Of Course – Foambeard's Beer Obsession
I checked out the nickname of the newly arrived guy. [Foambeard]. Hmm, Foambeard, huh. What a ridiculously straightforward name. Picturing him with his thickly braided red beard absolutely caked in beer foam, I couldn't deny it at all.
'Ah... right, these bastards are the beer-crazed lunatics.'
In typical fantasy settings, they were portrayed as a simple, hot-blooded race that staked their entire lives on just two things: metal and beer.
"Nice to meet you, Foambeard. I'm the Philosophizing Repairman."
"Yeah, nice to meet ya, Repairman! I heard about you from that alchemist geezer. Said you've got a ton of strange, wondrous gadgets that aren't available around here."
Looks like the Royal Alchemist had already spilled the beans.
"Well, you could say that..."
"Is that so? You got what I'm looking for too?"
I glanced at Foambeard's magnificent beard and slyly curled up the corner of my mouth.
"By any chance... are you looking for some delicious beer?"
The dwarf jolted in surprise at my response.
"Oho! H-how'd you know!?"
"Just from your nickname, it's obvious you're mad about beer. [Foambeard]? I've never seen a nickname that screams beer passion more than that."
"Kuhaha, you get it! But a beer overflowing with thick, creamy foam like a legend? That's rarer than a myth. My nickname's more like a wish. Heh heh heh."
Medieval beer was basically just ale at best, so something with rich, overflowing creamy foam wasn't exactly commonplace. The dwarf kept going.
"But today, I'll pass on the beer!"
"Pardon? Why?"
Foambeard smacked his lips, looking utterly blissful.
"Just chugged some really tasty brew on my way here. Don't wanna ruin the aftertaste with garbage beer. Just bring those new materials the alchemist mentioned. Fresh ingredients are always welcome."
Hoo... is that how it is?
"Alright, got it. So what can you offer me in return, Foambeard?"
The dwarf twitched his beard and grinned.
"Didn't you say you need weapons? Keh heh heh. Dwarven forgework might love beer best, but it's the finest on Ereinia Continent. Not something you snag every day."
"What about bulk orders?"
To solve Earth's problems right now, I needed weapons in bulk. But Foambeard's face soured on the spot.
"You cheeky punk! You mocking a master's pride!? Dwarven weapons are forged one at a time with utmost care! A single masterpiece of perfection—that's the dwarven way!"
Ah, right, fuck. These guys had artisan syndrome.
"No, I mean, masterpieces made with care can come later... Don't you have some decently performing ones?"
Even that poked his pride.
"Decent!? 'Decent'!? My pride won't stand for it! I won't stake my name on half-assed crap!! Hell, that stuff doesn't even exist!"
"Ah, it doesn't exist...? Well, can't be helped then..."
That's when it hit—a 1:1 message from the Royal Alchemist geezer who'd been watching from the sidelines.
"Don't you have some failed products?"
"Those are trash! Trash! I ain't handing over trash!"
"Aren't they just a disposal headache anyway? Let me take 'em off your hands."
But convincing this stubborn dwarf wasn't easy.
"Still no. It's a matter of pride."
I shook my head with a sigh. Zero flexibility—not even 1%.
Too bad. Dwarven gear would've been way better than regular weapons... Fine, then. Make him an offer he can't refuse.
"How about we trade for beer?"
The word "beer" made Foambeard flinch. But he quickly snorted.
"Hmph! Like I said, I don't compromise on beer! If it sucks, you'll just piss me off... Why not just quietly fetch those new materials?"
Good, mentioning beer got him wobbling. Flavor aside, he's gotta be curious what kind I'll bring.
"Nah. I'm confident in my beer. If it doesn't suit your taste, I'll drop the bulk order. But if you like it even a little, hand over all those 'trash' weapons. Deal?"
Silence blanketed the meeting room. Foambeard fiddled with his foam-stained beard, deep in thought. Then the alchemist grandpa subtly nudged his arm.
"Hey, Foambeard. Might as well take the bait and trade once...? Your palate's tough to please anyway, right?"
Alchemist backup. Helpful meddling. Foambeard reluctantly stroked his beard and sighed deeply.
"Fine, I'll bite on your insane confidence! But if it tastes like shit, be ready! Even if it means no more dwarven trades, got it!?"
"Do what you gotta."
"Ha!? Cocky bastard! Alright, bring it!!"
I logged out of the meeting room and returned to reality.
'Kukuku, acting all proud with your medieval swill beer?'
I snorted and bolted out of the workshop. The convenience store on the first floor of the Roijir Guild HQ building. I planned to sweep up every damn beer they had.
Stepping inside, shelves packed with dozens of beer varieties welcomed me. Lagers, ales, stouts, wheat beers... brands from around the globe, neatly displayed.
Four shopping baskets brimmed with cans. The clerk gawked, but I ignored it and slapped down my card.
"Ring all this up."
With my beer mountain secured, I headed back to the workshop.
'Kukuku, Dwarf grandpa. Can't wait to see your face after tasting these... Already buzzing with excitement.'
Staring at the canned avalanche on the workbench, I started humming at the thought of flattening his smug nose.
I jumped right back into the chat room. Foambeard eyed me in shock.
"Huh? Back already?"
"Yeah, beer’s easy to grab anywhere around here."
"Hmph, that kinda beer’s obvious trash! Real beer needs proper fermentation to even be—"
Thud—I dumped the cans on the table without listening.
Foambeard inspected them curiously.
"Hm...? What's this?"
Lager, ale, stout, wheat beer—a perfect lineup by type.
"Beer."
But before tasting, his eyes locked elsewhere.
"This is beer? You saying actual beer’s inside these?"
"Yeah, why?"
Sleek, uniform aluminum curves. Intricate, flashy brand logos etched on the surface.
Ah, right. This’d blow their minds too.
"Putting this metalwork into beer containers? How dead serious are you guys about beer...?"
Unintentional, but solid opening punch. No way medieval folks craft beer mugs like this, beer obsession or not.
"A-and this? A cap? Made like this to preserve the flavor?"
"Yep. Impressed? Fun fact: these containers are single-use."
"!!!! Wh-what!?"
Kukukuku, hilarious. Knew he'd freak, but damn, the reaction's adorable. Short, bearded dwarf uncle with eyes popping like that.
"S-single-use? Toss it after one go? Something this meticulously crafted...?"
Foambeard's eyes bulged, mesmerized by the can. But he snapped out and started griping again.
"H-hmph! So what? Taste matters! Bet the beer's meh, so they dolled up the packaging!!"
I grinned.
"Think so? Can't drink here, so take 'em outside and try. Then we'll talk."
He narrowed his eyes.
"Handing 'em over no strings attached?"
"Jeez, so suspicious. It's cheap and common here—grab, drink, come back."
Foambeard eyed the "mugs" dubiously.
"Fine! Your 'amazing' beer! Foambeard will judge it personally!"
He smacked his lips, accepted my mail, and logged out.
About five minutes later? The dwarf uncle came barreling back into the chat room—his title already changed.
"Re-Repairman Master!!!!!!!!"
"Yes...?"
"H-how many weapons do you need?"
Kikikiki. Of course.