Early morning at the riverside brick kiln.
Vannus stared blankly at the square wooden box in his hands, looking utterly lost.
Unable to figure out how the thing worked, he lowered his head with utmost care and humbly asked the foreman beside him, "How... do I use this?"
Yang Ergou was an honest, down-to-earth man. Far from looking down on his new subordinate's clumsiness, he explained with great patience, "It's a mold for shaping bricks. Pack the mud inside, press it down tight, and flip it upside down onto the wooden slats. Once it dries a bit, just pull the mold away. But it's too cold lately. The mud by the river and the ground under our feet are both frozen hard as stone, so we have to haul the mud into the cave to preheat it first... Drop the mold here for now and go outside to gather some firewood."
Vannus nodded dumbly, set down the mold, and walked toward the nearby forest.
Looking back at the camp, the thought of fleeing crossed his mind, but it vanished the moment it arose.
Escape?
Where could he run?
To the south and east lay frozen jungles of steel; to the west was the lake; and to the north stretched an endlessly frozen wasteland.
Without a gun, food, or fuel, wandering the wilderness would turn him into nothing more than prime meat for mutants or marauders. A flimsy layer of clothing offered no protection whatsoever.
Those true savages would never give him a chance to pay a ransom. They would gleefully chop off his head, turn his skin into a chair cushion or a rug, and boast to their barbarian brothers: *Look, the skin of a Legion chiliarch—I defeated them!*
Vannus felt that compared to that kind of death, he would rather be shot or hanged and properly buried. At least that would preserve a shred of dignity.
The north wind wailed, intermittent heavy snow drifted down from the sky, and clumps of snow occasionally dropped from the pine branches.
After finally gathering enough firewood, Vannus clutched a bundle of dry timber and trudged back to the brick factory, where the once-desolate clearing had grown bustling and lively.
Yang Ergou was directing workers to cart mud into the adjacent kiln cave. He glanced at Vannus, asked no questions about why he had taken so long, and simply urged him to hurry and bring the firewood inside.
Not daring to slack off, Vannus jogged into the kiln cave with his arms full of wood.
The temperature inside was scorching, like midsummer. Just moments ago he had been shivering with cold, yet now he broke into a sweat.
No wonder everyone worked so diligently—it was far more comfortable here than outside!
Vannus noticed a brick-built furnace inside the cavern, with a towering chimney rising from the ground through the ceiling and extending out the top of the cave.
Workers made charcoal beneath the chimney; the smoke was vented through the chimney, the charcoal produced went into baking bricks, and the residual heat softened the frozen river mud.
The ingenuity was remarkable.
*Did they come up with this themselves?*
Vannus was astonished. Though educated in a military academy, he had never done common laborer's work.
Here, he could only submit to being ordered around. He did whatever he was told, lending a hand wherever needed like an odd-job helper, and managed not to get in the way.
They worked through the entire day.
Through collective effort, the group stacked ten piles of bricks inside the kiln cave, set them on wheeled iron racks, and rolled them along the flat brick-paved surface into an adjacent kiln.
The charcoal was lit.
The kiln entrance was sealed tight.
Only then did Vannus realize he was drenched in sweat and plastered in mud, looking like a lump of coal.
Yang Ergou stared at him for a second, then burst out laughing and clapped him on the shoulder.
"It's always like this the first time. Go wash up in a bit."
"Wash up... where?"
"There's a smaller public bathhouse here. Usually we're too lazy to hike to the outpost a kilometer away, so we just take care of it here. But you have to gather your own firewood; all the charcoal is reserved for the bricks."
Hearing there was hot water, Vannus breathed a sigh of relief.
In this godforsaken weather, even the river was freezing over.
A cold shower would be pure torture!
***
Late that night.
Having bathed and changed into a set of fur clothes, Vannus sat in the workers' shed beside a lit brazier. Yang Ergou walked over and handed him a wooden box.
The box looked very much like a brick mold, though clean of mud. Inside sat a piping-hot roasted ram horn potato and a strip of dried meat as long as a middle finger and as thick as a thumb.
"Hot water's boiling on the stove. Help yourself if you need any." Yang Ergou sat down beside him and grinned. "How'd your first day feel? Getting used to it?"
Vannus smiled bitterly inside, hardly daring to complain.
Working here at least offered a fire to warm himself by, and once the kiln was sealed, things were relatively relaxed. It was far more comfortable than what his subordinates digging trenches in the north were enduring.
"It feels quite good... How long have you lived here?"
"A bit over a month," Yang Ergou replied. "Why?"
"You seem so familiar with everything," Vannus said. "I thought you had been here for a long time."
Yang Ergou chuckled. "I wouldn't say familiar, but to people like us, this place really feels like home."
"Home?"
"That's right. We were all dead men walking, inches from dying in the marauders' dungeon. Then the wise and mighty Lord Administrator planted our flag right over the marauders' lair... None of us rescued folks had anywhere else to go, so we just stayed."
In truth, unlike those whose families had been wiped out, he did have somewhere to go. A four-to-five-kilometer walk south from Wetland Park would bring him to Bet Street, where his relatives lived.
Yet how could home compare to this place?
Here there was a warm room, firewood for heat, three full meals a day, and even wages to spend... To be honest, before arriving here, he had never even heard of a concept called dinner.
Bet Street had no custom of eating dinner; even oil lamps were a luxury. As soon as dark fell, only Old Leech's castle stayed lit, while everyone else crawled under their blankets to sleep. At most, folks would cook a pot of green wheat mush in the evening and let it dry into wheat cakes to save as dry rations for the next day.
Back when Old Leech's family had been chased off by the Administrator's guns and cannons, Yang Ergou had taken leave to visit home. But after staying just two days, he hurried right back. Far from wanting to return, he was actually hoping to bring his family over.
Life here was practically paradise.
After talking on and on until his throat went dry, Yang Ergou realized he had been doing all the speaking, and glanced curiously at Vannus.
"Come to think of it, what about you? Were you rescued by Lord Administrator too?"
"Mm..."
Considering the Legion's reputation in the outside world, Vannus dared not reveal his allegiance and merely nodded vaguely.
Yang Ergou's eyes brightened. Suspecting nothing, he continued chattering endlessly about how wonderful life was here—how under Lord Administrator's rule they were well fed, kept warm, and sheltered from the harassment of marauders and mutants.
Listening to the foreman, Vannus fell silent, his thoughts wandering.
The people here also lived under an order.
Yet it was an order completely distinct from the one that governed the Legion's territories.
He had no doubt that the Legion's order was supreme. Only the strong had any right to speak of civilization; only the strong could survive in a savage world ruled by the law of the jungle. The weak were born slaves, whose inferior genes and character did not entitle them to stand tall. And as a member of that mighty faction, with RDX flowing through his veins, only he was worthy of enjoying the finest material luxuries—be it grand estates, gold, fine wine, or beautiful women...
Yet Vannus had to admit that perhaps for these impure, genetically tainted weaklings and lowborn laborers, life here was indeed far more comfortable.
This order granted them immense tolerance, allowing them to enjoy life even as they built.
Giving meat to people who baked bricks?
It was sheer madness.
***
Around ten o'clock that evening.
Word arrived from Changjiu Farm: a band of refugees had wandered in from the north. Composed mostly of the elderly, the weak, women, and children, they numbered roughly a hundred. Like Wu Tiefu and his people, they were nomads drifting down from the north, though far greater in number.
Upon receiving the news, Chu Guang immediately issued a quest, rallying two players who could drive trucks alongside more than thirty others currently online to head out and reinforce Changjiu Farm.
Because Lord Administrator paid so handsomely, many players who had just returned from Changjiu Farm didn't even bother taking off their gear before eagerly tagging along again.
Passing the northern section of Wetland Park, Chu Guang suddenly remembered that he had dumped a Legion chiliarch at the brick factory, so he made a quick detour to check in.
When he reached the brick kiln, everyone had already gone to sleep except Yang Ergou and another brickmaker on night watch.
Snoring rose in waves from the shacks.
Chu Guang found Yang Ergou and looked at him. "How did that man I left with you perform today? Did he slack off? Or cause trouble?"
Hearing Lord Administrator ask about the outsider, Yang Ergou answered respectfully without overthinking it.
"You mean the one from yesterday? He works quite hard, just a bit clumsy and doesn't seem too bright."
It seemed the man had genuine capability after all, knowing when to bend and yield; no wonder he had risen to the rank of chiliarch.
Vannus being so obedient saved a great deal of trouble.
"Right, understood."
Having checked on the situation, Chu Guang turned and headed to the north gate of Wetland Park to rendezvous with the waiting players.
Two light trucks carrying over thirty people set off in grand fashion.
While Chu Guang and his group were still on the road, utter chaos reigned outside the north gate of Changjiu Farm.
Over a hundred refugees formed a circle before the gates. They dared not draw closer, yet had no intention of retreating, and were negotiating with Old Luka at the entrance.
Behind Old Luka stood the guard corps led by Wrench.
Fifteen guards were divided into two squads—one lined up at the gate, the other posted along the wall—gripping their rifles tightly on high alert.
Standing beside Wrench, a young guard kept his vigilance razor-sharp, staring fixedly at the refugees ahead, even carefully controlling the white vapor rising from his breath.
"I said it before... smoke that thick was bound to draw bad people."
Another guard beside him cursed under his breath.
"Why do they even dare approach? Aren't they afraid we might be marauders?"
"Heh, you think they're innocent? Look at those men—they've clearly got hunting rifles slung over their backs! I bet if we didn't have fifteen guns and walls this high, we'd be in for a bitter fight today!" the young guard muttered.
The comrades beside them nodded along, harboring no doubt about the assessment, without a single dissenting voice.
On the wasteland, kindness was rarer than gold. One could never fully trust even a neighbor, let alone these wandering refugees with no fixed home.
When facing a stronger power, each acted like a singing, dancing white lamb; but when encountering survivors weaker than themselves, none would hesitate to shed their sheepskins and become ravenous wolves.
Such occurrences were hardly news on the wasteland.
"The wind out here is too fierce, and our children and pregnant women are freezing to death... Please, have mercy and let us rest here a moment. Once this blizzard passes, we will leave."
Standing at the front of the refugee band was a burly man with a pipe rifle slung over his back and a revolver tucked at his hip within easy reach of his right hand.
Old Luka noticed dried bloodstains clinging to the hem of the man's coat, though he couldn't tell whether it belonged to beast or man.
Judging by the respectful, reverent glances the others cast at his back, the man was likely their chieftain or leader, and one of considerable prestige.
To lead so many people on a long trek across the wasteland was impossible without genuine ability.
"I cannot make this decision. I must wait for my master to arrive." Though standing before the giant like a withered twig, Old Luka showed not the slightest hint of cowardice.
His master was a powerhouse capable of vanquishing the Bloodhand Clan, one who had even earned the respect of the Enterprise from the distant East Coast.
A handful of refugees was hardly enough to frighten him.
The man stared at him and pressed on, "Where is he? Can I speak with him?"
"He is on his way here and will arrive shortly." Old Luka raised his chin slightly to meet the man's gaze, his tone steady yet authoritative. "Before visiting someone else's home, shouldn't you state your name first? Who are you, who are the people behind you, where did you come from, and where do you intend to go?"
The man stared intently at the old man for a long moment, then glanced at the guards standing behind him and atop the perimeter wall, seemingly weighing whether these people were easy to provoke.
Old Luka's brow furrowed.
"It seems you lack sincerity in communicating. In that case, we have nothing to discuss."
"Apologies, that was my rudeness," the man quickly spoke up, seeing that Old Luka appeared ready to walk away. "I am Li. Most of us come from central River Valley Province."
Luka asked, "What do you mean by 'most'?"
The man named Li nodded and continued, "We do not hail from the same survivor settlement. At least half the people here joined us along the way."
Luka said, "That makes no sense. If you were truly a survivor settlement as you claim, why abandon it so suddenly? And in the dead of winter, no less."
"Because of the damned war. We didn't want to leave either, but we had no choice," Li said bitterly. "You must have heard that the Legion has been fighting in the north for an entire year. This sudden, harsh winter has probably made it impossible for them to hold out any longer, and swarms of people are fleeing south."
Luka's brow tightened.
"You encountered the Legion?"
Li said furiously, "To be precise, we ran into routed Legion troops. Those bastards are no different from marauders—they loot everything in sight! Damn it, I feel like you can at least negotiate with marauders, but those ones are utter scum! Beasts! Filth!"
The burly man poured out every curse in his vocabulary, recounting their atrocities across the northern and central regions.
Yet Old Luka's focus lay not on these trivial details, but on the implication behind the man's words...
*Did the Legion lose?*
Or at the very least, were they on the verge of defeat?
After all, organized raiding would not be carried out by routed troops.
A flicker of astonishment rose in Luka's eyes.
Lord Administrator had once mentioned that for the northern Legion expedition to dispatch a full two-thousand-man unit to run off and intercept the Enterprise's Pioneer, they were either completely certain of victory, or on the brink of collapse and looking to grab whatever spoils they could before pulling out.
If these people were telling the truth, then Lord Administrator's guess had hit the mark...
The shock in Old Luka's eyes gradually turned into sheer admiration.
Meanwhile, the man named Li continued venting his grievances, desperately trying to persuade the old man to let them inside.
Just then, the distant rumble of engines drifted through the air.
A commotion rippled through the refugees clustered before the wall, panic spreading across their faces. Li also took a wary half-step back, his right hand resting on the pistol at his hip.
Wrench stared him down, his thumb already flicking off the safety of his Arbiter, while several guards beside him raised their muzzles slightly.
Seeing the tension mount rapidly, Old Luka quickly raised his hand to signal calm, pleasant surprise gleaming in his eyes.
"Don't be rash! It's Lord Administrator!"
*Lord Administrator?*
Li was momentarily taken aback.
Just then, the two headlights of the lead truck flared to life.
Li looked toward the light, squinting instinctively, and saw an imposing figure standing beside the illuminated vehicle.
That man had to be the Administrator they spoke of.
Or to put it another way, he was the lord of this domain.
He wore an exoskeleton, but what proved impossible to overlook was neither the rifle slung over his back nor the warhammer resting at his side.
It was the fiercely glaring warriors behind him, and the rifles carried across their shoulders.
Facing the blinding glare, a chill crept into Li's heart.
At the same time, a measured, resonant voice cut through the curtain of falling snow, carrying from afar:
"Lay down your weapons and accept our resettlement."
"Or—"
"Go back to wherever you came from!"
Chapter 167