be sold again, struggling expressions appear on the faces of a large crowd. Just as during a big sale, not buying gives a sense of missed opportunity.

But the Hybrid’s stall does not accept human money.

They only accept a kind of item called "Dwarf Money", all of which are issued by them during the settlement of soldiers’ labor. Residents borrowed and saw some from the soldiers’ hands. This kind of metal money is only the size of a fingernail, each one has intricate patterns, like a unique piece of craftsmanship, impossible to replicate. People who can’t help but want to trade are blocked by the fact that it "cannot be bought with money". They are willing to pay, but are still hesitant or unwilling to participate in the work of the Hybrid together with them.

As the week passed, the soldiers who participated in the Hybrid labor remained unscathed. Those who were already doing physical labor from a distance watched them move things and couldn’t help but feel that they could do it too. At this time, the food at the stall was updated again. Previously it was the most basic food and ingredients, but then a plump cook rolled up her sleeves and came to the stall.

People from Red Gum County testified that the cook walked into the stall from the outside in a flaunting manner. She was wearing the robe that chefs often wear, tied with an apron, wearing sleeves, and a headscarf worn by housewives when cooking – this kind of headscarf can cover all the hair to prevent strands from falling into the food. The chubby cook looked kind, like a neighbor you’ve never spoken to. Therefore, when she walked through the crowd saying "Excuse me," not many people noticed her approach, let alone reacted dramatically to her passing by. As she approached the Hybrid’s stall, someone even kindly tried to call out to her.

The cook stooped in under the surprised gazes of the people and greeted the Hybrids there. The crowd buzzed in surprise, "This looks too human!" they complained, "Can’t tell at all! Acting like a real cook!"

But she really is a cook.

The cook washed her hands in the nearby basin, wiped off the water droplets from her hands, and calmly started cooking amidst the whispers of the people.

Cooking can be a delightful thing to watch, as long as the cook is skilled enough.

Her fingers were as chubby as dough, but swift and decisive when using a knife. With a quick chop, she removed the inedible parts of the vegetables, then sliced horizontally and vertically, deftly and quickly, into the pot within a second or two. She moved lightly back and forth between the long chopping boards displaying various kitchen utensils, adjusting the pot, stirring the soup, like a butterfly flitting occasionally – before she started cooking, you could never imagine linking a butterfly to a two-hundred-pound middle-aged woman.

The flames licked the bottom of the iron pot, making the ingredients jump and sizzle, creating a tempting aroma. Fat oozed out from the meat chunks, coloring the green leaves. Potatoes and carrots were cut into suitable sizes, while spices were finely chopped. The sound of the knives on the cutting board blended together. The unknown dark stem magically transformed into thin slices like cicada wings. After the chef finished cutting, the slices turned into amber-colored thin pieces. She sprinkled the spices evenly into several pots simultaneously and flipped the large iron pot upside down. The ingredients and broth arched through the air and landed back in the pot smoothly.

Someone absentmindedly clapped, while others, though not as carried away, were still focused on watching, forgetting to give strange looks to the person applauding Hybrid. Some reminded below which side seemed to be overheating, more anxious than the chef himself; others were confident in their own cooking skills, pointing out the incorrect steps, missing the right timing. Both types of people fell silent watching the chef’s skillful movements. The egg mixture in the nearby pan sizzled at a corner, she flipped the fried egg into a nearby plate in one swift motion. She seemed to have eyes on the back of her head, never missing any opportunity.

The pot began to bubble and simmer, the sweet smell of melted butter and the fragrance of other dishes mingled, making mouths water. The exquisitely prepared dishes were placed in large enough plates and bowls for several people to enjoy. While those of high status or wealth might not appreciate such servings, the common folk felt it was generous and delicious. They watched intently as the chef garnished a soup with mint leaves, the fragrant steam from the large bowl spreading for miles around, drawing in more bystanders attracted by the culinary show.

"Anyone wants a bowl?" The chef warmly called out, tapping the pot with a ladle, the clinking sound representing the completion of lunch, a sound that would trigger the residents in the area into reflexively swallowing saliva for a long time after. The chef blew on the white mist rising above the tableware, saying, "This must be eaten hot! I can’t bear to see it go cold."

She didn’t say it in vain. As the onlookers struggled with the idea of waiting for the food to cool down, the chef started to eat herself. She served herself a bowl of soup, blew on it, took a big slurp, her face expressing pure happiness. But that was just the beginning; the onlookers were shocked to see all the Hybrids picking up their utensils.

Two short figures cheered and eagerly grabbed plates, boldly cutting large pieces from the beautifully arranged food, causing many onlookers to furrow their brows. The residents of Red Gum County watched as more and more people came forward, taking large portions of food, leaving less for those at the end. The last woman, despite her slender figure, carried a huge bowl, using a spoon that looked more like a shovel, causing discomfort among others as she served herself. After the consumer disguised as a woman left the table, only a little delicious food was left.

"Anyone else?" The chef asked again.

The special effect of the limited items blanketted everyone once more, the struggle evident on their faces. But half a minute after the chef finished speaking, she nodded quickly, prompting a short figure to pack the dishes neatly by category and carried them into the back room.

Wait, shouldn’t they be displayed to entice us? Sighs echoed around, the residents feeling frustrated by this unconventional behavior. Shouldn’t the demons in the story make lots and lots of delicious food to entice people for free? Are they here to sell or to show off the food for us to eat?

Tasha watched everyone’s disappointed faces, feeling a hint of the captivating cooking scenes in movies and shows.

On the second day of the cooking performance, a hunter who could not bear it anymore came to the stall.

It’s too simplistic to attribute it all to the temptation of food. It’s only in the world of MasterChef that such dramatic scenes happen. The enticing aroma is just one part of it; the main issue is that the hunter is very poor and is running out of resources.

The closure of the forest in Angaso had a devastating impact on the hunter. The woodcutter could still chop trees nearby in an emergency, but the hunter couldn’t go around hunting for mice to make a living. They only received meager subsidies and hoped the forest would reopen before they ran out of resources. Later, when the ban was lifted, the forest was gone.

The old hunter Hunte was in his prime, single, and had the common problem of a single hunter – feeling he could catch prey at any time, living carefree. He had no savings and was planning a big hunting trip before winter. However, with the news of the blockade in the north and the barren land spreading, the price of food kept increasing.

Hunte hadn’t enjoyed a good meal in a long time. He could only afford one meal a day, spending all his money on food. One day, after work with an empty wallet and even emptier stomach, he was lured by the aroma to the town square, where he stopped in front of Hybrid’s booth. Watching Hybrid enjoy their meal, Hunte felt anger rising within him. Why should they eat well every day, while he had to go hungry? Screw that! If he had to die, he’d die with a full stomach!

Hunter Hunte was the first to break.

In the isolated southeast corner of Aryan, people didn’t have enough food to last through winter. It was still early autumn, and technically the food shouldn’t have run out yet. However, when considering everyone as a whole, it’s a different story. Even if you were to average your wealth with Jack Ma, you’d still be a millionaire. But you can’t just take an average here. The villagers nearby panicked about the withering fields and refused to sell their reserves to the townspeople and city dwellers. The relatively wealthy landlords and merchants quickly hoarded food, raising prices and figuring out how to profit from the situation. Captain Halite turned a blind eye to this, telling complainers that if they couldn’t afford food, they could always trade with their friendly neighbors – after all, the army was living off their provisions.

Hunter Hunte was the first one struggling to cope but not the only one and certainly not the last.

Like a leaking dam, more and more people joined the labor-for-food queue after the first civilian. Even those who were hesitant didn’t criticize others for compromising with the Hybrid this time. They needed to save face, in case they joined those people in the future and got criticized for their past words.

The human gathering point isolated in the southeast corner did not form a self-sufficient system.

Small artisans faced problems on their production line. Some raw materials ran out, while some products couldn’t be sold. The northern traders stopped coming, and the villages and towns couldn’t absorb all these products. On one hand, nobody wanted to buy their crafts, and on the other hand, they couldn’t reduce prices, otherwise they wouldn’t have money left to buy expensive food. Prices kept rising every day, making human currency less and less valuable, while the Dwarf Money used by the Hybrid became a stable guarantee, valuable yet not freely circulating.

Soon, the stalls in the central square were crowded. People started noticing a new problem: there was a limit to the resources in the forest, a restriction on the number of people who could work, and tools were not infinite, resulting in limited job positions. This discovery made the job market extremely competitive, and those who were hesitant before realized that job positions would soon be in high demand.

At that moment, the cook took off her hat after finishing work.

The crowd gasped as they all stared at the pointed ears revealed under the hat. They were located in the same position as human ears but looked distinctly non-human.

"Demon!" someone exclaimed in shock.

"They are elves," the cook explained calmly, even smiling. "To be precise, I am a half-elf, with my grandfather being a Forest Elf."

Understanding this concept was too difficult for the residents living on the border of Aryan. Though they had called them Hybrids in the past, deep down they believed these people were just regular humans with the Hybrid label. Now, with the pointed ears right in front of them, this feature was much more distinct than being short. The people in the queue scattered, leading to a stampede incident that would have been uglier without the military maintaining order.

"She messed up," Victor said. "You messed up by telling her she didn’t need to hide her magic."

"It’s true," Tasha replied.

"Is that so? Look at those fools who are scared off by the mixed-blood Forest Elf. It seems like all your work for weeks has gone down the drain," Victor teased, watching as the people cursed and fled.

"They will come back," Tasha said calmly. "Soon."

Soon, very soon.

The next day, half of the people lined up again. Some of those who had sworn never to return yesterday exchanged awkward glances and smiles. Indeed, many had talked big in the tavern last night about Aryan’s struggles, human dignity, and the cursed Hybrids, but when they got home, they couldn’t help but think, "What if I don’t go back? What will happen when the food runs out? If everyone else has already compromised by then, will I end up with no place to go and starve to death?" They also thought, "What if others don’t go, and I go first tomorrow? Maybe as one of the few willing to trade, I can get a good price…"

So, the front of the cottage remained bustling with people.

"It may seem that way when there’s no choice, but I still don’t think it’s ‘okay’," Victor said. "You’ve seen how exclusive humans are now. As long as we claim we’re not Hybrids, it’s just a misunderstanding, and then turn their leaders into puppets, things will become very simple. You’ve been choosing the most difficult and thankless solutions recently."

"I know what I’m doing," Tasha said.

She knew what Victor was saying and what she was doing.

Using magic to transform food, hiring humans to clean the forest, although it speeds up the forest’s recovery, it also consumes a lot of magic. From the perspective of surviving in the dungeon, taking care of these humans or setting up stalls is not a profitable thing.

However, Tasha’s goal has never been just to survive.

She said, "I don’t think that’s quite enough."

Next, Victor understood what that "not quite enough" meant.

The job-seeking queue had returned to its previous size in less than a week, with most able-bodied young adults coming to the cleaning site in Angaso Forest. Many who were not good at physical work also signed up, but now with an oversupply of workers, the market favored the strong, and the weak artisans, lonely women, and children were easily dismissed. At this moment, a new notice saved these struggling individuals.

The general idea of the announcement was that tomorrow, there will be traders from another race coming to the market for border trade, using Dwarf Money as currency. The attached table also had pricing suggestions for Dwarf Money.

The market, which was on the verge of paralysis, revived, and those who could not or did not want to exchange labor for food were all energized. Figures like the mayor and town leaders smelled something unusual from the promotion of the foreign race’s currency system, but even if they saw the other party’s long-standing ambitions, what could they do? They could not control the prices here, their authority was diminishing, in this chaotic place, those with power controlled the food supply, not to mention the alliance between the military and the wealthy. They could only focus on their administrative work, watching as the people were drawn to them.

The first trading caravan from the dungeon, or more simply put, the spending shopping squad, arrived at the market the next morning. They were welcomed by the merchants lining the streets, each trying their best to attract these cash-carrying customers to their stalls. The dungeon residents who had come here at Tasha’s request were taken aback by this warmth. They had never been to the surface before, only hearing about the cold treatment from friends and family, they thought they would have to wait for weeks before breaking the ice.

The people from Amazon, who were not happy about this trip, reluctantly looked at the goods. In the end, everyone bought a lot of things in the lively atmosphere, since the leader of the dungeon would pay for the first shopping expenses. Dwarf Money is the currency of the dwarves and one of the items that can be made in the workshop. Soon after the Amazonians moved into the dungeon, Tasha started promoting this currency in the dungeon. Now that the underground prices have stabilized, it’s time to spread it to the surface.

The first shopping trip ended quickly and successfully, and the news spread among more artisans and merchants. By the second day, people at the market prepared the goods they thought would be most appealing to other tribes, eagerly awaiting their neighbors’ arrival.

The shopping team was open to anyone who wanted to join. So, a new group of dungeon residents came to the surface, feeling uneasy under the watchful eyes of the crowd. The craftsman dwarves were starting to panic. The residents of the Wanderer Camp had never seen so many friendly human faces. Some Amazonians doubted if this was a trap, how could humans be so friendly? The dwarves huddled together, discussing under the intense gaze of the merchants, feeling that these people looked different from what they had imagined humans to be like.

"I remember them all looking like this," the craftsman dwarf made a fierce expression.

Members of the Wanderer Camp lived secluded lives and only saw humans as soldiers coming to eradicate heretics, looking fierce and scary — how else would you expect soldiers on the battlefield to look at their enemies? The craftsman dwarves looked around, comparing the faces they remembered, speculating that these humans either had two faces or two types of faces, like male mosquitoes feeding on plants while females bite people — oh, better not let the Amazonians hear this, they might beat you up.

"Maybe this is how regular humans look like?" the most optimistic person pondered, "The fierce ones might be mutants."

Anyway, the trading began and gradually became a regular occurrence.

Clothes made by humans were better than those made of linen or animal skins. Some clever tailors customized clothes for their guests. These skilled and experienced tailors could make special short clothes and even sew Amazonian ethnic costumes upon request. An exceptionally skilled female tailor even gained the friendship of the Amazonians — after all, you can’t remain silent when discussing clothing styles, and the Amazonians were quite tolerant towards foreign women.

A popular toy made of a combination of glass plates and colored paper scraps (which Tasha thought looked similar to a kaleidoscope) was a hit. The outsiders, who hid in their play, were far less playful than the humans living safely in the town. Amazonian children loved this toy, while most craftsman dwarves were playful at heart, buying a variety of toys, dismantling them to make better ones, adding a long list of children’s toys to the workshop’s inventory.

When Tasha no longer restricted the number of people on the surface, more and more dungeon residents came above ground. Friction occurred often, but there was never any bloodshed.

Things went so smoothly, also thanks to some good luck. The army that was defeated in battle with the Amazonians before was not from the local town, so their casualties did not unite the local residents against them. The army with the Magic Cannon was defeated by Tasha when she took out their commander. Most of the scattered soldiers were incorporated into the team of the colonel in the north, with only a few joining Captain Halite’s army. Now, there is not much animosity between the surviving army in the southeast corner and the Amazonians. Additionally, the unique culture of the Amazonians leads them to respect battle and their adversaries, even glorifying death in combat. They would search for thousands of miles to avenge a captured kinsman, but rarely seek revenge for fallen comrades.

As different races roamed among the human district, with humans crowding the stalls of other races, and various construction teams of different races inevitably collaborating, drawing boundaries became increasingly difficult.