Chapter 139: Its Not My Fault; Its The Items Fault! (1/2)

Humans are very weird.

After living a while at the Frogmen Village, Ironfelt found the behavior of the people around him quite incomprehensible.

Firstly, they carry out trading with something known as ‘game currency’… weren’t human commonly using the bronze coins, silver Rions and golden Abbys as distributed by the financial cabinet of the Church of Gaglomeia, Goddess of Prosperity?

To have a comfortable life on the surface, Ironfelt had actually sold off his favorite awl in exchange for a sizable amount of Rions from the Craftsmen Guild…

But money didn’t really matter. It was not as if he was planning to start some ironworks on the surface—he was fine as long as he had enough money.

Still, the behavior of the believers simply left him bemused.

They were obsessed with slaughtering the fishfolk who were attacking the beaches, even arguing over the numbers each respective person killed.

Ironfelt is also confused as to how they saw death. They did not fear the idea, and even saw it as a… uh, measure?

He had actually seen one particular believer who floated down the shallows without any limbs, and stabbed some of the fishfolk with the stubs that was once his arm just so that he could hurry up with killing a few more fishmen.

In the end, he drowned—just like that, right in front of Ironfelt’s eyes.

That believer’s party members were not even surprised. In fact, they were saying something like ‘we gotta bring a cleric next time’ as they turned their backs to the believer and had a laugh as they returned to the Frogmen Village.

The whole incident left Ironfelt feeling chills, his hairs standing on end.

No matter how obsessed they were with fighting, not even the dark dwarves saw death as an honor!

If it wasn’t for a divine oracle leading him here, he would already have thought that this was a settlement for insane cultist…

Nonetheless, what weirded out Ironfelt the most was that the believers of the God of Games did not like forging weapons. All of them had their own, although they came in every weird assortment possible.

There was one longsword which looked just like one, but its edge somehow would split forward like a trident. It looked cool but was really impractical!

After all, stabbing with such a blade meant the branched out edges would split the force used on the thrusting, and without a long handle that lends strength, it was not going to cut deep into an enemy’s body and the two adjacent edges would only be the parts doing damage. Anyone who wielded it could even tell that the longsword’s balance was off, not to mention that it was more taxing to use it compared to normal weapons, and even more useless than those ornamental blades that nobles used…

But somehow, the believer who was carrying that useless weapon was confidently saying something like ‘Finally, an Elite Weapon. I’m going to fight ten fishmen at once now!’, with the other believers around him casting him envious looks.

‘It takes great strength just to swing that thing of his at one fishman,’ Ironfelt could not help protesting inwardly. ‘Any sword the rest of you have is far useful, although it’s not as cool as his.”