I Transmigrated Into A Fantasy World To Farm And Build Houses!-Chapter 151: Is there a way to satisfy both sides?

A dozen pairs of Dwarven eyes simultaneously focused on Eric, their gazes both stern and scrutinizing. If they hadn’t already understood, more or less, the straightforward nature of the Snow Wolf people, they might have truly believed that these two were intentionally mocking them.

But, how to put it... This child’s eyes held an indescribable strangeness. They possessed both the pure, bewildered look of a child who had yet to taste life, and yet also inadvertently held a trace of the quiet, profound depth of someone who had weathered storms.

These two seemingly contradictory auras blended together in a peculiar way, causing even the naturally suspicious Dwarves to waver slightly. The initial doubt in their hearts consequently diminished somewhat.

Besides, this was their own private family matter. Even if the Dwarves were curious, it wasn’t appropriate for them to probe to the very end. It was just that, in their hearts, there were still a few lingering, unresolved matters.

Ms. Julia suddenly remembered something and cheerfully inquired:

"So, which tribe has moved in with you? It’s been a long time since we last visited; I wonder if the tribe leader is still the old friend we used to know."

Eric maintained his polite demeanor, clasping his hands in front of his stomach and bowing slightly as he replied:

"Ma’am, it is the Du tribe. The current tribe leader is Joseph."

"That kid Joseph, huh? To think he’s already become the tribe leader. It seems we really have gotten old."

Ms. Julia shook her head, filled with emotion, her voice wistful as if mixed with the sound of wind whistling through a mountain pass.

"That kid"?

Umm... Eric subconsciously pictured Joseph’s weathered face, a face where every wrinkle seemed to tell a story of hardship, and decided that silence was the wisest response.

Although the lifespan of Dwarves couldn’t compare to the beastmen’s, it was still much longer than that of humans. Looking at the appearance of Ms. Julia and Tribe Leader Henry, they had to be at least a hundred harvest seasons old. For them to call someone of Joseph’s age "that kid" wasn’t wrong at all.

"That kid Joseph has always been sharp and quick-witted."

Ms. Julia continued, her tone unable to hide her admiration:

"This time, getting to live with your Snow Wolf tribe, he can finally sleep soundly. No longer having to live in constant fear of magical beasts suddenly raiding and plundering, or being hunted down by human mercenaries."

Hearing those words, if it weren’t for the two great powers lurking like tigers in the distance, Eric would have really wanted to invite them to move to the Hadu tribe to make it livelier, more people, more warmth.

After all, they already had one Dwarven tribe at home; adding another one wouldn’t be a big deal.

Unfortunately, their act of sheltering the Du tribe was already an exceedingly perilous move.

Sheltering another Dwarven tribe would be no different than dancing on a fragile tightrope stretched between two bottomless abysses: on one side, the arrogant Elf tribe, and on the other, the mighty Golden Kingdom.

This approach was too reckless; it shouldn’t be done at all.

The ghost of misplaced kindness he had experienced in his past life throbbed like an old scar, making him afraid to carelessly sow pity.

But coming here, seeing firsthand their miserable, makeshift lives in dilapidated houses, looking at the simple yet toil-worn faces of the Dwarves, the compassion within him stirred restlessly.

In the end, was there really a way to satisfy both sides?

Eric stood mixed in the crowd, his gaze gradually becoming distant, his mind drifting somewhere far away. He came from an era where knowledge was as vast as the rivers and seas; surely there had to be some way out.

It seemed he had vaguely thought about this problem before, but the peaceful days that followed had made him completely forget.

What was it?

Eric agonizingly massaged his temples, wringing out every last thought in his mind.

Not far away, a few Dwarves were struggling to carry broken earthen wall fragments out of the village. As they passed by, a large clod of earth accidentally slipped from their grasp, hitting the ground with a dry "thud" and kicking up a cloud of dust. The Dwarves hurriedly picked it up again, carefully placing it back into the wooden wheelbarrow.

That dry, sudden sound was like a great hammer striking directly into his hazy memories.

He suddenly remembered! He had thought before, if the Dwarves knew how to make the black powder that could explode, wouldn’t they have been able to protect themselves?

Eric was so agitated that his hands involuntarily clenched and then rubbed together. That’s right, in the countless stories he knew about people from other worlds, gunpowder was almost always the first destiny-altering weapon.

He vaguely recalled a book that had detailed the primitive ingredients for making this powerful weapon, but he just couldn’t remember it clearly at the moment.

He absolutely had to find Joseph and the other Dwarves to tinker and research this together when he got back to the tribe.

If they could really succeed in creating it, the Dwarves’ situation would undoubtedly be worlds apart.

Even if the primitive gunpowder couldn’t fight high-level magical beasts, with the Dwarves’ diligent, persistent, and even stubborn nature, he was certain they would continuously improve it, and one day they would find a way to make it explode more powerfully.

Moreover, they could make up for quality with quantity. At that time, combined with some tools to throw it far, as long as their luck wasn’t so bad as to run into an ultra-high-level magical beast wandering into the village, they could deal with ordinary magical beasts.

Perhaps later, when its destructive power was strong enough, even fourth or fifth-tier magical beasts would no longer be a threat.

The situation of magical beasts running into the village to cause trouble, like today, could be greatly reduced. The Dwarves would no longer have to live isolated and unaided in these desolate mountains.

An overwhelming excitement swelled in his heart, but Eric forced it down, not letting it show on his face.

He understood that giving people a great hope only to cruelly extinguish it was a ruthless thing to do. The shock would be too great; he was afraid these pitiful people wouldn’t be able to bear it.

Max, standing beside him, glanced at the child’s expression, which was pensive one moment and strangely bright the next. He guessed this kid must have thought of another strange idea. Every time he came up with a new trick, he would get inexplicably agitated like this.

With a direction in mind, Eric’s mood suddenly became unusually light, and the worries and anxieties in his heart gradually dissipated like morning mist meeting the sun.

He looked at the surrounding crooked houses, which had been mostly tidied up, and subconsciously touched his rumbling stomach, saying:

"I’m hungry, let’s find something to eat first."

Hearing this, Ms. Julia slapped her forehead with a "smack." She blamed herself for being so preoccupied with the mess and the astonishing events that she had forgotten to entertain her guests.

She hurriedly scurried back home. Her age was clearly not young, but her gait was still nimble, her back ramrod straight, full of vitality.

Eric stood behind her and shouted:

"We brought our own food!"

Ms. Julia didn’t look back, just waved her hand behind her as she walked, her robust, spirited voice echoing back:

"I told you I’d let you taste my cooking! The baked flour cakes I make, others can’t even get them if they want to!"

Aiden’s wife smiled gently as she watched Ms. Julia’s back disappear behind the low door, then turned to Eric and the others:

"Ms. Julia’s baked flour cakes are famous among us Dwarves. You must try them at least once."

"Is that so? I didn’t want to trouble her, seeing as she’s already quite old."

Eric said honestly.

Aiden’s wife burst out laughing at his words:

"You’d best not let her hear you say that, or she’ll get angry with you for sure."

True enough, women could lament getting old themselves, but they would never tolerate hearing others say it.

Eating only baked flour cakes, no matter how delicious, could never fill the bottomless stomachs of Max and Michael. Eric and the others returned to the magical beast and began the familiar work of butchering the meat.

Ms. Julia had also considered the plight of the tall Snow Wolf people and brought her earthenware baking oven out into the yard, preparing for a proper outdoor barbecue. The Dwarves had their own secret for leavening bread, and their cooking skills were indeed far superior to the Ox-Head tribe’s. After all, they had lived with humans for a long time and learned many things.

Ms. Julia was inside the house kneading and proofing the dough. Eric, taking advantage of still being a cub with a small stature, bent over and squeezed into the small house.

At his height, the Dwarven roof just barely touched the top of his head; thankfully, he could still stand up straight, albeit awkwardly. If an adult beastman were to enter, he would undoubtedly keep hitting his head.

Compared to Eric, an amateur forced by circumstances to learn baking, Ms. Julia’s kneading motions looked both gentle and masterful.

The dough in her hands was as obedient as a living creature, being molded into all sorts of shapes. The earthenware bowl used for kneading and her palms were both smooth, without a speck of flour sticking to them.

This level of skill was truly magical. Eric recalled how every time he kneaded dough, it would stick all over his hands and even his face, making him look like a cat that had played in a flour jar.

No wonder people said that a good bread maker could achieve the "three cleans": clean bowl, clean hands, clean dough.

He couldn’t even achieve one.

On one hand was the dry theory he had read; on the other was a lifetime of practical experience. Eric inwardly lamented that he was indeed still green and inexperienced.

The Dwarves truly lived by their skills; at least they never lacked food. Every household’s cellar was filled to the brim with provisions.

To fill the hungry stomachs of the Snow Wolf people, Ms. Julia even ran to the neighbors to borrow many more wooden bowls, kneading more than ten large bowls of dough at once with towering momentum, preparing for a hearty feast.