Dark Ruins Dawn

Chapter 69 Territory
On the wasteland, everyone knows "scorched earth," but no one can grasp its laws.

Through the old man's memories, Zhuang Fan gained a preliminary understanding of the truth behind it all.

It turns out that everything originated from the moon.

Since a piece of the moon was smashed off, its gravity has weakened, and the Earth's rotation rate has increased accordingly.

The faster rotation means that the alternation of day and night becomes more rapid, and the temperature difference between day and night is extremely large.

If that's all there is to it, it's not a big problem.

But fatally, the Earth's axial tilt also lost stability.

It changed from a fixed 23.5 degrees north and south latitude to swinging irregularly between 10 and 45 degrees.

This means that, in extreme cases, the summer sun can scorch mid- to high-latitude regions vertically, and even the polar regions may receive more solar radiation than the equator.

This oscillation is completely unpredictable, and the concentration of the eerie fog varies in each area, so people can only make vague judgments based on past experience.

The appearance of scorched earth is unpredictable; sometimes it only affects a few square kilometers and lasts for tens of minutes, while at other times it engulfs hundreds of square kilometers of land and lasts for hours.

If a wastelander misjudges the weather and encounters scorched earth in the wild, they only have a few seconds to escape.

“In previous years, the earliest they would arrive was at the end of June, but this year they appeared at the end of May, which has completely thrown things into chaos.”

Watson was still shaken, and his face looked slightly tired.

Zhuang Fan grasped a key point: if extreme temperature differences are the norm, what about winter?

Winter corresponds to 'chills'.

Watson's face darkened: "The temperature will drop to minus 120 degrees Celsius. If you don't take shelter, you'll basically die if you're exposed to the elements. My dad froze to death."

Back then, the Watson siblings received the devastating news that their parents had frozen to death while transporting supplies in the wilderness.

Unexpectedly, her mother turned into an old catwoman, living a life of wandering and imprisonment.

Upon hearing this, Zhuang Fan patted him on the shoulder.

The three of them remained silent, hiding in the shadow of the broken wall, and began their agonizing wait.

Two hours later, the heatwave subsided, and the distorted skyline returned to normal.

The world returned to its familiar gray and gloomy state, with the air filled with the pungent smell of burnt food.

Ironically, the atmosphere that protected the Earth's ecology in the old days, such as the ozone layer, is now severely damaged.

On the contrary, the ubiquitous "mysterious fog" has become the key to preventing the ecosystem from collapsing completely, and at least it can block the terrifying power of the sun.

After a whole day, everyone's gains were greatly reduced.

The amount of recyclables the three of them collected was equivalent to what two people would normally collect in half a day.

However, Zhuang Fan was quite lucky; he managed to find a still-usable rotary machine gun in a pile of garbage scorched by the heatwave.

The gun body was somewhat deformed, but the core structure was still relatively intact.

"This thing should still be usable after some repairs."

Zhuang Fan brushed the dust off and carefully inspected the gun barrel. "It's just short of bullets."

Watson leaned over for a look, his eyes lighting up: "We can install an identification and aiming system, put on a base and bracket, and it'll be an automatic machine gun turret."

“What a waste, I wanted to put it in the Baron.”

Watson paused for a moment, then said, "That's right, mechs should be equipped with this. One burst of bullets and a wall can be blown down."

"Why not change the color?" Hua Xin still couldn't forget her cherry blossom pink.

Zhuang Fan chose to ignore it.

That evening, the three returned to the base.

Gage's construction progress exceeded their expectations.

Temporary accommodations have been set up, enough to accommodate thirty people, with rows of iron bunk beds neatly arranged in the dim light.

The rickety wooden door in the basement was replaced with a sturdy aluminum alloy door.

In addition, he installed a full-coverage monitoring system for the entire base, and Zhuang Fan completed the permission binding through the panel.

He walked to the watchtower and checked the operation of the two industrial androids.

They are meticulously carrying out the alert commands.

However, in Zhuang Fan's view, they appeared clumsy overall and were simply unable to monitor any greater distance.

They're used for guard duty, much like scarecrows.

"Gage, is it possible to further enhance their autonomy?"

Zhuang Fan asked, "For example, it's not just about simple moving and guarding; it can also go out to scavenge and even select valuable second-hand waste according to requirements." Gage shook his head, a hint of helplessness on his face: "Boss, higher-level androids can do that, but they are all very expensive and rely on network connectivity and computing power."

"What about our two units?"

"They are the lowest level of industrial-grade androids, and now that they have been converted into surveillance mode, that is the limit."

No sooner had he finished speaking than a commotion arose outside the recycling station.

Three days later, the Jetta team arrived as scheduled.

This scavenging team, composed of black ratmen, has grown to twenty-five people. They pushed several modified warehouse carts and stopped at the entrance.

Jetta jumped out of the warehouse truck and, upon seeing Zhuang Fan, said respectfully, "Strategist, today's scorched earth came too suddenly, delaying our looting progress a bit."

"fine."

Zhuang Fan nodded, took out a thick wad of gold notes from his pocket, and handed them over.

"Keep up the good work on the 20,000 from last time."

"The strategist is truly awe-inspiring!"

Jetta solemnly accepted the gold coins, overjoyed.

If he were to sell the same quantity of goods on the black market, others would only offer him 5000 gold coins, but the strategist would offer 20,000—that's incredibly generous!
Of course, Zhuang Fan wouldn't let him know that the actual value of those goods exceeded 60,000.

Even if we knew, it wouldn't matter, since only the Demon General could dispel the rotten mist.

After accepting the money, Jetta immediately directed the unloading of the goods.

Meanwhile, in the shadows hundreds of meters away from the recycling station, two figures were spying through binoculars.

They then quietly left, retreated to their secret hideout, and quickly approached a bald man.

This bald man is the same old dealer who came to cause trouble a while ago, demanding a refund for the slaves.

"Boss, we've figured it out."

One of them lowered his voice: "That recycling center... it's also involved with the ratmen."

The old vendor didn't speak immediately. He exhaled a thick smoke ring, his eyes filled with doubt.

"Rat-man, interesting."

The subordinate then asked, "Do we still need to collect protection money?"

"Of course we should accept it!"

The old vendor stubbed out his cigarette on the ground. "This is the time to establish authority, understand?"

"But isn't that Mao Shan Wang's territory?" the subordinate asked hesitantly.

"Just listen to their nonsense. I figured it out later; they're just suppliers at best."

The old peddler scoffed, "Besides, I'm backed by the Apocalypse Sect. What kind of bastard is Mao Shanwang?"

After the death of the one-armed Johnson, the old merchant seized the opportunity to take over a portion of the territory, using the slaves and money he had.

In order to gain a foothold, he took the opportunity to join the Apocalypse Cult, but this also burdened him with a heavy shackle.

The Apocalypse Church treated its human vassals with near-exploitation, and the heavy monthly tributes weighed heavily on him.

After all, only true mutants are accepted as "Apocalyptic beings" and enjoy special privileges.

This forced the old peddler to frantically amass wealth.

Zhuang Fan's recycling station naturally caught his eye.

……

Recycling station, basement.

After Zhuang Fan removed all the lingering smog from the room, the familiar headache returned.

He leaned against the wall and it took him a while to recover from the pain.

The symptoms were relatively mild this time, and he guessed it might be because practice makes perfect, and he got used to it after using it a lot.

After the basement door opened, Watson and his sister went inside and began sorting the clutter.

Every item was meticulously recorded, with each item clearly identified as something to be sold or kept for personal use.

"The space here is still a bit small," Hua Xin said softly, looking at the mountain of scrap.

Watson joked from the side:
"At this rate, it shouldn't be long before we can move to a bigger one, or even buy a small underground shelter. That's not a dream."

(End of this chapter)