Chapter 632: One-Day Tour

The nearly three-meter-tall "giant" said with considerable regret:

"The 'Council of Six' forbids us from speaking of anything not mentioned in the Holy Scripture. Since you are already a follower of Mr. The Fool, you've surely heard the sermons and know the official account—I cannot tell you anything else, just as I cannot tell you I've seen the 'Angel of Redemption' and received his aid."

As he spoke, the "giant" reached to pat Lumian on the shoulder, but Lumian skillfully and imperceptibly avoided it.

"What should I call you?" Lumian didn't truly believe him, but his face wore an expression of reverence.

The "giant" replied:

"Livalier.

"To the rebirth of White Silver City!"

Lumian raised his massive beer mug, clinked it against the other's, then drained the remaining golden liquid in gulps.

He patted his bloated stomach, pointed toward the restroom, and signaled he needed to relieve himself.

The beer of New White Silver City itself held nothing special, but the cups were enormous—after two, even Lumian's physique and tolerance struggled to hold up.

This wasn't drunkenness—it was fullness!

Lumian entered the restroom, stood before one of the urinals, unfastened his belt, and half-closed his eyes.

A "giant" over three meters tall entered, choosing the urinal beside him.

Lumian instinctively glanced sideways, then slowly looked away.

His gaze drifted blankly at the wall ahead until the pressure in his lower abdomen fully eased, then he stepped out and returned to his old seat at the bar.

Livalier had ordered him a new drink: a beer of deep black hue, not dirty, swirling with faint brown tones.

"Try it—New White Silver City's specialty: Blackface Beer!" the "giant," firmly convinced he was human, enthusiastically introduced.

"Blackface Beer?" Lumian lifted the beer mug—larger than his own head—and asked in confusion.

Livalier suddenly grew melancholy:

"The 'Land of the God-Forsaken' has no sun, no fertile soil—only blackface grass grows. It is our staple, feeding generation after generation of White Silver City's people. Though it's never enough, it's better than nothing.

"Back then, blackface grass was far too precious to brew into alcohol—too wasteful, too wasteful.

"Heh, now that food, meat, and milk are plentiful, I've grown taller—thirty centimeters taller than before."

"Can blackface grass still be grown in New White Silver City? Underground?" Lumian wasn't a "Grower," but he'd grown up in the countryside—he knew plants from extreme environments usually died when moved to normal ones.

Livalier smiled:

It can! It grows in any environment. Of course, we've improved the seeds to suit today's conditions—its taste has changed significantly from before, becoming better and even more delicious. Try it—you won't find this beer anywhere else. We grow so little now, mostly just to remember the past.

Lumian, intrigued, brought the mug to his lips and took a large gulp.

First came the normal, light malt aroma, then a refreshing, slightly stimulating grassy note beneath the sweetness, finally a faint, elusive milky flavor lingering in his mouth.

"Good. A unique and excellent experience," Lumian offered his praise without hesitation.

He asked curiously:

"Is there a strong liquor made from blackface grass?"

Livalier's expression darkened slightly as he shook his head:

"All of us in New White Silver City consider drunkenness a fall, a waste, a luxury we cannot afford—we reject strong liquor."

He paused, then added:

"Besides, blackface grass doesn't seem suited for brewing—even as beer, too much induces hallucinations. I never drink more than three cups."

Mild toxicity? New White Silver City's people survived generation after generation in the 'Land of the God-Forsaken' by eating this plant—how hard they must have struggled… Lumian remembered his sister's occasional jokes and smirked:

"Do you see a group of little people dancing when you drink too much?"

Livalier thought a moment:

"No, the hallucinations vary—some see their wives slapping themselves, others hear dead relatives calling out, some find a baby crying on the roadside…"

Lumian could no longer bear hearing anything about crying babies—he lost interest and shifted the conversation back to the taste of blackface beer.

After finishing this cup, he went to the restroom again, then left the bar, planning to stroll through New White Silver City while the afternoon sun was still bright, and "teleport" back to the "Berry" moored at Hant Port by evening.

Among the buildings—few in storeys but extraordinarily tall—the main walkers were "half-giants"; occasionally, one or two "giants" over three meters tall could be seen, while those under 1. meters were almost nonexistent—unless they were children with childish faces.

Lumian's height barely qualified; his eyes scanned everywhere.

He noticed some green vines crawling up parts of the walls, bearing numerous soft, large, pure white mushrooms.

Mushrooms? When did vines start growing mushrooms? Lumian frowned, doubting his botany.

Then he realized these might be special plants brought from the 'Land of the God-Forsaken'—and relaxed.

He walked up to a street stall, tilting his head up:

"You sell milk? But I don't see any milk buckets."

The vendor, two meters fifty-six centimeters tall with slightly gray-blue skin, grinned warmly:

"That house behind me is mine. Want milk?"

"A cup, then." Lumian had asked—he might as well buy it.

Though New White Silver City's currency didn't include Ferkjin or Jin Lisuo, gold was universally accepted.

The vendor happily fetched a cup, turned to his two-story house, reached out, and plucked a soft, white mushroom.

He held it over the cup's mouth and squeezed hard.

A stream of milky white liquid gushed out, quickly filling the cup.

Lumian stared, mouth slightly open, eyes once again clouded with confusion.

You call this milk?

"There you go." The "half-giant" vendor handed him the milk.

Lumian took it reflexively, then asked blankly:

"That's a mushroom?"

"Yes. Milk mushroom." The "half-giant" looked utterly sincere.

You call that a mushroom? Lumian paid in a daze, cup in hand, and walked away from the stall.

He couldn't recall how much he'd paid, nor his original plan to chat with the vendor while buying milk.

After walking ten meters, he brought the cup to his lips and gulped.

A strong milk flavor!

Lumian finished the milk, frowning, but found nothing wrong with it.

But this liquid came from a mushroom!

"Just think of it as a special plant… just think of it as a special plant…" Lumian muttered to himself, with no intention of trying again.

He feared drinking too much might make him produce milk himself!

He continued wandering, aimlessly strolling along streets twice as wide as those in Hant Port.

Suddenly, another "half-giant" with slightly gray-blue skin approached, clutching a thick book, speaking with excessive enthusiasm:

"Friend, would you like to learn about our guiding beacon and savior…"

Lumian laughed, placed a hand over his chest, and bowed:

"Praise The Fool!"

"Ah, a brother!" The "half-giant" looked slightly disappointed yet delighted.

They communicated in Ancient Fursak, but as Lumian had walked through town, he'd occasionally heard New White Silver City residents slip in Giant-language words capable of triggering supernatural forces.

"Do outsiders often come here?" Lumian asked casually.

The "half-giant" smiled:

"Foreigners often visit to observe, experience, tour. In the early years, some even chose to settle here—but most later left, finding life with us too stressful. Heh, we're too tall, and we don't understand leisure much."

As he spoke, the "half-giant" pulled something from his pocket and handed it to Lumian:

"I'm glad you visited New White Silver City. Try our homemade sugar."

It was a candy wrapped in thin blue-and-white paper.

Lumian didn't refuse—he took it, peeled off the wrapper, and popped the white candy into his mouth.

Intense milk aroma and rich sweetness immediately fermented on his tongue—silky, delicious.

Milk aroma… Lumian's mind stirred; he asked with a strange expression:

"Is this milk candy?"

"Yes." The preaching "half-giant" beamed.

"What milk is it made from?" Lumian never imagined he'd ask such a question.

The "half-giant" answered naturally:

"Milk from the milk mushroom, of course."

"…" Lumian held the candy in his mouth—couldn't spit it out, couldn't swallow it.

He could feel the sincerity and warmth behind the gesture.

In the time that followed, he saw mushrooms fried to smell like meat, mushrooms roasted to smell like fish, mushrooms of every kind, strange and bizarre.

Lumian's gaze remained blank as he watched the "half-giants" and "giants" joyfully sharing them.

Unconsciously, he reached a corner of New White Silver City.

There stood a towering building.

It had two parts: a spired tower on the left, a domed tower on the right, gray-white walls, thirty to forty meters tall.

"So this is the Twin Towers? According to Livalier, the spired tower houses libraries and public facilities; the domed tower is where the 'Council of Six' governs New White Silver City… Such a place must have sealed artifacts, powerful beings…" Lumian stood at a distance, studying the building.

His gaze swept over the domed tower and noticed clumps of black, hair-like plants growing from the cracks between bricks near the ground, swaying gently in the wind.

Lumian looked away and walked toward the spired tower, curious what books had been preserved in this human settlement that had endured for millennia in the 'Land of the God-Forsaken'.

(End of Chapter)