406 Patrick Stars Report of the Black Volcano (1/2)
”He's the Mercenary Captain, Black Cat Captain Polio, whom I mentioned to you before.”
Sherlock introduced Polio, who was on the table. Behind Sherlock were Brainiac and Eggface.
”Greetings, I'm Nobody Has This Name's Captain, Black Kitten Polio, meow.”
The black kitten had a small waistcoat. It wasn't known when he had prepared his waistcoat.
Nicholas glanced at Sherlock to ensure that he wasn't being pranked, then shook Polio's paw and said, ”Greetings… Captain of Nobody Has This Name…”
Nicholas conveniently tried to forget the name. He could see the tough character of Polio, but the mercenary group's name was strange.
”The name isn't important. The important thing is that the mercenary group can help you retrieve your item and investigate the reason for the destruction of the Dungeon Core.”
Nicholas quickly explained, ”No, no, no, Lord Sherlock, the Dungeon Core hasn't been confirmed destroyed.”
”Oh, of course. This is a small probability. To increase the probability of success, I'm sending my best Lich, Brainiac, to be the technical advisor. My capable assistant, Master of the Dark Flames, Eggface, will be Polio's Logistics Officer. Don't worry, Nicholas, just wait for our good news.”
Nicholas took out his seal and imprinted it on the contract to employ Nobody Has This Name.
”I'm depending on you, Black Cat Captain!”
…
”Lava was spurting out of a distant Black Volcano like an abandoned red cauliflower…”
Patrick Star sat in a teahouse in a small town not far from the foot of the Black Volcano as he wrote the latest draft of his news article.
After reporting on the Dungeon War between Eternal Kingdom and Morgan, he had become the top reporter of the Winterfell press.
The most important thing was that Patrick Star understood the meaning of his life, which was to obtain the most unusual pieces of news.
Helping an old granny across the road, clearing the clogs in toilet bowls, the reared old chicken dying, and traffic jams weren't news, not according to Patrick Star!
For example, Patrick Star wasn't interested in reporting the news of not helping an old granny cross the road.
When he learned of Winterfell's crisis from a secret channel—that Winterfell had a deal with a Northern Dukedom and the Merchant Band was annihilated at the Black Volcano due to some special reasons—he rushed over. Thanks to the advanced technology of the Teleport Portal, he only spent a day traveling from the edge of the Northern Underworld, Winterfell, to the middle of the Northern Underworld, the Black Volcano.
Over here, he received many pieces of news.
”Have you heard about it? The volcano is erupting these days. It's scary. Who will excavate the clay to eat?”
”What? Who dares to excavate clay while it's erupting? The clay is polluted by the volcano. Aren't they afraid of death?”
”He's thinking of ending his life. The last I heard, his wife had an affair with a Goblin.”
”Ai, he's pitiful. He's only known his wife for five years. If he dies, his eight-year-old child won't have a dad.”
Similar conversations were heard in the teahouse.
While Patrick Star was writing his report, a Werewolf, who was the boss of the teahouse, wiped the bar counter. Then, he slung the towel over his shoulder and asked Patrick Star, ”You aren't here for a tour of the Black Volcano?”
”Hmm, how did you know?”
Patrick Star was wary. The Werewolf smiled and showed his sharp teeth. Then, he said, ”It's the volcano's eruption period. Besides the suicidal and those looking for a free tour, nobody comes here. Their mental states are different from yours. I've worked here for tens of years, so there's nothing here that escapes my eyes.”
”Really? Can I interview you? I'm a Winterfell reporter. This is my reporter pass.”
The eyes of Patrick Star lit up. He took out his employment pass for the Werewolf to take a look.
”Oh, a reporter! We welcome reporters,” the Werewolf exclaimed happily. He took out a wooden signboard with the words:
”Teahouse information outlet. Please feel free to ask questions at one Magic Stone per question.”
There was a line of fine print:
”I'm only providing information as a teahouse boss. I'm not an oracle.”
There was another line of even finer print: