"Wah—who are you!?"
Startled, Melga jumped back. Only then did she get a clear look at the speaker.
It was a person… probably. They wore an iron helmet that completely covered their face, making it impossible to see their expression.
But there was no fur, no spikes or scales, and both the smell and voice were normal—so it was most likely a human.
Wait… if someone was here, why didn't I notice?
Melga immediately became alert. She carefully sized up the stranger and soon realized why she hadn't noticed him before.
Because he showed absolutely no emotional fluctuation.
Normally, when people see strangers, there's always some kind of reaction—hostility, fear, disgust, anything.
But this person—the iron-helmeted man—had been completely focused on the pot in front of him, as if the entire world consisted only of that pot and the bright red shrimp boiling inside it. As long as he paid no attention to the outside world, then the outside world simply didn't exist.
That kind of single-minded focus was something only a rare few could achieve.
Melga's imagination started running wild, though thankfully, the man didn't feel particularly strong—otherwise she might've gone full "Demiurge mode."
"Who are you—ah, I mean… may I ask who you are?" she asked, carefully choosing her words to remain polite.
After all, this shrimp-cooking "ruffian" didn't look like an ordinary adventurer. What kind of normal person would choose to boil shrimp in a place like this?
"What's your problem? If you're not buying shrimp, then get lost. I'm not interested in talking to strangers."
The moment he spoke, his tone was openly irritated, and he waved her away dismissively.
Wow, this guy's even more temperamental than a menopausal Wienma.
Raising an eyebrow, Melga smiled. "Can't I chat even if I'm not buying? The lake's full of fog—I'm a little scared. I finally found someone to talk to."
"If you're not buying, then get lost. I'll kill you," the ruffian replied bluntly.
No matter what Melga said after that, he repeated the same line, making her face turn as red as the shrimp in the pot.
[Why are you getting worked up over a phantom?] Liznai's voice echoed in her mind through telepathy.
Melga stiffened, pretending to dust nonexistent dirt off her clothes.
[Of course I know he's a phantom. If I keep talking, maybe he'll say something different. It's called gathering intel—can't you tell?]
[Heh.]
[Try buying a shrimp.] Wienma's voice joined in.
Buy shrimp again…
Melga pouted. The grilled giant lobster they had earlier hadn't tasted good—firm texture, sure, but with a strong muddy flavor. And it was hard not to think about its terrifying appearance while eating it.
But the shrimp in the ruffian's pot looked much better. They were smaller—some about half a person's length, others only palm-sized—far less intimidating and much easier to eat.
Catching small shrimp should be easier than giant lobsters, right?
Not really.
Melga clearly remembered that small shrimp moved in groups alongside giant lobsters. Trying to catch them would inevitably mean dealing with their "parents."
Looking at it that way, anyone who could catch shrimp and sell them in the dangerous lake was definitely a ruthless individual.
"I'll buy one shrimp," she said.
Honestly, calling it "shrimp" felt a bit strange—why not just call it lobster? But since the ruffian used that term, she followed his lead.
"Oh, changed your mind, huh? I'll give you shrimp—but you'll have to give me something in return."
At first, Melga thought he wanted some specific item, but it turned out he only wanted souls.
A palm-sized shrimp cost 200 souls, while the half-body-sized ones cost over a thousand. Not cheap at all.
But considering how difficult it was to obtain shrimp in the lake, the price seemed reasonable.
"Here's your shrimp."
After Melga paid, the ruffian casually reached into the boiling pot with an iron grip, pulled out a shrimp, skillfully removed the tail, and handed it to her.
Looking at the white-and-red meat, she hesitated for a moment before taking it.
Even if it tastes bad, I'll accept it.
Thinking that, she took a bite.
"…Huh?"
Her surprised voice drew everyone's attention. Was it poisoned?
"This… this…"
Covering her mouth, Melga stared at the shrimp she had bitten. "It's delicious!"
"It's just boiled shrimp, but the flavor bursts in your mouth—rich, savory, tender, and juicy, yet still springy. The salt is perfectly balanced. I could eat this forever!"
Don't suddenly turn this into a food review stream!
Her description made the surrounding elves swallow instinctively, their gazes shifting toward the ruffian. In the next second, they all rushed forward at once.
But Melga was faster. "Another one!"
"Oh, buying again? You've got good taste." Though his face was hidden, his smile could practically be heard. "This one's on the house. Anyone who likes shrimp can't be a bad person."
The shrimp was delicious—and the word "free" made it taste twice as good. Melga happily ate while giving space to her companions.
Soon, a small mountain of shrimp shells piled up. The elves sat in rows, eating shrimp in synchronized rhythm—it was oddly adorable.
While everyone enjoyed the food, Wienma was the first to notice something strange.
"[Mid-Level Appraisal]."
She cast a spell to examine her own status. It revealed whether she had any positive or negative effects, and at mid-level, it could even roughly gauge their strength.
After reading the result, her expression mirrored Melga's earlier surprise.
"What's wrong, boss?" Liznai asked, wiping her mouth. (Though due to her curse, what people heard sounded slightly different from what she actually meant.)
"The spell shows a mysterious power protecting me—it reduces damage from non-magical attacks," Wienma analyzed. "It only lasts a few minutes, but the reduction is significant."
What? Cooked shrimp has this effect?
Then why didn't the giant lobster they ate earlier have it? Could it be that only this ruffian's shrimp had such properties?
If Stella were here, she'd definitely say: I knew everything from the Sein Dungeon has a use.
Now that the shrimp had special effects, its value skyrocketed. Even 200 souls suddenly seemed cheap.
Melga and the others all turned toward the pot at the same time.
A second of silence—
Then chaos.
"Boss, I'll buy everything!" "Get lost, I'm buying too!" "We share the same ancestors!" "So what? They're all buried anyway!"
Unlike merchants with endless stock, the ruffian only sold what was in the pot. Once it was gone, it was gone.
Delicious taste, useful buffs, and—most importantly—limited supply were more than enough to spark a frenzy.
After everything sold out, the ruffian repeated his line:
"Anyone who likes shrimp can't be a bad person. I get along with you all."
But the elves were too busy arguing over distribution to care.
In the end, Wienma lashed out with vines to restore order.
Then, as if some condition had been met, the ruffian spoke new lines:
"You're people who stumbled in here by accident too, right? Following the guidance of grace? Unfortunately, I can't see it at all."
"A nobody like me coming here with delusions… it's laughable. I've even given up my name—just call me Ruffian."
"I'll stay here selling shrimp. Come back if you want more—maybe I'll have new products in the future."
Wienma felt there were hidden clues in his words, but she couldn't fully grasp them. What did "grace" mean? What was his "delusion"?
They tried asking, but he refused to elaborate, only repeating: "Come back if you want shrimp."
Ah, the classic fragmented storytelling again.
Wienma wasn't the type to piece together theories like Leon—she simply kept her doubts to herself.
Wait… before setting out, Stella had mentioned things they might encounter in the lake area—but she never brought up this ruffian.
Did they just discover something new by accident?
"If only we had a map," Melga muttered, stuffing shrimp into her pockets while memorizing the surroundings.
Some advanced magic could replicate the shrimp's effects—but shrimp was cheap, instant, and far more convenient. Not everyone could use magic, after all.
Refreshed by the meal, the elves felt energized and prepared to continue west.
Just then, seeing them head in that direction, the ruffian spoke again:
"You're heading west? Then do me a favor. I'll treat you to crab when you return."
"Sure! What do you need? We'll definitely help," Melga replied cheerfully.
"Take this."
The ruffian pulled out… a hammer?
Not a weapon, but a blacksmith's hammer.
"A blacksmith from the Academy Gate Town left it with me—name was something like Andre. He thought he lost it somewhere further west and went looking for it."
"If you find him, return this hammer. Once he gets it back, he'll probably head home—and maybe even forge weapons for you."
"If you really do find him, come back to me. I'll cook you a shrimp feast. After all, both you and the blacksmith are good people who like shrimp."
Surprisingly, the initially rude ruffian now showed a friendlier side. Even the intimidating iron helmet seemed less threatening.
"Got it. We won't fail."
Melga took the hammer and spun her cloak dramatically. "Alright, everyone—let's go save the clumsy blacksmith!"
"Who are you calling 'everyone'? I'm older than you—watch your mouth!" someone protested.
"Can't you just let me have this cool moment?"
"No!"
And so, they set off once more, full of energy and chatter—far livelier than any typical adventurer party.
They were practically a group of sunshine incarnate.