Chapter 150: Jedi

The new city scope has been circled, and compared with the original area, the area of ​​Yinyue City has exceeded twice.

With food and water, a large number of refugees can quickly gather. This is the most direct source of power in the wasteland world and the basis and key to the rise of a certain force. However, it is still far from being truly powerful.

The current Yinyue City only has the most fundamental factor in satisfying survival. It still lacks many other things.

For example: a complete industrial system and sufficient energy supply system.

When the Skeleton Knights were put into training people, they had already instilled memories of the science and technology of the old era. With the continuous progress of time and the death of the first generation of trained people, a considerable number of missing parts of this knowledge appeared. Although the Skeleton Knights continued to supplement and improve the personnel sent later, they could not offset the speed of natural consumption. In addition, the major families who came out of the shelter established settlements with each other, which caused a new round of competition and plunder of scientific and technological talents. War, fighting, hunger, harsh and harsh natural environment... Adding up various factors, in general, the technological capabilities of the new generation of humans only reached the level of the 40s and 50s in the old era.

Of course, this only refers to the wandering groups in the wilderness. All family institutions have independent research institutes. They use force coercion and material inducement to incorporate refugees who retain high-tech into their own management systems, so that the results of technology and research output will eventually become their own personal belongings.

Whether in the old era or radiating the world, "technology has no borders" is just a useless nonsense after all.

The Skeleton Knights and the Joint Doctors Association are extremely powerful institutions on this wasteland planet. It is strange that neither of them showed the intention to control other small forces. Judging from the information that Lin Xiang has contacted and mastered, the Knights only set up bases in the mild radiation zone, and used the point to lead the surface to collect material contributions from various families in the entire area in proportion. As for the Joint Doctors Association, the only means they use to control is medicine. Neither the former nor the latter seems to have no desire to establish a strong and firm domination circle. Especially the Skeleton Knights that have created a new generation of humans, their actions in the wasteland world are more like a bystander, rather than a master of creation.

Lin Xiang was puzzled by this, but he did not have the extra time and energy to find answers to the questions. He must first stabilize his life foundation and security. Only when everything around him gradually gets on track and shows regional advantages under control of strength can he explore more secrets that are overwhelmed by time.

...

The dusk of September has become relatively long. The dark blue twilight covers the already yellowed wilderness, and the stone buildings in the distance are staggered, dim and dim lights are emitted. The crisscrossing streets pass through the center of neatly arranged buildings, dividing countless blocks of different sizes and adjacent to each other. The warning towers standing on the border of the city are like triangular cones. They are silently nailed there, like the legendary strong and majestic patron saint, watching silently and vigilantly all the movements in the silent wilderness.

Standing at the top of the tall and thick city wall, looking at the deep and bright red at the connection point between the sky and the horizon, Wang Daxia's dark rough face showed a trace of soothing that had not appeared for a long time, full of emotion and expectation.

"Perhaps, I should call you "Sir". After all, in that destructive world, your military rank is much higher than mine." He raised his hand, touched his newly shaved chin, and smiled honestly.

Lin Xiang hugged his arms, his legs slightly spread apart, and stood about three meters away from him. The faint twilight shone on the surface of the gray-white combat suit, reflecting a slightly yellow and red dizzy.

"We are lucky compared to those who died."

Lin Xiang replied with an irresponsible question, turned around and walked closer with a plain expression, stretched out his right hand and gently patted his shoulder: "Now, what are your plans?"

Wang Daxia smiled very simply: "I only know how to do two things - farming and joining the army."

He is an honest man.

Of course, this excellent trait is only for those whom he can trust. Whether in the old days or now, words like "honest" and "crawl" are often associated with each other - Glifiz, the manager of Emma Branch of Sosbia, is the most outstanding representative.

The wasteland world is full of intrigue, and the things that hide the sword in the smile are quietly staged in different corners every day in different contents and ways.

Wang Daxia is a trustworthy person - this is not the attribution Lin Xiang gave to him, but from Ying Jia's judgment.

"Don't forget, you are the messenger sent by the Lecher tribe to ask for help. Your tribe is still struggling in dire straits, waiting for your reply." Lin Xiang's words are purely joking. Although the tone of his speech is quite formal, it obviously contains a joke.

Wang Daxia had no interface. He turned around and looked at Lin Xiang, and his dark face showed a thoughtful expression: "When it comes to the Letcher tribe, I think... this may be an opportunity to take advantage of."

"Opportunity?" Lin Xiang raised his eyebrows and waited for the other party's unfinished words.

"According to my observation, the Silver Locomotive Party that besieged the Mumford tribe is likely to have the ability to produce motorcycles."

Wang Daxia's eyes showed a certain meaning: "Maybe, they controlled a large machinery factory. As long as there is food and water, refugees can be recruited everywhere in the wilderness. But when it comes to machinery... that is a huge wealth."

...

The camp Lecher, guarding the wilderness, was a huge mud pit filled with sin and filth.

It was raining all the time in the haze, and everything in the world was shrouded in a dull layer of lead gray. The roads in the camp became muddy. Due to the frequent flow of people, countless deep dirt pits of different sizes were stepped on the road, and the dark yellow mud could even flood people's ankles. The whistling cold wind made the ragged refugees tremble. They raised the bottom layer of the camping site with mud and stones, but they could not stop the rain from falling into the felt gaps on the top of the tent, soaking the few clothes on people's bodies soaked.

From time to time, people walk around carefully from the edge of the road. The center of the road has been soaked in water. If you accidentally step on it, the sticky mud will stick to the soles of the shoe like glue. Even if you pull out your feet hard, you cannot bring out your shoes. People try to avoid such unlucky things falling on themselves, but there are always a few guys with very bad luck sliding down the curb, rolling and struggling in the cold mud.

The food in the camp Lecher has been out of food for two days, but the refugees have not felt the fatal threat of hunger - this is a control method often used by the leaders of the upper migrant ethnic groups in the wilderness. When they want to get more things or force the people to recognize their dictatorial decisions, they will use food as a threat. As for the actual situation, the food in the camp is concentrated near the leader's tent and is firmly guarded by the trustees with live ammunition. As for whether to distribute it or not, it is entirely up to the leader to decide alone.

Without food, it does not mean that there is no food. This is a very strange logic that humans could not imagine in the old era.

Every day, several sentinels or refugees who attempt to escape were killed by silver motorcycle parties trapped around the camp. The warm dead bodies provided a fresh source of meat for the living. They would be boiled into soup, and a little bit of food accumulated by the refugees usually made into porridge. This informal method of free food is not within the control of the leader of the tribe, but it is very small, and it is far from enough to eat enough.

The refugees began to obtain food in various different types of ways.

The beauty and young body of a woman are the most common means of earning food. In every refugee group, there are always some privileged people who can eat enough. The leader and his confidants and guards are the most prominent representatives. Whenever food is abnormally cut off in the camp, they can use a small amount of food to exchange for what they want from hungry refugees. Gold, circulating currency recognized by major forces, privately stored wine, and various valuable items dug out from the ruins. The first night of a virgin... will be exchanged at a very low price under the premise of fair transactions.

Refugees are not fools, they know the value of these private collections very well. In cities with large populations, large settlements, or when mercenaries come to camp to stay, their goods can usually be sold at high prices. For the simplest example, a bottle of aged wine found in the ruins can be exchanged for a few delicious cans or several kilograms of bread. However, when the power holders in the camp exchanged, they could only get a fist-sized dumpling with a stinky smell.

In the name of food being cut off, it is actually a naked plunder. This is the reality.

Of course, the refugees will feel angry, but they have no choice. There is no law to regulate and curb such dirty behavior, nor do they have weapons and power to fight against it. Without food and water, they cannot leave the camp and wander alone in the wilderness. Leaving will mean death.

Every once in a while, this informal plundering will be staged within the ethnic group. This is not a unique creative invention of the Lecher tribe, but a common patent of all the powers in the wilderness. They use this primitive and barbaric method to deprive the last bit of property accumulated by the refugees, leaving the poor with nothing and can only survive completely with the ethnic group. They cannot resist, cannot refuse, and can only bear silently and numb in anger and hatred.

...

Borg Letcher sat cross-legged on thick and soft grey felt, staring at the map placed flat between the left and right knees in a daze.

If Wang Daxia was present, he would have discovered unexpectedly that the posture Borg maintained at this moment was exactly the same as the scene he saw when he left a few weeks ago.

Looking at the map is a must-do daily action that Borg has been doing every day in recent times.

The map drawn on the bighorn sheepskin with ink charcoal is very rough, and the scope involved is not large. It only includes a few migration sites owned by the Lecher tribe, as well as the cities and settlements passed along the route. Borg looked very carefully. He widened his eyes and compared the distance between the place names and each other. When he was focused, his tall nose would even directly touch the drawings and felt the unique wrinkles on the surface of the sheepskin.

There is no secret to the map itself. What Borg is interested in is just the Hidden Moon City marked with a black triangle mark on the picture. In order to show his attention, he even added a red coil. This did not help relieve the actual situation. On the contrary, it increased his inner tension and worry. Every day, he compared the distance on the map, calculated the actual length between the camp and Hidden Moon City, and then used the speed of human running to equalize it, thus obtaining the time he most urgently needed to know.

Borg sent sixty-eight messengers to Yinyue City to seek help. In addition to Wang Dasha, the other sixty-seven were killed on the spot by the silver motorcycle party wandering outside the camp.

It’s not that Wang Daxia is so lucky, the reason is very simple - everyone except him is ordinary refugees who have no evolutionary ability. The second-level evolutionary ability is equivalent to having twice the perception and speed than ordinary people, and the chance of survival is naturally greater.

The population of the Letcher tribe is more than 2,000, and the enhanced people who have successfully injected drugs can also select several level 2 and 3 psychics with good strength. But Borg cannot impose the same threat method on others like controlling the King Building. He also has no way to guarantee whether these people will ask Yinyue City for help as he wants after leaving the camp? Or... he simply kicked himself away and looked for a funder with a higher price.

Bog unswervingly believed that Wang Daxia would come back - his wife was still in his hands. Although the woman had been played with by Borg and her confidants hundreds of times, she was Wang Daxia's nominal wife after all. As a man, she could not be shameless enough to abandon his wife.

As time passed day by day, Borg's heart became more and more bored and anxious. He had anticipated all possible accidents and considered the worst outcome. No matter what the situation was, time was enough for Wang Dasha to run two round trips between the camp and Yinyue City. However, the guy who looked honest and honest still did not appear.

Borg began to drink heavily, and the swelling of alcohol on his face covered his old and smart expression. The bags under his two blood-covered eyes became bigger and bigger, and his waist became thicker and thicker. Every night, he would hug more than two women to sleep with. He would use various perverted means to abuse and play with the young and soft bodies. Only in this way can he find a little relief in fear and fatigue, and he could barely sleep for a while in that short period of time in the early morning.

The food cut is the last trick available in Borg's escape plan.

If the situation still has no turning point, the Lecher tribe must surrender to the Silver Locomotive Party. This also means that Borg and his relatives, their confidants, hand over all the power in their hands, from a high-ranking camp leader to an ordinary refugee.

This is terrible and terrifying.

Borg could not imagine what it would be like to lose power, but he knew very well that once he became a civilian and lost his guard, many refugees in the Lecher tribe would kill him. They were exploited miserably, and many of their wives and children either became their own playthings or were eaten as fresh meat. The poor people hated themselves so much that they gritted their teeth. They were almost always cursing them in the most vicious language... In short, a sentence - surrender is equivalent to suicide.

No! This situation must not be made a reality.

Borg used his usual old method - in the name of cutting off food, and tried to divert the anger and attention of the refugees. He shook all this off on the Silver Locomotive Party, claiming that the gunmen who drove motorcycles and wandered around the camp had cut off people's life. They prevented the refugees from moving normally and killed innocent people like wild animals. There was no food in the camp now, and if this situation continued, everyone would starve to death.

This method works very well. In the first few days, Borg did successfully divert the source of anger from the refugees. However, the good times did not last long. The privileged confidants and guards, as before, used a small amount of food to exchange for various private collections from the refugees in a forced exchange. The hungry people began to no longer believe Borg's lies, they became more indifferent, and more and more fugitives became. Although Borg tried hard to strengthen control and forced people to stay with death and violence, he also found that the eyes that looked at him were full of naked and unconcealed hatred and murderous intent.

Borg had no choice but to do anything else. The only thing he could do was stay in the tent and look at the map, calculate, pray, and pray that the King's Building would appear as soon as possible.

"Bang--"

From the wilderness in the distance, a crisp gunshot sound came. It was far away from the tent, and it also meant that some unlucky guy would leave the world forever.

Borg was unmoved at all, and he was still sitting on the felt cloth and staring at the map. The shooting happened every day, and it could not change his current situation and could only bring more meat to the hungry refugees.

Suddenly, a slight vibration came from the ground.

"Tada" and a series of harsh gunshots suddenly rang out, hitting Borg's eardrum that was aging but still able to maintain its effect.

He suddenly stood up from the ground and stared blankly at the direction where the gunshots came - in the wilderness, bullets are precious resources. The silver motorcycle party rarely makes extravagant moves to use machine guns... Some unexpected situation must have occurred.
Chapter completed!