Chapter 96: The Cult of the Mae God

  "g! g! g!"

  As the saying goes, when you pull up the bellows with a whoosh and grab the big hammer that rings g g, the pyer with the ID "Iron Frenzy" was furiously hammering away with brute strength. Beside him, a pile ht iron pipes had already accumuted.

  Iron Frenzy paid o the scorg heat blowing against his faor did he mind the sweat dripping profusely from his forehead. His expression was extremely excited, as if he had endless energy.

  This guy chose the Barbarian css but had hardly fought at all—just to have greater strength.

  This brute strength was used for ohing only: f.

  Yes, ever siering the game, he had been f nonstop. Now, he had bee the you and stro bcksmith in Baator City's smithy.

  The old tiefling bcksmith Dymo watched from the side, blowing his beard and gring. "You kid, sg off all day—what's the use of fiddling with this junk?"

  He shook his head and sighed, his face full of heartache.

  "What a waste of materials! So much fine iron—if I were young again, I could make you the best set of armor."

  Iron Frenzy gnced disdainfully at the old bcksmith, his hands opping.

  "It's not like I didn't do good work for you. I've long pleted my task quota. I do whatever I like; stop nagging me."

  Looking at those crooked steel pipes, his expression became excited again, with inexplicable fervor in his tone:

  "Old Dymo, just you wait and see."

  "The dire of the times lies beh my hammer!"

  Iron Frenzy spoke spiritedly while passionately f.

  Dymo: "..."

  Fortunately, he had seen a lot these days. These guys who called themselves "pyers"—no matter what they said or did—old Dymo didn't find it stra all.

  "Tsk tsk, these fellows."

  Nothing more thaing used to it.

  Dymo fell into his memories.

  A few months ago, he was minding the smithy when two pyers seemingly came to purchase equipment normally.

  One chatted casually with him, while the other btantly started stealing in the smithy, rummaging around noisily and making a mess, even reag into Dymo's own pockets.

  The aplice trying to "distract" him remained calm and unflustered, chatting away without any ge in expression.

  This left Dymo greatly shocked. He had seen thieves before but never so brazen. He had seen brazen ones, but his audacious.

  Old Dymo couldn't bear it any longer. Veins bulging on his arms, he picked up a ten-pound iron hammer and knocked both of them down.

  When he called the stable to take them away, the two "pyers" kept struggling, faces full of disbelief, shouting nonsense like "I circled behind you," "My stealth save is very high," and "We were clearly in dialogue mode," leaving Dymo utterly speechless.

  However, as suts happened more and more, old Dymo gradually became numb. When he knocked out thieves with his hammer, his face remained expressionless, like an experienced farmer harvesting wheat.

  Later, he also discovered the positive side of these pyers: they were tireless and even disregarded life ah.

  For instance, he no longer had to work; all his tasks were handed over to these bcksmith apprentices.

  "It's do's done!"

  "I did it!"

  Iron Frenzy's excited shout interrupted old Dymo's ption.

  Just as he was about to step forward for a look, more than a dozen bcksmith apprentice pyers swarmed over, pletely ign the elderly Dymo beside them.

  "These impolite youngsters."

  Old Dymo muttered softly.

  But he couldn't be bothered to look anymore; who knew what weird things they were tinkering with?

  Old Dymo leaned ba his chair, squinted his eyes, and pced an old, yellowed book over his face, enjoying the leisure of not having to work.

  "It's do's done!"

  Iron Frenzy shouted exuberantly.

  Everyone crowded the smithy, eyes fixed on the freshly cooled, rough iron gun barrel.

  These people were all members of the same guild—the 【Cult of the Mae God】.

  This was a guild posed of mae enthusiasts. The guild leader was "Iron Frenzy," and their slogan was "The flesh is weak; maery asds!" Unfortunately, the game's early basic csses didn't involve maery.

  Fortunately, they were surprised to find that various reas iy could ma as magi Erezaghe. So this group of 【Cult of the Mae God】 pyers bzed a rail in f—bcksmithing.

  Now, Dymo's smithy had maems: iron pipes, crude springs, taps and dies, simple thes, bench drills, vices, files, and more—all crafted by these mae fanatics.

  Seeing that they were w for free, Dymo turned a blind eye, letting them mess around.

  A guild member and famous firearms enthusiast, "Battlefield Wheelchair Man," shouted, "Brihe best wood! The stoeeds to be big!"

  The pyers of the Cult of the Mae God were now busy and delighted in the smithy.

  "One part saltpeter, two parts sulfur, three parts charcoal. The equipment isn't great, so let's make do with traditional bck powder."

  "Where did our trigger and hammer go?"

  "Damn, old Dymo took them to make rings; we'll have to remake them."

  "What about gunprains? Let's use wrought iron—smash it up, and it'll barely work."

  "Bullets? Small steel balls will do; we add some lead. Before firing, them in cloth and stuff them directly into the barrel so they won't fall out."

  Soon, after everyone's busy efforts,

  Perhaps the first firearm on the nd of Aa was born.

  A front-loading, firing shotgun y there quietly. It had a rough wrought iron barrel, a simple hammer-firing meism, an absurdly rge wooden stock, and oilcloth-ed "bullets" scattered beside it—some small steel balls had even spilled out. The st of saltpeter permeated the surroundings.

  Although it looked crude, like junk from an abandoned factory, it embodied everyone's hard work.

  Creating such a devi a pce with productivity equivalent to the Middle Ages was naturally a challenging process.

  "Did it succeed?"

  "Quick, pick it up and try it."

  Iron Frenzy carefully picked up the makeshift gun, boriously stuffed the oilcloth-ed bullet into the barrel, with many steel balls falling out.

  He slowly raised the gun, aiming at the scarecrow target that had been prepared.

  The members of the 【Cult of the Mae God】 all held their breath.

  "Bang!"

  The gunsh out, like thunder on a clear day.

  Old Dymo, who had been sleeping soundly, was jolted awake, startled enough that the book fell from his face.

  He shouted angrily, "You brats, what are you up to now?"

  But he saw that group of pyers cheering and dang around a strangely shaped broken iron pipe.

  Beside them was a scarecrow that had been bsted apart, bck smoke rising from it, and still-warm iros scattered on the ground.

  The air was filled with the smell of gunpowder.

  "So they're messing with that junk again."

  Old Dymo muttered softly, picked up the tattered book from the ground, patted off the dust, pced it back over his face, and drifted back to sleep.

  FAL