Sir! Don't close the net!

After saying that, Puss bent down and picked up the box full of red cloth strips, walked through the crowded Diagon Alley, went downhill, and finally turned into a non-existent space created by the building structure. The classrooms that they used to study, which used to shine with a little light and nurture their own hopes, had become warehouses piled with cold guns.

Even now, this place remains a breeding ground for hope, a hope that is far greater and more concrete than the hope of the past.

Puss leaned against the podium, raised his hand to pull down his cowboy hat to cover his face, escaping the cold silence.

Footsteps soon broke the silence. Puss adjusted his cowboy hat, and after recognizing the person, his mouth slightly opened. He paused for a moment, then lowered his head. "Mr. William, what brings you here?"

William understood Puss's expression, turned to look at the cold guns piled in the darkness, and said, "I told you, I'm not just a figurehead in the Self-Defense Forces. I've heard the specifics from others."

William put his hands on his hips, paused for a moment, and then complained, "The guarantee you're asking for is too difficult."

"That way we won't become like them."

Puss's voice was soft, but it struck William like thunder. William gave Puss a deep look and shook his head helplessly. "That's true. At least, I can't do it. People will encounter things that are absolutely unbearable. At least... I encountered one before."

"Feel sorry."

“So, give me an empty gun,” William said, extending his hand to Puss. “That way, even if I lose control, nothing like that will happen. Even if the gun is taken… it will just be an empty gun.”

Puss paused for a moment, then suddenly realized and grinned. "That makes sense. Mr. William, why don't you go pick out a gun, and... and a bullet while you're at it."

"Ok?"

"As long as you don't load the bullets in, it'll be fine."

Puss walked sideways to the box containing the guns, bent down and picked through them for a while before his gaze fell on a shotgun. The image of Ryan pointing a shotgun at him flashed before his eyes again. Puss exhaled, picked up the shotgun and threw it at William, then picked up a box of bullets and walked over to William.

William hastily caught the shotgun, glanced at the ammunition box handed to him, then at Puss, somewhat at a loss.

“Don’t worry about it, it’s just a talisman,” Puss shrugged, stuffed the bullet box into William’s pocket, and patted William on the shoulder.

William patted his pocket, smiled helplessly, and before leaving, bent down and picked up three strips of cloth from the box, waving them at Puss.

Puss also raised his hand and waved at William.

More people arrived gradually afterward, most of them with carefree and easygoing expressions. Even when they heard they would only be given guns, not bullets, they...

There were no objections. Their expressions suggested they were there to die rather than to receive a gun. Puss felt very sorry for these people, so when distributing the guns, he used the amulet as an excuse to give the bullets to them.

Two or three hours later, more and more people arrived.

Puss remembered every single member of the Self-Defense Force, so he counted very clearly that everyone in Diagon Alley had a gun, but he also rejected many assurances because most of them were just nominal residents of the Tri-Circle Self-Defense Force.

Chapter 139 Norman and Dante

Dante had a long-awaited dream, though "dream" isn't quite the right word. Dreams are usually things we wish for to happen that never did, but Dante was simply reminiscing about the past in his dream.

"Ah—my beloved Miss Ashley."

“My beloved Mr. Dante.”

Just as Dante mustered the courage to reach out and embrace his beloved, for some unknown reason, she suddenly raised her fist and slammed it heavily into his chin, the heavy blow making his head buzz.

Before Dante could ask his beloved why she had done this, he woke up.

I don't know if his brain is overloaded, but he fell asleep sitting in a pile of letters yesterday. The reason his head is still buzzing now is probably because some bastard is persistently banging on the door.

"Coming, coming—stop knocking!"

Dante roared, and the knocking stopped.

Dante did not immediately open the door, but instead bent down to pick up the letters on the ground, pondering who might be knocking on his door at this time.

That pleasing priest?

That cheerful priest might indeed come looking for him, but he would never knock so rudely. He would either stand motionless at the door like a ghost, waiting for him to open it and give him a surprise, or he would very impolitely come in and stare at him, waiting for him to wake up and give him a surprise.

Wochi?

That's possible, but Wojci wouldn't dare knock on the door so forcefully for him.

Just then, the person outside started banging on the door again, and the banging became more and more forceful. Not only the door frame, but even the entire ceiling seemed to be shaking.

"Ha...no matter who you are..."

Dante neatly folded all the letters and stuffed them into his inner pocket. He strode towards the door, yanked it open, and glared at it, shouting, "Whoever you are, if I don't beat you into calling me 'Dad' today, I'll call you... uh—Dad? What brings you here all of a sudden?"

Dante, who had been so aggressive, deflated like a pufferfish, chuckling awkwardly as he looked away. The person standing in front of him, banging on the door, was none other than his own father, Norman, the godfather of the largest mafia in the Jurassic Circle.

Norman, draped in a coat and smoking a cigarette, stared expressionlessly down at Dante. The other officers, usually ruthless killers, turned away. Sometimes, family is more terrifying than the battlefield.

At first, Dante felt a little guilty because what he wanted to do was no different from that of a traitor. But then he thought that he seemed to only want to do it, but in reality he did not take any substantial or effective action. Even when he provided weapons to Puss of the Triple Circle, he only wrote a letter.

After figuring it out, Dante felt no longer guilty. He crossed his arms and stared at Norman with a straight face, raising his voice and deliberately emphasizing each word.

"Is there something you need?"

Dante believed there was a father-son bond between himself and Norman, otherwise he wouldn't have remained so hot-blooded for so long. However, he also believed that his father-son bond with Norman was less important than the overall interests of the Mafia organization.

Norman raised his hand, stubbed out the half-smoked cigarette, and remained silent for a moment before saying, "I heard you've been quiet these past few days."

"So...hey!"

Before Dante could finish speaking, Norman squeezed through the door. Dante intended to push Norman out, but Norman first held up his still-burning cigarette and pointed it at Dante's eyes. The slight burning sensation and pungent smell of the smoke forced Dante to take several steps back. Norman also strode into the inn, looked around, and raised an eyebrow in surprise.

"Cough cough cough-"

Dante raised his hand and forcefully fanned the smoke in front of him, glaring fiercely at Norman. "What exactly are you here for?!"

If he hadn't stepped back, that nasty cigarette smoke would have gone straight into his eyes.

“I heard you’ve been hanging out with the Cult of Steam and Steel these past few days,” Norman said, ignoring Dante’s angry glare and continuing to scrutinize the receptionist.

Dante glanced in the direction of the inn's main entrance. The door wasn't closed, and although the officials outside had their hands behind their backs and seemed indifferent, they could hear everything Dante said, indicating that it was official business.

"Is there a problem? Or do you think I'll ruin your plans?" Dante crossed his arms and sneered without fear. "Afraid I'll tattle on you?"

Since he'd already brought his staff to block the door, there was no need for him to back down.

Norman glanced at Dante, lit a cigarette, and exhaled thick white smoke. Dante immediately waved his hand dismissively.

“There are some things that everyone knows, and only those complacent commoners who want others to think are foolish enough to think that things are going so smoothly as if God is helping them,” Norman raised his hand and pointed his finger. “You are my son, and you should have the awareness of a son and work harder for the organization.”

Dante subconsciously wanted to satirize the Mafia, suggesting that in the Jurassic Circle, besides crime, they had nothing else.

The matter could be done, but thinking of that fruit stand owner, and countless other fruit stand owners, Dante's smile grew even colder. "You all worked far too hard; I am ashamed of my own efforts."

Norman glanced at Dante, ignoring Dante's sarcasm, and continued, "That way, your information won't be so congested."

"information?"

“Arkham University declared bankruptcy, and the other affiliated colleges were dragged down with it, some collapsed, some were disbanded, and then... well, around the same time, the Wasteland closed the Triassic Sphere's gates, and only authorized people could enter the Wasteland by train.”

Dante tilted his head, paused for a moment before reacting, and stared wide-eyed in disbelief. "How is this possible!"

“After that—” Norman took off his nearly burnt-out cigarette, sneered, and clenched it in his palm, his fingers tightening. “With foreign trade almost completely cut off, the capital, Millennium, increased taxes and demanded more goods to be supplied to the capital, Millennium.”

Dante's expression was incredibly subtle.

Norman is a Mafia godfather, a thug among thugs, an extremely ruthless and domineering character. Yet, this ruthless character actually got angry over foreign trade, taxes, and goods.

Norman's series of reactions gradually overlapped with those of the fruit stand owner.

The moment the thought crossed his mind, Dante shook his head, trying to shake the unrealistic idea out of his head.

“So you guys have these worries too,” Dante said, arms crossed. “I thought you were only worried about not getting protection money.”

Norman stared at Dante for a while, then raised an eyebrow. "Did you see any farmland in the Jurassic Circle?"

The exact same question made Dante's heart skip a beat.

"Don't even mention farmland, orchards, or pastures, I didn't see a single one," Dante retorted, forcing a smile, in order to avoid being at a disadvantage.

"I see. You think... that little bit of land in the chalk circle is enough to feed... everyone in the wasteland?"

Chapter 140 I Want to Build a Peaceful Country

Dante believed that once he noticed there were no farmlands or orchards within the Jurassic Circle, the production sites for essential goods like raw materials, he could handle any question Norman posed to him with ease.

But he had to admit that Norman's question left him speechless.

Do you think that the small fields in the chalk circle alone are enough to feed the entire wasteland?

Even after noticing that the Jurassic Circle couldn't produce raw materials, he never considered it. To him, the social environment of the Jurassic Circle, and indeed the entire wasteland, was stable and unchanging. The bad was still the bad, and the comfortable was still the comfortable. If the raw materials produced by the Cretaceous Circle couldn't support the people of the wasteland, then something terrible would have happened long ago.

Now that Norman asked the question, Dante realized what was going on.

Just as the poor and the unfortunate always outnumber the rich, the Jurassic Circle is far larger in both area and population than the Cretaceous Circle and the Capital Millennium Circle combined. Similarly, the Triassic Circle is also far larger in both area and population than the Jurassic Circle, the Cretaceous Circle, and the Capital Millennium Circle combined.

The numerous food chains at the bottom of the social food chain create a very stable class pyramid in the wasteland.

But just as tigers never grow carrots to feed rabbits, those at the top of society don't really care how many people starve to death. After all, people only live for themselves, especially those who have built so many walls.

If food supplies are insufficient, the rich will cry out that they are poor and have no food, while stuffing the grain from their fields into their warehouses, even if it rots, to save others. Meanwhile, the ruling class of the wasteland, in order to keep the common people forever as commoners, will not allow them to give up any land, leaving them to rely on these people who would rather let the grain rot in their warehouses.

Dante wasn't an idiot; this was a very simple calculation problem.

If the Cretaceous region produces 10 units of food, then the capital, Millennium, would have taken at least 5, and the Cretaceous region would have kept 3. If the Jurassic and Triassic regions were to survive on the remaining amount, they would probably have starved to death long ago.

"The Cretaceous Circle... isn't it also engaged in foreign trade?" Dante felt a little awkward. He realized what Norman wanted to say, but he didn't want to admit it.

"To be more precise, it's about helping the wasteland royal family and nobles with foreign trade. How could those guys allow their gold, diamonds, and works of art to be transported in on trains loaded with radishes and cabbages?" Norman sneered. "Besides, whatever is brought into the Cretaceous Circle has to be appraised by the capital, Millennium, first. How much of it will actually be our turn?"

Norman paused, then raised his head meaningfully.

"If you don't want to die, you can only find a way yourself, right? The door is right there, and you have two legs. If you keep running, you'll eventually reach the end."

"Don't tell me it's your gang that supports the Triassic Circles and the Jurassic Circles."

"So you're more inclined to believe that even the fields wouldn't be given to us, and that the capital, Millennium, has fed the Jurassic and Triassic communities?" Norman countered.

Dante fell silent; he wasn't that foolish.

Seeing Dante speechless, Norman loosened his fist and held up his extinguished cigarette butt. "But unfortunately, the capital, Millennium, is afraid that we have the ability, afraid that we can beg for food on our own without relying on them, so we must pretend, we..."

Norman gazed at Dante with a deep, wistful look.

"We must become free laborers in the Cretaceous Circle, handing over the raw materials we have managed to obtain ourselves to the Cretaceous Circle, and washing away the suspicions of the capital, Millennium."

Dante felt a chill run down his spine, Norman, and even the entire...

The gangs in the Jurassic Circle are all enduring, and the longer they endure, the deeper their obsessions become.

"Now—the capital, Millennium, has closed its doors. The wasteland royal family and nobles don't want to let go of the exposed weakness of the Cult of Steam and Steel, and want to seize the support of the wasteland residents in one fell swoop. Simply put..."

Norman toyed with the cigarette butt in his hand, his smile chilling.

“They won’t let us beg for food, and they won’t give us food either. We still have to sing about how good they are to us after we’ve eaten all the food.”