Chapter 328: I Want to Watch Too

After passing through the Luolan City teleport array, Ang and his group returned to Meishen City the next day, and along the way he had casually brewed a batch of beetroot wine, which he now presented to the dwarven sommeliers for tasting.

The dwarven sommeliers took a sip, immediately frowned, then frowned again and drank all of it.

Seeing this, everyone frowned.

Negril fluttered over and asked: "How is it? Is the wine good?"

The dwarves, drunk on alcohol, pointed at Negril and chuckled: "Hehe, little fat dragon, catch him and roast him…"

"Lightning!" Negril called out behind him.

Lightning, who had been having his head rubbed by Zi Hai and forcing a smile, hurried over and gave the dwarves a strong electric shock—they instantly sobered up.

"How's the wine? Good?" Negril asked with a smile.

The dwarves nodded meekly.

"Then why did you drink it all?" Negril asked, puzzled.

They quickly replied, "It's wine—how could you waste it? Even if it's spoiled, you still drink it; otherwise, it's an insult to the Wine God," and as they spoke, they licked their lips.

Judging by his expression, it wasn't about reverence—it was pure greed for alcohol.

Negril shook his head in disappointment: "Useless. Alright, let them go."

Tasting wine means having standards—if you'll drink spoiled wine just to finish it, how can you tell good from bad? These dwarves aren't qualified sommeliers.

He hadn't flown two steps when he felt his thigh being clutched—a bearded dwarf forced a "friendly, kind" smile so wide it nearly scared Negril:

"My lord, don't fire us! We'll drink less, that's all. We're dwarf warriors—strong, brave, invincible. Take us in, you won't regret it."

"Huh? I meant letting you go, restoring your freedom—what nonsense are you talking about?"

"No no no, we don't want freedom—we want wine! Give us wine! We're the bravest, invincible dwarf warriors!" The dwarf flexed his biceps and pounded his chest to prove his strength.

Negril gave up. To avoid being crushed, he had no choice but to keep these dwarf warriors on a deal: ten pounds of wine per month, plus food and lodging.

Much later, the lead dwarf, Copperbeard, revealed why he'd rather cling to Negril's leg than leave: Ang's wine was potent. Though the taste was awful, the strength knocked them all out.

Normally, even the strongest human liquor required each of them to drink five pounds to get drunk.

But they'd only tasted that awful wine once. The second time, the flavor was normal. The third time, it was already good. By the fourth, it was beyond description.

Of course, the potency remained the same—especially the aged beetroot wine, which gave dwarves a surge of strength, boosting their rank by one level, just like Lu Se eating beets.

"This is the human distillation furnace?" Du Luo stood circling the furnace, studied each component, then picked up the Golden Touch Rod and began enchanting it.

Rough parts became refined, heavy parts became light, complex parts became streamlined—in moments, the furnace was completely transformed.

"How is it? Acceptable?" Du Luo asked humbly; after all, this was a functional device—he could improve it, but whether the improvements were sensible depended on the experts' judgment.

The expert—the sixty-year-old human winemaker—stared at the upgraded furnace with shining eyes, nodding frantically: "Acceptable? More than acceptable! A magical distillation furnace? I never dared dream of one! So expensive—you these wasteful… noble lords."

Du Luo heard him, glanced sideways, tapped his Golden Touch Rod on the man's head—and his entire head of hair vanished instantly, leaving him a bald winemaker.

Indeed, few would use a magical furnace to brew wine. Even if you used one until it rotted, the wine you produced wouldn't earn back its cost.

But Ang didn't care—he used World Tree branches for the core decomposition rod. Such extravagance made Du Luo want to hit someone. Still, seeing the piles of World Tree branches filling his space, Du Luo slowly grew accustomed to this level of waste.

Twenty furnaces lined up in a row; Ang used the Scale of Balance to weigh every ingredient, ensuring identical proportions in each furnace.

Each oak barrel was purified with a cleansing spell, ensuring absolute cleanliness.

Then came the control group.

The Death Speed Aura was likely the divine technique every winemaker dreamed of—it compressed the entire fermentation process into a short time: ingredients added in the morning, wine ready by afternoon.

Ang used wheat, rice, beetroot, Dreamgrass, Moongrass, Seaweed Rice, Life Fruit, World Tree Nectar, Gao Potato, and more, paired with Moon Spring Water, Holy Water, Well Water, and brackish seawater.

He added Moon Spring Wine, Dwarf Strong Wine, and several human wine yeasts, cross-matching and repeatedly testing.

Hundreds of combinations existed; twenty furnaces per batch, three brews per day—this would take only about ten days.

Ang had once spent months searching for ten thousand cereal plants to cultivate Saltwater Rice—this workload was trivial.

"This Dream Algae Rice Wine is delicious—not too strong, with a sweet flavor like juice, perfect for those with low alcohol tolerance."

Lu Se held his cup, swirling the pale red liquid, pretending to be an expert.

Zi Hai used a small-oak-barrel as a glass, gulped a large mouthful, and laughed: "I love this Moongrass Ale—it fizzes! One sip, bubbles burst in my mouth, full of malt aroma."

Da Wu sipped the Rice Nectar Wine, said nothing, just stared into the distance, humming an unknown tune—making one feel as if standing in an untamed wilderness, where a shadow panther cried softly in the night sky.

A group of dwarf drunks held cups, eyes gleaming, scooping a cup from this barrel, then that one, sipping from one—eyes gleaming, sipping from another—eyes gleaming.

Don't expect them to describe quality—they're too busy drinking.

Lightning peeked around, targeting only the cups the dwarves had scooped but hadn't yet drunk, extending his tongue to lick—when it was too strong, he spat immediately; when it was good, he bit the cup and shoved the dwarf aside to steal it.

Drunk dwarves turned angrily—but when they saw it was Lightning, they swallowed their rage.

Nothing terrified dwarves more than no wine—now they'd added "fear of Lightning" to that phrase. No creature had ever controlled them so utterly.

Lightning preferred arguing over fighting; dwarves preferred fighting over arguing—but they couldn't win. They were stuck being scolded by Lightning—from dawn till dusk, their heads ached. From then on, dwarves feared Lightning.

Watching their reactions, Ang felt his brewing must have succeeded.

"Too successful! What if we can't drink this again after?" Copperbeard said.

Negril asked: "If you were the Dwarf King, which wine would you prefer?"

Copperbeard hurried to reply: "I like them all!"

"Any favorite?" Negril asked.

Copperbeard's eyes darted for a long while before reluctantly saying: "If I must pick one—beetroot wine. It's strange, but after drinking, I feel full of strength. If only it were stronger."

Hearing this, Ang picked up a bottle of beetroot wine, applied the Spot Removal Spell to it, purging the water as impurity.

Instantly, the wine's volume decreased by one-third.

Copperbeard took a tiny sip, his eyes instantly reddened, but he forced himself to say: "Stronger."

Ang applied the spell again—the volume dropped another third.

Copperbeard took a tiny sip, inhaled deeply, then gulped a large mouthful, belched loudly, and his body swelled.

"I've gone berserk! Aaaah!" Copperbeard's body expanded dramatically, height soaring to one point six meters, skin turning to stone, beard and hair standing rigid, eyes blazing red, and fine sparks of electricity flickering at his nostrils with each breath.

Negril stared, dumbfounded: "Bloodline awakening? Dwarf berserk? God of War possession?"

Du Luo shook his head: "Not God of War possession—only berserk."

Legend said dwarves carried Thunder Titan bloodline—but Thunder Titans adamantly denied it: how could they have such short descendants?

But when a dwarf's bloodline awakens, his height increases to over one point six meters, then he gains berserk ability, and ultimately, God of War possession.

At the God of War possession stage, dwarves can control lightning, hurling the Hammer of Thunder, smashing enemies into chaos—just like a Thunder Titan throwing a javelin.

That's why the legend claims they have Thunder Titan blood.

"Aaaah, I'm burning hot! Come fight me!" Copperbeard paced wildly, eyes blazing, glaring around.

But he still had his wits—he was furious but not out of control, and he never dared glare at Ang.

"Aoo!" The little angel charged forward, glowing fists raised.

Bam bam bam bam bam—neither could gain advantage; Copperbeard roared in frustration, because the little angel didn't feel pain—he did.

Unable to test true strength, Ang leapt over, grabbed it by the neck, and yanked it back.

The little angel kicked and punched wildly, protesting: "Aoo!"

The little zombie stepped forward, pounding his chest: "Aoo!"

The two little ones clashed in a frenzy.

Lu Se stepped out, fighting Copperbeard at half strength for a full half-hour, until Copperbeard's berserk effect faded.

"Enough. A normal dwarf, after one sip, can berserk and match a high-rank Sword Saint at half strength. I don't believe dwarves won't be interested in this wine," Du Luo said.

Negril nodded—this wasn't wine anymore. To dwarves, it was a berserk potion, a power multiplier.

He turned to suggest brewing only this wine—then saw Ang pulling out another bottle and adding something to it.

"What are you adding now?" Negril asked, puzzled.

Ang opened his palm—revealing a single Upgrade Bean.

"Pfft, you're adding this? They'll explode!" Such potent beetroot wine, now with an Upgrade Bean? Lu Se had once used these beans to forcibly ascend from low to high rank.

Ang crushed it, mixed it, sealed it, tapped it with his finger—equivalent to aging for a year—then chose a dwarf of similar level to Copperbeard and made him drink it.

The dwarf went berserk, moved around briefly, then burst blood vessels from the wine's potency—nearly died. Only Ang's intervention saved him.

"See? It's too strong. Stick with the original," Negril said.

"No," Du Luo disagreed: "Brew them all. Less beetroot wine, least of this. Normal dwarves can't handle this potency—can the Dwarf King handle it?"

"Huh? Bad idea! What if he can't handle it? If the Dwarf King dies drinking our wine, the dwarves will go mad." Negril hesitated.

Du Luo shook his head: "If the dwarves are the kind I knew, once they taste beetroot wine and learn a stronger version exists, they'll try it—no matter what. You won't stop them. We just need to distance ourselves."

A drunkard who learns of a stronger drink will taste it—even if he knows it's poison. Otherwise, no dwarf would ever steal blood potions to drink.

Anthony strongly agreed with Du Luo and was very satisfied with the beetroot wine's effect: "With so many wines, I don't believe dwarves will refuse to lend us their War Chess. Just a look won't cost them anything."

When Copperhammer received the visit request from Anthony and "Ascetic Ang," he was deeply surprised. Though he'd recently sent twenty thousand tons of grain as a goodwill gesture, Anthony daring to come to his territory? That was too much trust.

Copperhammer was the current Dwarf King, self-proclaimed Thunder War God—but he knew the truth: dwarves had no gods anymore.

Dwarves once had two deities: the War God and the Forge God. Both vanished a thousand years ago. His self-proclaimed title was merely bluffing.

Anthony didn't just visit—he brought several carts of fine wine.

"This is Dream Algae Rice Wine, this is Moongrass Ale, this is Rice Nectar Wine, this is Beetroot Wine—small tokens. I hope Your Majesty won't disdain them," Anthony introduced: "This beetroot wine is especially suited to your War God's descendants—it triggers berserk, multiplying your strength."

Copperhammer's eyes gleamed at the variety of wines, forcing himself to ask: "Lord Anthony, you're too generous. State your request—I'll do anything within our power."

Dwarves were straightforward, not stupid. The Grand Pope himself came to deliver gifts—surely not just for a visit? Say it plainly, then drink.

"Uh… could we drink first?" Copperhammer's attitude threw Anthony off rhythm.

"No. Say it first. If it's impossible, you take the wine back," Copperhammer said, pained.

Anthony understood his fear: he worried the wine would be consumed, then Anthony would demand something impossible—wine couldn't be returned.

"It's not difficult. We only wish to borrow your War God Chessboard for a look." Anthony sighed.

Dwarves are single-minded; once they make a decision, it's hard to change. I should've sent the caravan ahead to sell the wine first, let the dwarves taste it before coming here directly.

Now they haven't even tasted it, so their refusal comes without guilt. A mistake—too rushed. A mistake.

When Huang Tong heard this request, he said with a strange expression: "No problem, but I want to watch too."

Watching together is a reasonable request, but why does Huang Tong's expression look so strange?

Only after Huang Tong distributed the wine, had everyone drink their fill, and ensured none of them would vomit, did he lead them to the War Chess Ruins.

Then Andong understood why Huang Tong's expression had been so strange: "Ku Bada! You can't even activate the War Chess Ruins?"

"That's right. If you can activate it, go ahead and watch—let me watch too. I've never seen a replay of the Divine War."