The new Baron of Winterhold bought an empty house, renovated it, and opened a grocery store that sold both prepared food and raw grains, as well as alcoholic beverages.
His prices were low, much cheaper than sourcing goods from Eastmarch Hold.
However, he wasn't often around, only opening for half a day on weekends, so people would buy enough food for the entire week and then look forward to his next opening.
A Foodie is a Foodie, always having strange and exotic foods with peculiar names, but all of them were delicious.
Mages at the College also enjoyed these fresh foods and would send someone to buy them early.
That person was, of course, Faralda; among those who woke up early at the entire College, besides Jonas, it was her, and people always asked her to bring them something.
As for Jonas, he also couldn't escape the fate of being a delivery person.
He had now successfully restored a lower-level levitation spell, and flight was not far off, which attracted a large number of young mages to join the boy's research project.
To win over his companions and maintain his dignity as a team leader, he would always bring a lot of food to share.
Since there were no seats in the food store for customers to rest, people always bought things and went home to eat, or went to a nearby tavern to chat and dine.
Now, the opening of the food store had even become a reason for people to gather and celebrate.
Simon recently started brewing various fruit wines, growing his own fruits for immediate use, and the number of such processed foods, like soy sauce, vinegar, and jams, was increasing.
Crops in the Pure Land grew much faster than in the outside world, yielding four large harvests a year, while some short-cycle crops were harvested once every one or two months.
He certainly couldn't consume all of it himself, so selling was a good strategy for consumption.
He had also made many food processing machines, such as automatic ovens and automatic fryers, and a large assortment of miscellaneous tools, mostly operated by the undead.
As long as the timing was right, the food produced would not be unappetizing.
Only for some particularly skill-intensive foods would he personally handle them.
This way, by opening on weekends, he only needed to work for a few hours on Saturday to prepare enough food for everyone in Winterhold and the entire College.
There was one more thing.
The fishing boat they had agreed to build was almost complete; a small fishing boat, no more than sixty feet long, twenty-five feet wide, and twenty-eight feet high, at most a yacht-class, incomparable to those giant ships.
It was an all-steel structure, steam-powered, equipped with linen fishing nets, and a single trip out to sea would yield a rich harvest.
In five days, they caught one ton of salmon, hundreds of shrimp and crabs, and hundreds of miscellaneous fish.
Simon threw all the immature and undersized catches back into the sea, leaving nearly nine hundred pounds of fish.
He readily accepted all the shrimp and crabs, planning to cure them well back home to make shrimp paste and pickled crabs.
The undead steamboat had plenty of horsepower, and Simon even felt he could sail all the way north and land on the northern continent of Atmora, the ancestral home of the Nords, a mysterious realm with an important place in mythology.
The sky deep in the Sea of Ghosts was always overcast, and the ocean beneath the faint light was deep and dark.
Looking around, aside from scattered icebergs, there was no other color to be seen, only gray and black intertwining, spreading patterns.
The roaring steamboat carried its noise far away, with no echo, the wind was strong and the waves high, and the chaotic colors echoed the chaotic sounds.
Except for the clear, harsh, and cold bitterness, everything else—form, consciousness, ideals, philosophy—was drowned.
Simon didn't particularly like the scenery here.
After catching enough fish and injecting seawater into the fishpond to temporarily keep the fish, he returned to the Tundra once all the work was done.
He planned not to go out to sea for the next few months.
With the fish catch, the menu became much richer.
Now that the sheep flock had grown somewhat, Simon also planned to raise some poultry, such as chickens and ducks.
Speaking of chickens, these things have special significance in many games, relatively famous examples include the Chicken Suit Guy in Fable 3, the Flamethrower Golden Chicken in Gears of War 3, and the Cuccos in The Legend of Zelda series.
Of course, the chickens in the elder scrolls V are also extraordinary, and here, extraordinary doesn't refer to them being Easter eggs or the developers' mischievousness, but because of a bug.
The Chicken God of Riverwood: if a player carelessly slashes it, they will immediately be hunted down by the entire village.
And since this is a crucial location for the main quest, many new players who were repeatedly killed by the villagers gave up their epic Dragonborn journey and instead went to the deep mountains and old forests to do side quests.
How tragic!
Simon had experienced it himself back then; he killed a chicken and was hunted to death by the Riverwood villagers.
After reloading, he furiously ran to the tavern to vent his anger by attacking people, only to find that the tavern owner was a remnant of the Blades, powerful, and charged at him with an axe, killing him again.
How utterly tragic!
These past memories made the Troll extremely emotional, so he decided that when he had time, he would definitely go to Riverwood to avenge this chicken.
[Quest: Avenge the Wrong]
Description: In the game, I had to swallow my anger for the plot, but now I've got my chance!
The Chicken God of Riverwood is about to fall from its pedestal!
Quest 1 (Incomplete): Infiltrate Riverwood.
Looking at the entry in his quest log, the Troll couldn't help but laugh out loud.
Hehehe!
Jonas, across the table, stared blankly at Simon's antics.
"Cough, cough, heh, kid, do you want to eat chicken?
I can make hundreds of chicken dishes, I'll make sure you eat your fill!"
Speaking of chicken, Simon's first thought was fried chicken, which led him to think of beer, and thinking of beer led him to think of brewing.
The wheat had just sprouted, so he would collect the malt and brew some beer to drink to his heart's content.
Simon entrusted a carriage driver to purchase a few pairs of chicks for him in the warmer southern regions of Skyrim.
He spent some money and also gave the driver several bags of food and drinks for the journey, including biscuits, cheese, jerky, salted fish, and vodka.
The driver was delighted and obtained two Guards from the Jarl to escort him—of course, Simon also prepared food for them for the journey—and departed that very day.
Five more peaceful weeks passed, and the chick delivery returned, safe and sound, with no major incidents.
They hadn't encountered bandits, only a pack of wolves one night, which they faced off against for a long time before the wolves gave up.
However, with the good news came some bad news.
Birna, who ran the general store, had a drunken brother named Ranmir who secretly picked the lock of Simon's food store and was caught red-handed by the Guards.
When Simon arrived in Winterhold on the weekend, he saw a crowd gathered in front of his store.
This was unusual, as it was midnight and everyone should have been resting, yet they were loudly arguing, and the onlookers were shouting words like "thief" at the people inside.
"The Foodie is here!" a sharp-eyed person spotted the Troll at the end of the street and shouted.
In an instant, the idlers, who had gathered in a circle, rustled and turned their heads, dozens of eyes all staring at Simon, reflecting a shimmering light in the dark night, like a flock of bats.
"Mr. Baishan! Come quickly! We caught a thief!" a child shouted.
Simon quickened his pace, traversed the short street of Winterhold, and arrived in front of the store.
The crowd parted slightly, revealing the Guards inside and the drunkard pinned to the ground.
Birna stood beside the Guards, her face ashen, head bowed, not looking at Simon, only staring intently at her toes.
Ranmir, held down, let out a long howl, like a wounded, dying wild boar.
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