novelODS Chapter 73 The Feeling of Money
Chapter 73 The Feeling of Money
Since Birdsong and Fragrance haven't reached the level for job advancement yet, they will temporarily serve as assistants to Lynn and Lucas in handling this currency exchange.
He opened the thick, yellowed ledger, next to which were several bulging burlap sacks, their openings open to reveal piles of maple leaf coins and a small amount of silver bars.
These were hard currencies that Lynn had taken from the steward's private treasury.
The players spontaneously lined up, raised their left arms, and looked at the credit points balance recorded in the emblem.
The redemption channel is now activated; your current account credits can be used for a 1:1 physical item withdrawal.
There is no need for further explanation. Before leaving Zhuhai, the group leader of the snails had already explained the drawbacks of the rationing system to everyone.
In this incredibly realistic holographic game, simply being "Lord Lynn's subordinate" won't get you to serve those wary natives for long.
Credits can be used to offset resurrection penalties within the system, but they can't even buy a single piece of the lowest quality black bread in the Indigenous people's free market.
Real purchasing power today must have a physical form.
He ran to the front of the line carrying the bucket. He raised his finger and swiped it across the lines of his arm to confirm the button.
Birdsong and Fragrance checked the ledger in front of them, reached into the burlap sack with their right hand, grabbed a handful of coins with maple leaf patterns, counted out the corresponding amount, and then pushed them flat onto the wooden table.
The clinking of the coins was so crisp. As he ran away with the bucket, he reached out and gathered the stack of maple leaf coins into his palm. His fingers could clearly feel the tiny burrs left on the edges of the coins due to the backward minting process. Some of the coins had black grime accumulated in their grooves from years of circulation.
He tossed his palm up and down, the exact weight pressing down on the muscles and nerves.
In this world, money is no longer an empty number floating in a coat of arms.
It will take up weight in your backpack and pockets, make noise when bumped, and even if the pockets tear while wading, these items will not belong to you.
This feeling is so real.
The whole roasted lamb followed closely behind, and they also exchanged for a batch of coins.
His destination was Archer Village in the east. The long trek through the wilderness required ample protein and water, and now he could finally enjoy the thrill of shopping with physical currency.
Leaving the wooden table, the whole roasted lamb headed towards the market area at the edge of the square.
Most of the vendors here are local fishermen and hunters.
They sat on wooden chests covered with thatch, with processed sea fish, dried meat, and some simple household utensils laid out in front of them.
The vendors grinned as they saw the buzz-cut man walking towards them.
Everyone in Mingzhu Port knows that these big shots from out of town are the most extravagant.
The whole roasted lamb stopped in front of a wooden rack with dried meat hanging on it. The stall owner, a middle-aged man with a thick beard, was using an iron knife to remove the tendons from a piece of animal bone.
As the roasted whole lamb, clad in tattered leather armor, approached, the man immediately stopped what he was doing, pulled off his apron to wipe his hands, and a smile spread across his simple face.
The people of the port witnessed the battle at the governor's residence.
The indigenous people knew in their hearts that it was this group of reckless outsiders who ended Bolton's rule and liberated them from oppression.
"Hero, what would you like?" The man's tone was warm, revealing heartfelt respect. "If you're hungry, take this steak and grill it for free."
The gratitude was sincere, but Roasted Whole Lamb understood that after the rationing system was abolished, these low-level NPCs also needed to support their families, and taking things for free would only break the rules that Lynn had just set.
Without further ado, he took out two coins and placed them flat on the greasy cutting board.
The man was stunned.
He had assumed these liberators would issue IOUs like their former leaders, but to his surprise, they pulled out real money.
"Three pieces of air-dried pork ribs, the drier the better. Also, fill my water bag." The roasted whole lamb removed the leather pouch from its waist.
"Alright, done right away!" The man's movements were exceptionally swift. He tore off a large plant leaf and wrapped the deep red pork chop tightly with hemp rope. Then he went to the earthenware pot behind him, filled it with water, and sealed it with a cork.
The transaction was completed. Roasted Whole Lamb stuffed his rations into his backpack, hung up his water bag, and strode eastward along the muddy dirt road toward Archer Village.
This was just an ordinary shopping trip.
But for players in the first test, this means that the battle merits they earned with their lives have officially gained the purchasing power of hard currency in the social structure of NPCs.
Unlike roasting a whole lamb, this trip involved carrying a bucket and running away without any luggage before setting off.
He had barely returned to Pearl Harbor when he received a dispatch from Lynn. The GM's task was straightforward: survey the existing buildings in the port and assess the potential for heavy industry transformation.
Running away with the bucket is exactly what I wanted.
Compared to fighting monsters and leveling up, he enjoys building houses in this game world more.
He walked around the perimeter, kicking the mortar in the corner of the rocky wall with his heel and breaking off the sandy wood chips from the load-bearing column with his bare hands.
The conclusion reached by those who fled with buckets was straightforward: all of them were dilapidated buildings.
Without adhesives and fired bricks, the first wave of resonance from setting up the blast furnace could cause the block to fall apart.
He brushed the dust off his palms, found a flat piece of scrap ship plank and half a piece of charred charcoal, and climbed up the high cliff on the west side.
Facing the sea breeze and looking down, he picked up a bucket and ran off to start sketching infrastructure plans.
The residential area was moved back, the commercial area was located by the sea, and the heavy industrial area was located on the rocky beach downwind to facilitate sewage discharge and cooling.
With the basic framework set, he was preparing to draw the cross-section of the traditional downdraft kiln when the charcoal stopped in its tracks.
He discovered a dead end.
The Maple Leaf Coins exchanged from Lynn can hire laborers, but they can't create industrial foundations. Ordinary gravel and sea mud can't withstand high temperatures, there's a lack of refractory clay for building kilns, and a lack of high-precision gears and transmission bearings for lifting devices. Relying on local blacksmiths to haphazardly hammer away is completely futile.
Looking at the blank space on the blueprint, he grabbed the bucket and ran away, scratching his hair in frustration.
Based on his memory of the old version of the game, he began to plan in his mind.
The abandoned city is a modern slum with sewers and a subway; the NPCs might have better quality gears.
The Magic Forest is all about magic and alchemy; you can usually find strong acids, alkalis, or resins to use as adhesives.
"It's best not to just focus on learning stealth and swordsmanship..." He muttered, tucking the wooden board under his arm, hoping that the brothers who went out to change jobs would have a better overall perspective and pick up some useful scrap metal along the way.
The wind at the cliff top whipped up fine charcoal dust, which was carried by the airflow all the way to the abandoned city.
Inside the sunless sewage pipe, a pair of leather boots stepped into the greasy, filthy water. The agent rubbed his aching nose, forcing back a sneeze, inwardly cursing the bone-chilling cold of the sewer.
He looked up and saw a windproof kerosene lamp hanging ten meters away, its dim yellow light illuminating a rusty alloy door.
There are no regular keyholes on the door panel; upon closer inspection, they are a row of misaligned, interlocking brass gears.
Inside the mechanical slot of the main gear, half of a finger, recently severed and still bleeding, was clearly stuck.