Lemons and Explosives
Sometimes life throws you a curveball like that. You toss out a wild guess just in case, but as you keep talking, your own theory starts sounding more and more convincing. That's exactly what was happening now.
Scurvy! It's gotta be!
The symptoms matched perfectly. I wasn't a doctor, but I knew about scurvy. It had such a wild history that it even had its own page on some wiki back in my old life.
"What's scurvy?" Manjin muttered.
Truth be told, I wasn't even consciously aware of it anymore, but I was speaking the local common tongue, not Korean. Which meant they might not even know what scurvy was here.
"Scur... vy? Weird word."
Yeah, they had no clue.
Oh, they don't know about scurvy!
Time to explain the symptoms first, then.
Scurvy is basically vitamin C deficiency. Humans can't produce it on their own, so we have to get it from food regularly. But if your diet's out of whack for too long, you run low, and bam—lethargy sets in!
"...?"
Then appetite tanks, gums start bleeding, face goes pale, eyes sink in, and in bad cases, you get internal bleeding. Could even kill you! It hit sailors on long voyages the hardest.
Despite my enthusiastic rundown, the dwarves just stared at me like I was some rambling geek. Fair enough—they probably didn't even know what vitamins were.
Luckily, one guy got it.
You're talking about the sailors' sickness?
You know it?
The weird disease that plagued human sailors. They'd get better the moment they hit port.
Spot on. Looks like scurvy exists here too.
You know the cure? You, a mere... er, monster!
One point warning to Pellelian.
It's simpler than you think. Just eat fresh fruit loaded with vita... I mean, the stuff that fixes it.
No way it's that easy...
And just like that, modern medicine triumphed in this isekai world.
I explained scurvy and its cure to the dwarves. They looked skeptical, but what else could they do but trust it?
Got any fruit?
Fresh fruit in a sealed mine? Fat chance. But there was one odd dwarf with a hobby garden.
"I grew some lemons. They fruited, but..."
Perfect! Bring 'em!
Dungkel nodded and bolted. The others tended to Helmuth in the meantime. He'd come around—didn't seem life-threatening, just exhaustion from overwork.
"Rest up a bit."
"Ugh... such a horror."
We filled him in on Bluebeard's antics. He tried sitting up but Manjin pushed him back down.
As we waited for Dungkel, Pellelian piped up.
But isn't the sailors' sickness only for humans?
Huh?
I've never heard of a dwarf getting it. And we've got dwarves who've been sailors.
Uh...
Scurvy hits because humans can't make vitamin C. Maybe dwarves were built different? My whole theory might be bunk.
My confidence dipped, but then Dungkel came sprinting back with a basket of bright yellow lemons.
Screw it—let's just try the lemons.
"Lemons? I ain't eatin' that crap."
True to stubborn dwarf form, Helmuth refused raw lemon. But we couldn't indulge picky eaters right now.
"Grab his arms."
"You little—!"
Under Dungkel's lead, we force-fed him a lemon.
"Gaaargh!"
Helmuth's face scrunched up as he wailed. Manjin, who'd never tasted one, recoiled in horror.
"What the hell does it taste like...?"
"Wanna try one?"
"Nah, I'm good!"
If it was scurvy, Manjin should stock up on vitamin C too. He promised to wait and see if it worked on Helmuth first.
We had to wait it out. Not much time, but just one day decided it.
"My body... feels amazingly light."
Helmuth's symptoms vanished. No more bleeding gums, no lethargy. The "plague" sweeping the dwarf mine was scurvy, plain and simple.
I started to gloat internally, but read the room and shut it down.
"This... can't be."
Dungkel clenched his fists, trembling.
"All those people died? Just for lack of lemons...?"
The tragedy hit harder because it was so fixable. Dwarves probably rarely got scurvy, but the long lockdown wrecked their nutrition. And Bluebeard burning the worst cases didn't help.
"Bluebeard..."
Dungkel's gentle face twisted scary. You could feel the rage.
Still, Dungkel, muttering to yourself like that doesn't look cool from the sidelines. Trust me, I know.
"There must be a better way to use these lemons."
Manjin fiddled with one, mumbling. Same thought here.
"It'll snap 'em right out of it!"
We can make lemonade!
I crumpled the note before Dungkel could read it.
"So sour, maybe it'll wake the fire-tranced ones too."
Hmm, that easy?
Doubtful, but we couldn't take Bluebeard alone anyway.
"Rescue Trall, and we'll have real muscle. Trust me."
Manjin said it dead serious. I disagreed, but if he was volunteering, a few lemons as backup couldn't hurt.
Dungkel handed him some. Manjin grabbed them and left without delay.
"Plenty to feed, not enough lemons."
What?}
"This is all we got."
Dungkel gathered the seeds Helmuth spat out. Even with an indoor garden, regrowing lemons would take time we didn't have.
That's when Isil took interest in the seeds. Did baby vine see them as siblings?
Don't eat 'em, viney.
She devoured anything, so better safe. Luckily, she didn't. Instead, her thin tendril poked them, then planted them in the dirt.
Dungkel started digging them up, sighed, and left them.
"Even if they sprout and fruit, it'll take months... Gah!"
Something gurgle-gurgled from her tendril to the seeds. Then, in this sunless underground, lemon sprouts popped up.
What sorcery? I double-checked Isil's status to see what I missed.
Traits: [Sprout], [Baby], [World Tree], [Bone], [Fire]
Skills: [Flesh Sense lv1], [Perception Expansion lv2], [Absorb Growth lv6], [Leaf Shake lv4], [Vine Hand lv1], [Empathy lv1], Cultivation lv2
Status: [Hunger]
Cultivation lv2. I'd seen it before—on Dungkel, the un-dwarf-like gardener. But even with it, he stuck to traditional methods. Isil pulled off straight-up magic.
Talent gap, huh? World Tree spawn was on another level. Kinda jealous.
Dungkel, Isil's hungry.
"Huh? Oh, right—water her?"
Something else.
Wild idea, but...
Gimme some ham.
She was a proud chimera, after all. Dungkel skeptically sliced ham onto her pot.
Sizzle.
It vanished into the soil. Her wilted leaves perked right up.
Carnivorous plant (with bone and fire traits). Fed, she boosted the lemons again. The former seeds now towered over her—and she was still a baby.
Her cultivation skill would level up fast. Lemons incoming sooner than expected.
Dungkel and even Helmuth gawked as Manjin returned early.
"Success!"
He'd somehow wrangled Trall and five cronies at once.
"Lemons really worked?"
"Yup. One bite and they snapped out."
Trall scratched his head sheepishly.
"Thought it'd pass if I squinted. But those flames were so pretty... zoned out staring."
He froze mid-sentence. Manjin shoved half a lemon (peel and all) in his mouth.
"Gack—fine now. Really fine."
Periodic doses needed, it seemed. But fresh victims recovered quick. Silver lining.
Dungkel beamed.
"So, mass-grow lemons, round up folks slow..."
"No."
Helmuth shut that down.
"Gluing a broken sword back is for fools. Bluebeard gets no more chances."
Helmuth had once argued mercy for him to me. But now? Line crossed too far.
"Fire-demon or not, a mine lord doesn't do that. We topple Bluebeard, snuff or bury that devil flame."
"We want to, but..."
Trall scratched his head.
"Flame's deep in the core. Water won't cut it."
I nodded.
"And we're short-handed. Nine of us... up close, we'd trance out too."
Eleven, actually. Me and sprout-vine count.
And I'm Ouroboros.
No need to correct him, though. Helmuth's eyes gleamed.
"Know what kind of Meister I am?"
Figured as much.
"Uh..."
Trall blanked. Glanced at Dungkel.
"Sword and Explosives Meister, right?"
"Right."
Helmuth puffed his pipe deep with his prosthetic. Eyes sharp.
"Back in the day, I made half this mine's explosives."
Mines used explosives. Picks alone on rock? Inefficient. They drilled calculated charges and blasted tunnels.
"Blasted countless shafts myself before retiring."
Expert, then.
"Follow me."
He led us to his warehouse. Door open—odd smell hit.
Something's funky.
Don't use fire magic like last time.
Wasn't planning to.
Black cloth covered something. Pulled it off—paper-wrapped bundles for moisture.
Trall's voice shook.
"Th-this is all... explosives!?"
Enough to wreck the whole area.
Dungkel, apparently unaware, grilled Helmuth.
"This much? Planning terrorism?"
"Why would I? Stockpile. Bluebeard knows about it—he'll come soon."
Bluebeard knew. Might show any minute.
"Use it right before he grabs it. Collapse that lava lake too."
With this haul? Doable. Revolution vibes.
But plans varied.
"Bury it, boom when he comes."
"Detonator ain't that simple."
"Rig the pillars, bury him at once."
"Collapse the whole mine? What about everyone else?"
Something tickled my brain. Genius plot brewing.
Got it.
Here, in this spot. The Daesurim Serpent's brilliance reborn.
I have a strategy.
All eyes on me. I wrote on the warehouse wall instead of notepad.
As briefing flowed, skeptical dwarves started gaping in awe.
Done. Helmuth cautiously:
"It'll really work?"
Ventilation good?
"Vital in mines. No air, we all suffocate."
Then we're set. Historically proven tactic.
"Alright..."
Helmuth nodded.
"My explosives follow the snake's plan."
Then pointless add-on:
"Who'da thought—a snake's scheme decides the mine's fate..."
They'd thank me later. Heart-pounding stuff. No wonder Manjin and Trall looked hyped.
No regrets.
One more thing.
Added details. Asked Helmuth to craft items.
"Day's work. Yeah, handy."
Please.
Decide fast, act fast. All prepped in a day. Helmuth crafted my requests overnight.
"Try these on."
Black crystal sunglasses. Crude, but legit shades.
"Cool!"
"Heart's racing."
First time seeing 'em, yet dwarves got the appeal instantly. Better than bare eyes on flames, at least.
"Made yours too."
Tiny pair for me. Cloth-wrapped to stay on—imperfect, but good enough.
Operation: Red Wave.
Loved it. Isil raised a tendril like she wanted some.
No eyes, no shades.
Grow some, maybe.
But... don't you even need those weird things? No eyes.
I ignored his useless nitpick.