Pinecone Wood Farm.
Towering walls of mixed stone brick and wooden palisades enclosed a vast expanse of land. On one side of the perimeter stood densely packed dwellings, while on the other stretched crisscrossing fields and snow-dusted orchards.
Rather than calling it a farm, it was closer to a classical-era city.
Within the walls lived ten to twenty thousand people, clustered around a central market—officials, craftsmen, soldiers, and their families. Outside the walls lived thirty to forty thousand people, mostly farmers; more than half of them were serfs who had lost their freedom, while the other half were tenant farmers renting land and not yet completely broke.
Everything here belonged to the farm's master.
Both the land and the people.
If Boulder City was an extreme product of industrialization directed by the Post-War Reconstruction Committee's production department, this farm was the opposite extreme—the result of a survivor settlement left to grow unchecked.
Not the slightest trace of industrialization could be seen here.
Though a near-future metropolis was not far away, no trace of that heritage existed here, not even a superficial imitation.
The reason was quite simple.
A ship anchored in place cannot move on its own; it requires either the wind to blow or people to row.
For the ship that was Pinecone Wood Farm, neither condition was met. They were not part of the Reconstruction Committee's blueprints, nor did they possess the motivation to develop industry.
The farm master had once bought a few machines from Boulder City, but the results had been underwhelming, and over time they were left to gather dust in the warehouse.
To put it bluntly, whether they were bankrupt serfs or tenant farmers hovering on the brink of ruin, they were all treated as the farm master's private property.
Dressing those paupers in new clothes would have been nothing more to the farm master than putting a new wallet around the bills already sitting in his pocket—completely redundant.
Even so, Pinecone Wood Farm was far better off than most survivor settlements still stuck in the "tribal era."
At the very least, marauder tribes were no match for them, and the farm's produce could be exported all the way north to River Valley Province.
Directly trading their bountiful crops and cash crops for Boulder City's manufactured goods had served as the lifeblood of this farm over the past century.
It was no exaggeration to say that without Boulder City's grand landowners, the small and large masters of Jinchuan Province would never have existed.
Most farm masters here either partnered with Boulder City merchants or simply kept a few loyal retainers to act as their commercial representatives.
Pinecone Wood Farm was no exception, and its master, Zhao Tiangan, was far more ambitious than any other landowner on this soil.
His forebears had accumulated a substantial fortune for him, and a small settlement was no longer enough to satisfy his appetite.
He wanted to establish a vast, permanent kingdom upon this savage land, just like the royal dynasties of Sunset Province!
To achieve this grand vision, he maintained an open, receptive stance toward talent and technology across the wasteland, using the savings amassed from the grain trade to recruit soldiers, build up his forces, and stockpile weapons.
Yet just as he was brimming with confidence and preparing to make his big move, terrible news arrived from the north.
A revolution had erupted in Boulder City. The Boulder Building collapsed overnight, and the inner-city nobles were either exiled or sent to the Alliance's POW camps for reform.
His patrons had essentially all fallen in that revolution.
When he heard the report over the radio back then, a cold sweat broke out all over his body, and he could not sleep for days.
To establish a vast agricultural empire in the south, the backing of northern industrialists was indispensable. After all, he could not expect illiterate farmers to operate machinery, and knowledge happened to be the one thing he could never afford to grant them.
Now, his greatest partners had fallen to the Alliance.
Although the Alliance was also a trading partner, ever since the war in the west wound down and the railway from Sunset Province to southern River Valley Province opened to traffic, grain from Sunset Province had almost entirely supplanted their exports.
This was practically fatal to the slaveholders of Jinchuan Province.
With chemical fertilizers and high-yield seeds, a single mu could feed two or three people. Without the fruits of industry and relying only on primitive agricultural methods, it took three mu to feed just one person.
When the profits from exporting agricultural products could no longer buy enough means of production and the weapons to protect them, the virtuous cycle was shattered, and their good days were over.
While they would not go under immediately, the contraction of their productive output was virtually inevitable.
Without external intervention, it would likely take twenty to forty years for them to completely exhaust the wealth accumulated over a century of trade with Boulder City, until they stabilized into a new cycle.
Their current prosperity would simply shift along that newly built railway to the scattered oases of the desert.
Pinecone Wood Farm was somewhat better off; thanks to its deep foundations and a population of over fifty thousand, craftsmen like carpenters, blacksmiths, weavers, and alchemists would naturally emerge even if left alone.
Other smaller farm masters were out of luck. Staring at the kamu fruits rotting in the woods, they were already tasting the bitter consequences of losing their financial backers.
Fortunately, church forces from further south extended a helping hand to the locals in the nick of time.
Since growing ordinary crops was no longer profitable—
Why not plant na fruit instead?
Land planted with na fruit was no longer suitable for ordinary crops, yet vegetation infested by na fruit grew extraordinarily lush.
Survivors who consumed na fruit became immune to all diseases, becoming meek, docile, and as hardworking and obedient as puppets on strings.
Looking at it another way, they hardly needed chemical fertilizer anymore, let alone herbicides, and all material cravings were laid to rest.
Beneath that emerald-green halo, mankind and nature merged in perfect harmony, achieving the true state of "I am Nature."
To secure the backing of the southern church, Pinecone Wood Farm introduced na fruit as well.
And the effects of na fruit certainly did not disappoint Zhao Tiangan.
After eating the fruit, his serfs stopped slacking off, no one complained anymore, and everyone grew as gentle and obedient as sheep.
They might not make great soldiers or fit technical roles, but they were unquestionably the finest farmers and laborers.
Turning them into cannon fodder was equally simple—a single injection of "Holy Water" was all it took, as the Church of the Torch possessed an agent that could stave off the symptoms of withdrawal.
Withdrawal itself served as the tether binding them. No one dared to shirk, and to hear the gospel of the Holy Son, they worked with frantic zeal whenever they were lucid.
Yet unlike those farm masters who threw all caution to the wind, Zhao Tiangan remained uneasy around those zealots.
His personal physician warned him that the serfs who ate na fruit were not truly immune to disease; rather, their bodily defenses had completely surrendered against viruses and bacteria. In turn, the viruses and bacteria lost their virulence, entering a symbiotic relationship with the host under the influence of a specialized mycelium.
As a result, each of those serfs became a walking incubator for pathogens. Ordinary people who had not consumed na fruit caught strange infectious diseases simply by approaching them.
Tenant farmers who had not been subjected to mandatory na fruit rations were eventually forced to consume it themselves due to the dire lack of antibiotics and other medicines.
Initially, Zhao Tiangan had intended for only twenty percent of the residents to receive the baptism of the "Holy Fruit." But before he knew it, the entire settlement had turned into believers of the Church of the Torch.
Trying to stop now was already far too late...
In the grand, opulent manor house, a group of children laughed and played across the lush green lawn.
In the nearby main building, Zhao Tiangan stood by the window, gazing out at the settlement shrouded in cooking smoke, his knit brows weighed down with worry.
He had never been this anxious about the settlement's future, nor had he ever felt so lost about what lay ahead. Yet in this moment, that sense of aimlessness grew increasingly intense.
The fruit and faith brought by the cultists had resolved most of his immediate problems, but the greatest issue was that he had no idea where they intended to lead him.
A faint scratchiness tickled his throat, and Zhao Tiangan could not help coughing into a handkerchief.
Pulling the cloth away from his lips, a faint streak of blood caught his eye, making his heart clench.
"Damn it!"
Cursing under his breath, he hurriedly pulled a pillbox from his pocket, shook two tablets into his palm, tossed them into his mouth, and washed them down with warm water from a cup on the desk.
A moment later, he let out a long breath, feeling slightly relieved.
For reasons unknown, his lungs had developed a slight ailment recently. A bit of medicine had helped at first, but the sickness kept returning, and now he was coughing up blood.
He had no idea why this was happening, but coughing up blood was never a good sign.
Just then, a knock sounded at the door.
Zhao Tiangan cleared his throat and stuffed the handkerchief back into his pocket.
"Come in."
The door opened.
An elderly man with graying temples stepped inside. His name was Ma Zhongxian, the steward of Pinecone Wood Farm and the master's trusted confidant.
Looking at Zhao Tiangan standing by the window, the old man gave a slight bow and spoke respectfully.
"My lord."
Wasting no time on pleasantries, Zhao Tiangan immediately asked, "Any word from Yang He?"
Ma Zhongxian nodded. "He reported just moments ago that they've procured the weapons on the list. The transport convoy is currently heading our way... However, due to snow on the mountain passes, they were delayed at the border between the two provinces. It may take a few extra days for them to arrive."
Irritated, Zhao Tiangan snapped, "Tell him to hurry up."
Ma Zhongxian bowed respectfully. "Understood."
Zhao Tiangan glanced out the window at the playing children, his eyes narrowing slightly as he looked at the little girl sitting beside his daughter.
In past years, Yang He would have returned by early December after selling autumn grain around the Qingquan area, but this year he was more than a month late.
Still, he was not worried that the merchant would run off with the funds.
The man's precious daughter was held as a hostage in his own hands.
He trusted the merchant would make the sensible choice and know what he could take and what he could not.
Seeing that the old steward showed no sign of leaving, Zhao Tiangan asked, "Is there anything else?"
"Yes, one more matter..."
"Speak."
Ma Zhongxian hesitated for a moment, then lowered his voice. "The apostle who went to proselytize in Dust Town has been out of contact for three days. The forty-one militiamen he took with him haven't returned either."
Zhao Tiangan frowned. "Why has it taken so long?"
Three days.
That was enough time for two round trips.
Ma Zhongxian smiled wryly and shook his head. "I don't know... My recommendation is that we send someone over to see what's happening."
Clicking his tongue, Zhao Tiangan waved his hand impatiently. "Go arrange it."
He disliked those zealots.
Yet it was also a fact that he had to rely on them right now.
"As you command."
Ma Zhongxian bowed slightly and stepped out, pulling the door shut behind him.
Watching the door close, Zhao Tiangan could no longer hold it in. Covering his mouth with his right hand, he coughed violently twice.
A warm wetness hit his palm, and his heart sank. When he pulled his hand away, he saw dark red blood smeared across his skin.
No matter how composed he tried to be, seeing that blood stirred a flicker of panic in his chest.
Though he held absolute power in this settlement, he remained flesh and blood, unable to escape aging, sickness, and death.
"Tsk... Is it really not working?"
After several moments of hesitation, he hurried back to his desk, pulled open a drawer, and retrieved a silver box.
Opening it, three emerald-green fruits lay silently inside.
These three fruits were a gift presented to him by the apostle named Zhang Zhengyang, said to be the purest "Holy Fruits" from the Sanctuary, capable of thoroughly ridding a person of all earthly illness and pain.
Naturally, he had not believed the man's nonsense.
What remained of his reason told him this was no good thing.
Although Holy Water could keep him clear-headed, it also meant his sanity and very life would be placed in someone else's hands.
Under normal circumstances, he would never have eaten such a thing.
Right now, however, his physical condition seemed to leave him no room for hesitation.
He was in the prime of his life; how could he display the frailty of an old man?
This settlement—and indeed the entire wasteland—needed his greatness. He still had so much left to accomplish; he could not fall here!
"Just one..."
Zhao Tiangan comforted himself inwardly as he picked out the smallest emerald fruit and carefully placed it in his mouth.
The moment it passed his lips and teeth, a rich sweetness flowed down his throat, a nectar that seemed to pour straight into the depths of his soul, leaving his mind in a daze.
The ensuing comfort swept away all his pain and illness in an instant.
Within his body, life in every form reached a truce under the influence of an unknown force.
More than that—
He felt healthier and stronger than ever before.
Wrapping his arms around his own shoulders, Zhao Tiangan suddenly let out a laugh.
"Heh... Hahaha!"
The laughter grew louder and louder, tinged with a hint of madness.
So that was it.
In this moment, he finally understood why those people could never stop...
***
In the rolling hills about one to two hundred kilometers from Jinhe City, six modified trucks had broken down beside the road, while orange muzzle flashes flickered from a nearby hilltop.
Over twenty marauders lay prone on the crest, their automatic rifles rattling away, pouring fire downward.
Taken completely off guard, the caravan guards scrambled away from the trucks, rolling and crawling behind large boulders to return fire from limited cover.
Spent casings clattered onto the ground. A marauder with an ammunition belt slung over his shoulder and both hands gripping a machine gun shouted excitedly to his leader beside him.
"Haha! We're gonna be rich, boss!"
"Take it easy! Don't damage the cargo on the trucks!"
Wearing an animal-hide cap, Wang Youhu's face was flushed with excitement, his beady eyes glued to the stranded convoy below, shining with greed.
The cargo on those six trucks held at least several hundred rifles and over a hundred thousand rounds of ammunition!
With this haul of weapons, forget small villages—he would dare raid Boss Zhao's Pinecone Wood Farm itself! Making the "Hill Wild Wolves" gang big and strong was no longer a pipe dream!
However—
They had clearly picked the wrong target.
Just as they were firing to their hearts' content, a squad of warriors clad in jet-black exoskeletons had already flanked around to their side of the slope.
A crisp gunshot rang out, and the machine gunner's head burst in a plume of bloody mist before he slumped face-down without a sound.
Seeing this, a nearby marauder moved to take over the gun, but the moment he poked his head out from cover, another shot struck home.
Two dead in the blink of an eye.
The marauders on the crest finally realized what was happening and swung their rifles toward the flank. At that exact moment, a torrential hail of bullets swept over them, pinning them behind cover so hard they could not even lift their heads.
Catching a glimpse of the gleaming black exoskeletons out of the corner of his eye, pure terror flashed through Wang Youhu's face, every shred of greed vanishing as he screamed at his men.
"Damn it, retreat!"
K-10 "Iron Wall" heavy exoskeletons!
Why were Boulder City regular troops out here?!
With no time to ponder the question, he abandoned his cover and fled down the reverse slope.
Seeing their boss run, the underlings abandoned their positions as well, scattering into the woods like frightened beasts and leaving behind even that precious machine gun.
The battle was over.
Seeing that the marauders had vanished without a trace, Luo Yu did not pursue them into the woods below, instead walking up to the abandoned machine gun.
Kicking aside the corpse sprawled over it, he looked down at the gun, surprise flashing in his eyes.
"Damn, even bandits are using Maxims now?"
The weapon looked rather aged.
It was probably discarded surplus left over from the last Tide.
After several equipment upgrades, the Alliance Army had largely phased out heavy water-cooled machine guns like this. Even Goblin Tech's Maxim-II adopted an air-cooled design modeled after the MG42, increasing the caliber from 7mm to 10mm.
As for these early-model Maxim-Is, most were sold off to wasteland merchants.
Less developed survivor settlements were quite keen on these small-caliber machine guns that offered cheap ammunition, high rates of fire, and strong suppression.
How it had ended up in the hands of marauders was anyone's guess.
Perhaps they had looted it themselves, or perhaps some merchant had sold it to them.
Seeing Luo Yu return to the convoy carrying a machine gun and a crate of ammunition, a man in a leather jacket stepped forward and asked with concern, "Are you alright?"
This NPC was named Wu Wenzhou, the leader of the caravan and a subordinate of their client.
"I'm fine, they've run off... Oh, right."
Tossing the ammo crate and the Maxim down in front of the NPC, Luo Yu got straight to the point. "Do you buy these?"
Wu Wenzhou froze, clearly unable to follow the player's train of thought.
Seeing that the man was not joking, he crouched down, fiddled with the machine gun for a moment, glanced at the ammo crate, and said hesitantly, "The maintenance is lacking, but it's still usable... How about 600 silver coins?"
For a Maxim-II, the going market price was around 1,000 to 1,200 silver coins if he remembered correctly.
This Maxim-I was out of production, however, and its black-market value was likely less than the crate of 7mm full-power rounds beside it.
Normally he would never offer such a high price—400 silver coins would be stretching it. But considering the warrior had just saved their lives, he was embarrassed to be stingy.
Hearing the offer, Luo Yu was overjoyed.
Six hundred!
Damn!
That was even more generous than Mosquito!
Mercenary work was way too profitable!
Calling over his men to heave the machine gun onto a truck, Wu Wenzhou hollered to his crew behind him.
"Move it, everyone get ready to roll!"
"Once we clear the forest and hills ahead, we'll see our destination!"
"If you don't want to spend the night out in the wild, we'd better hurry and reach Hope Town before dark. Otherwise, once night falls, those things will be everywhere!"
After quickly clearing the battlefield, the group resumed their journey.
Gazing at the sea of trees shrouded in light mist in the distance, Luo Yu felt a surge of excitement knowing he was now standing in Jinchuan Province.
Who would have thought that one day he would stand at the cutting edge of the new game version?
Unable to contain his curiosity, he turned to the NPC beside him and asked, "What kind of place is Pinecone Wood Farm, anyway?"
Sitting beside him, Wu Wenzhou smiled. "It's a very large settlement... though it probably doesn't have as many tall buildings as Boulder City."
"A quaint, rustic town?"
"A town... you couldn't really call it that."
As he said this, Luo Yu clearly noticed a conflicted look in the NPC's eyes, as if he were reluctant to dwell on the place.
Even though it was his hometown.
"...Anyway, it's only a day or two's journey. You'll understand once we arrive."
***
Just as dusk settled completely, the convoy bound for Pinecone Wood Farm finally rolled to the outskirts of Hope Town.
At the same time, dozens of kilometers away in Jinhe City, a Viper transport trailed a faint blue arc of light as it quietly approached a silent urban core.
The city appeared dead; the silent streets bore no trace of life, every building resembling a graveyard and every window like an upright tombstone.
Like Qingquan City, the downtown area teemed with mutants, but unlike Qingquan City, there was no deadly mutant slime mold, no broodmother, and no annual Tide.
Hugging the edges of ruined skyscrapers, the silent Viper transport eventually settled onto the rooftop of an abandoned high-rise.
Clad in power armor, Ye Shi leapt from the cabin, his boots landing on the dry concrete surface.
Raising his LD-50 carbine, he cautiously swept every corner of the rooftop. Only after confirming it was secure did he switch to the Gauss sniper rifle slung over his back, walk to the edge of the roof, and go prone behind the parapet.
The mission coordinates were marked on pre-war maps as the "Champion" Biopharmaceutical Research Institute.
The company seemed to have been quite famous before the war, their proudest achievement being the "Champion" stimulant, and the pre-war Human Alliance Army's T-10 "Champion" power armor was also suspected of having ambiguous ties to the firm.
The entire facility was split into surface and underground tiers.
Above ground stood four hundred-story towers, each containing entrances leading below.
According to the Academy's intelligence, the one thousand cubic meters of liquid helium-3 was stored in the underground facility's auxiliary power room, sealed in one-liter high-pressure canisters.
Their objective was to infiltrate the facility and haul away all the canisters.
The only complication was that the underground security systems were still operational, and intelligence regarding the subterranean level was a complete blank.
They did not know what research had been conducted there, what the security clearance level was, or even if any competitors were eyeing the same prize.
"In position. The objective coordinates are approximately seven hundred meters out, currently confirming the target's status..."
Practiced in the motion, Ye Shi aligned his helmet visor with the scope, glanced toward the distant building, and his expression suddenly shifted.
"Fuck!"
Static crackled through the comm channel.
A moment later, Lao Bai's voice came through.
"Ye Shi, what's your situation?"
"Mutants! And not just one or two... There are at least a hundred visible on the outside!"
Scanning the building's exterior through his scope, taking in the emplacements reinforced with concrete and sheet metal, Ye Shi cursed under his breath.
"Damn it, these bastards built a nest up there!"
As soon as the words left his mouth, murmurs rippled across the team comms.
"Mutants?! What do those greenskins need helium-3 for?"
"Do they even understand nuclear fusion??"
"They don't really need to understand it, so long as there's a leftover fusion device... Isn't that how we do it too?"
Just then, Fang Chang's voice broke in over the channel, cutting short the chatter.
"Squad B is in position... There are unexpectedly large numbers here. While our firepower should give us the upper hand, this place is too close to the Qi tribe."
"Letting them know we're after the same objective isn't wise. Whatever they're searching for, it doesn't look like they've found it yet... otherwise, they wouldn't be patrolling out here."
Lao Bai agreed. "Yeah, that makes sense."
Watching the green head centered in his crosshairs, Ye Shi rubbed his index finger against the trigger, sounding reluctant.
"So we're just calling it off for today?"
Fang Chang replied patiently, "We lack the manpower. Even if we launch an assault, we'd need at least one squad to pin down their reinforcements or stage a feint against their main camp."
"Otherwise, even if we fight our way in, we'll be trapped if those mutants seal off the exits."
Lao Bai agreed with his assessment.
"At least the odds are high that what we want is still inside, and there might be other things besides nuclear fuel... In any case, let's report to the Administrator first."
"Fine..."
Taking one last look at that green head and that hideous, fiendish face, Ye Shi suppressed the urge to pull the trigger and reluctantly lowered his rifle.
Consider yourself lucky, bastard!
Drool dripped from the mutant's mouth as it snorted, lost in who knew what thoughts and completely unaware that it had just brushed past the gates of hell.
Turning back toward the Viper, Ye Shi had just planted a foot into the cabin and was about to climb aboard when a sharp crack tore through the nocturnal silence in the distance.
Hearing that sound, he started violently.
What the fuck?!
Didn't we agree not to shoot?!
Chapter 560