Particularly, they proudly introduced a dish, "Iron Anchor Bay-Style Glandan Stinky Pickled Dried Fish," which was set apart on a large platter under a glass do.
"This is a delicacy from our Bayfolk hotown of Iron Anchor Bay. We cut the fish, skin on, into large chunks, and then leave it outdoors to naturally air-dry, wind-dry, and fernt."
"Fortunately, a massive cold current passes by here, making the temperature much lower than in other areas. This creates the natural conditions for making this hotown delicacy."
"You only need to wait two months to enjoy this delicious dish."
"Trust , once you’ve tasted it, you’ll never forget the flavor for the rest of your life."
With that, he promptly removed the lid.
Instantly, a stench of ammonia mixed with decaying corpses, described as ’fish fragrance,’ fiercely assaulted the olfactory organs of everyone within a few dozen ters. The scent was so overpowering that tears began to flow involuntarily. If one truly had to describe the odor, a public toilet, uncleaned for three days and then directly disinfected over the filth, might capture a third of its ’charm.’
Ugh—no doubt about it. This thing indeed leaves a lasting impression after just one taste, not for being delicious, but for being utterly repulsive.
Byron still couldn’t help but shiver and subconsciously glanced toward Violet.
The sensory-connected Violet instantly understood his aning and hurriedly waved her small hands like windmills, explaining to him,
"Iron Anchor Bay-Style Glandan Stinky Pickled Dried Fish really is a specialty of Iron Anchor Bay, and this thod of preparation is indeed authentic."
"But Byron! You have to believe , I’ve absolutely never tried this stuff, absolutely not!"
While Bayfolk Princess Your Highness was desperately trying to prove her innocence, Togar Mon, the refinery workshop owner, nonchalantly cut himself a slice of the pristine white fish flesh and stuffed it into his mouth, chewing with a satisfied expression.
"This is the taste. It slls foul, but it tastes even fouler. Reminiscing about ho, reflecting on the bitter and the sweet—there’s no better food than this."
He didn’t forget to gesture to the adventure crew mbers, "Please, help yourselves. Make yourselves at ho; no need to be polite with us."
The adventure ship’s captain and his sailors, their faces turning pale, would have almost thought this fellow had actually spiked the fish—if they hadn’t seen him eating it himself with such "relish." This was more terrifying than poisoning.
The well-traveled adventurers had actually heard of this "Iron Anchor Bay specialty." They also knew that in several Bayfolk Nations, specific laws prohibited consuming stinky pickled fish in public, an offense punishable by up to three months in jail. Clearly, not all Bayfolk could stomach such a "bioweapon-grade" delicacy. This left no further doubts about the identities of these "Bayfolk Descendants."
Besides, they had just been rescued, and given the warm hospitality, they found it difficult to refuse the invitation. Obtaining the whale oil technology wasn’t urgent; eating first was the priority.
Looking around, Byron noticed that the townsfolk were all eating heartily. The Second Order [Naturalist] in their team also quietly used his identification techniques on the various fish dishes on the table, detected no problems, and nodded to his companions. The mbers of the adventure ship then took dishes from the nearby tables and started eating. To their surprise, the food was incredibly delicious.
[Beast Tar] Jefferson’s eyes lit up as he chewed, praising repeatedly, "Sir, what kind of fish are these? Even I, a Beast Tar, don’t recognize them. They’re incredibly delicious!"
The workshop owner, still wolfing down the stinky pickled fish, smiled oddly, his eyes filled with deep aning as he said, "Oh, the previous owner of this at asked the sa question."
"What... What?"
Jefferson thought he hadn’t heard clearly and was about to ask again when he suddenly clutched his throat and knelt on the ground, choking. Strange, guttural sounds erged from his throat, but he couldn’t utter another word.
"GURK... GURK... GURK..."
Just like the Coral People before them, all the crew mbers of the Ironclaw Vessel who had eaten the fish began to undergo rapid transformation. Their bodies sprouted scales, fins, and tails... Eventually, they all turned into a group of ghastly large fish, desperately flapping about on the ground. Their angry, bulging, dead-fish eyes beca particularly turbid. As their consciousness sank into a murky oblivion, the last thing they heard was a faint sigh,
"Blindly eating fish... never a good idea."
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