Chapter 1274 412: Never Been So Shocked

The guy struggled to open the box, and a strong chill wafted out.

Inside the box, there were neatly stacked pieces of hard frozen meat, dark in color.

The packaging of the meat was quite simple, just a thick layer of yellowish grease paper, also printed with blurry Cyrillic text and dates.

"?????? They're treating me like I'm Japanese?" Ian's vision was excellent, and even from a distance, he could clearly see one of the dates—1923.

The satisfied smile on Ian's face instantly froze, and his mind went "buzz"—1923? Soviet-era markings? Frozen meat? Coupled with the extremely tender yet uniquely flavored meat texture... A term that made his stomach churn suddenly popped up—Zombie meat?!

This is not just any zombie meat.

It's the Zombie King of zombie meat!

Nowadays, it's only been a few decades since the Soviet Union dissolved, yet this restaurant is selling meat from early Soviet times!

Wizards are doing what Muggle capitalists do too!

This meat may have been stored for decades, preserved by ultra-low temperatures to avoid spoilage, but its nutritional value and safety have long been compromised, potentially containing harmful substances!

"Damn! It's the Magic World's version of Xibei!" Ian felt that the delicious meat soup he just consumed had now turned into a heavy ice block, stuck in his stomach. He had tested the hostel's food with alchemy tools beforehand but never expected to fall into a Muggle World's "historical leftover issue" at this Magic World market!

He watched as the guy brought out another box of similarly styled frozen meat, which the proprietress adeptly took and began preparing to thaw for dinner ingredients.

The whole person was dazed.

Ian Prince felt as if there were a dozen Billywigs spinning in his stomach. He stared intently at the rusty metal box brought out by the guy, and the pieces of hard frozen meat inside, clearly stamped with the year "1923" on the wrapping paper, his mind blank.

This meat's age... could be older than my grandmother!" Ian muttered to himself, his face rapidly shifting from satisfied redness to an incredulous pallor. He quickly calculated the time, realizing his grandmother, whom he never knew, might not have been born when this meat was stored.

What does this count as?

Fresh meat from the future.

Eating a Zombie King that's older than his grandmother?

He just savored a bowl of "historical relics"!

A strong feeling of nausea surged in his throat, and he quickly gulped down water to suppress it. Looking around, he saw other diners still eating heartily, ignoring the guy's act of moving "antique meat" while new customers came in, instinctively ordering the same meat soup.

No one cares.

Everyone is eating, bonding.

"Heard 'Thunder Fang' shop got a batch of AK-47s," a wizard whispered, "The Centaur Legion already ordered fifty, each engraved with the 'Armor-Piercing' rune."

"Huh, if they can buy, we can sell," another chuckled derisively, "I've contacted the 'Fire Snake' tribe, they're paying triple for rocket launchers, specifically targeting the centaur camps."

"Last month, three wizards died at 'Ghost Canyon'," an elderly woman interjected, "Heard they were scared to death by 'Earth Core Bat', and there's not even a scratch on the bodies."

"Serves them right," a person nearby scoffed, "Who told them to tamper with the 'Ancestral Spirit Seal'? That place, even the Ministry of Magic dares not easily enter."

"My cousin works at 'Silence Tower'," a young man said mysteriously, "He said recently caught a white wizard with a big box full of strange birds and flying snakes..."

The air was filled with the sounds of contented eating and conversation. Ian's ears perked up—weren't they talking about Newt? But he certainly wasn't in the mood to care about the professor now.

The fact that people here calmly accepted eating zombie meat somewhat shook Ian's spirit.

"No way!!!!" Ian's expression was remarkably vivid, his mouth twitching slightly, "People can get used to this? Is Africa so lacking in resources that even this... this is considered 'aged vintage' as a norm? No wonder these staff aren't bothered to conceal it!"

"Customers don't care at all!"

Just as he was inwardly venting, that guy, along with another burly man, brought in several more boxes through the back door, even older and some even rotten at the edges.

Ian's peripheral vision caught the seal on one of the wooden boxes, marked with—1893!

"??????"

This looks even more ridiculous.

"Pfft—" Ian nearly sprayed the water he drank. 1893?! That's relics from Queen Victoria's time!

Is this shop in a history museum?!

He finally couldn't hold it anymore, abruptly stood up, and walked several steps to the guy who had just set down the box, suppressing his anger, asking in a forcibly calm but questioning tone; "You... serve this stuff to customers? This... this meat that's been sitting there for who knows how many years?"

The guy was initially stunned, bewildered by Ian's sudden action and slightly agitated mood. But after sizing Ian up, particularly noting his distinct outsider appearance and attire, a look of realization spread across his face, showing an expression of "aha, no wonder he's surprised."

The guy, instead of being alarmed or ashamed, proudly explained in broken English mixed with local language, "Honorable guest, you're from out there, right? Don't worry! Our shop has an ancestral unique skill! It makes these meats taste as fresh as just butchered!"