Terra Tinkers Construct is fine.

He changed his mind.

Chapter 38 Changing My Mind

At the very beginning, Milan's idea was actually very simple:

The current time is November 1096. The Reunion Movement can be said to be beyond saving - Talulah is possessed by the Black Serpent, Inossa's two children have been led down a path of no return, Patriot will not turn back until he hits a brick wall, and Junjun and Shattered Bones are each stubborn in their own way.

If we have to be honest, the latter two plus Frostnova might be able to turn things around, but that's definitely not something he can do by staying with Reunion. Only by truly acting as a bulwark, making them suffer controlled setbacks here while simultaneously giving [Black Serpent Tower] a good beating, could such a thing be achieved.

Unless, the accelerator of the entire system is brought to a halt.

Furthermore, on the one hand, Milan doesn't really have any good feelings towards the country of Ursus—I suppose most Arknights players feel the same way—and on the other hand, as the setting for the first chapter of the game's main storyline, a lot has indeed happened since the day "everything began."

Whether it's out of players' desire to make up for past regrets or for future development and cooperation with Rhodes Island, doing Rhodes Island a favor here is a good option.

So to reiterate, Milan's initial idea was actually quite simple: arrive in Chernobyl early, gather resources to prepare for a one-sided attack based on intelligence asymmetry, develop covertly in a relatively civilized and logistics-rich city, and familiarize themselves with the terrain a month in advance to ensure a proper retreat.

At most, you might encounter a few familiar faces along the way, but the Ursus bears, who haven't had enough experience and are still immature compared to "yourself" who has become your own character in the game, can only be considered familiar strangers at best.

Until that day comes, go and give Sister Ta a big dump; as for the people of Rhodes Island, save as many as you can... even if you can't save ACE and Scout, even if there's only one, Milan thinks he can probably still get a friendly initial reputation.

That's all—you see, it's simple enough, isn't it?

But things are different now.

He might have been limited by some narrow-mindedness: for example, as a gamer who grew up in a peaceful environment, no matter how he considered it, his first thought was always "to avoid unnecessary complications"; he had indeed killed people before, and even more than one or two, but Milan himself felt it wasn't real...

He's already attacked you, why aren't you fighting back? Are you saving your strength for the New Year?

As for what happens after they retaliate... life or death is random, that's Milan's only thought.

He had no intention of doing anything; in fact, he had no intention of doing anything at all.

But it's different now.

"...Good people may have different directions of empathy, but bad people are always the same kind of beasts, ha."

Just looking at the words on those ledgers, the information that he didn't understand before but now became familiar under the power of the cheat was recognized, compiled, read and loaded into his brain; Milan let out a long breath, closed his eyes and tried to suppress his breathing, as if only in this way could he suppress the blood pressure that suddenly soared just because of the words.

—It is said that since ancient times, heroes have used martial arts to break the law.

But if one truly possesses a great power that belongs to oneself, then there is nothing to worry about, and one may even have already grasped the freedom that exists based on that great power.

When faced with injustices in the world, so injustices that morality and the concept of justice have sunk to a low point, it's time to be filled with righteous indignation.

If it were you, would you really have no backbone at all and just abandon the situation like that?

"come here."

After a long silence, Milan spoke, without turning her head, in a voice that even she found hoarse: "What's your name?"

"Uh, sir..."

Sometime later, the henchmen who had given up trying to seal off the passage and call in more men to trap Milan in the secret room, and who had somehow followed them down, began to cower in fear:

“Pavel, Pavel the errand boy, sir.”

“Okay, Pavel.”

Milan said, "Go and call over everyone who can breathe outside, as well as those hiding. As long as they still recognize the Rust Gang name, call them all over."

His voice was calm, yet low and muffled, as if something was pressing down on it; the henchman shuddered and scrambled out.

Milan was left standing in the shadows, looking at the wealth accumulated in the darkness before him—the wealth of a scoundrel who had profited from chaos and sin—and a cold smile curled at the corner of his lips.

—It's not that we're talking about "mountains and rivers, sun and moon, being irreconcilable enemies."

Milan has the self-awareness to know that he is certainly not some kind of righteous superman, and even if he really intends to do something, his starting point cannot be described as a high-sounding "justice".

But... anyway, Chernobog will be destroyed by a natural disaster in two months, and anyway, the people here, their homeland, the army they pay taxes to support, and the nobles they tacitly respect don't take them seriously.

As a chaotic chessboard on the verge of a storm, it's not a big deal if one more person makes a move and muddies the waters.

"This land is indiscriminate in its consumption of people."

Milan clutched the notebook, calmly stuffing it into her inventory, as if explaining to a second person who wasn't even there, or as if convincing herself, and whispered.

"Since you think this way when you're feeding others, you shouldn't complain when it's your turn."

"Right."

Pavel scrambled out, and soon his footsteps echoed back; they were disordered and hesitant, yet clearly quite hurried.

He is quite efficient.

Or rather, those who are still alive have a strong will to survive.

Seemingly because Milan didn't have permission, those footsteps eventually stopped there; Milan stuffed everything in the dark room into his inventory and left, returning to the dimly lit secret room.

It was still that incongruous office. Milan saw a dozen people crowded at the door, all with fear on their faces, some even showing signs of a conflict; but at this moment, they didn't even dare to lift their heads, all staring at the anti-slip mat on the floor, as if marveling at how real the mat was.

They probably all have their own ideas.

But... at least no one would doubt Milan's fighting strength at this time.

"That's all?"

Milan glanced at them—perhaps they thought they were hiding quite well, but a bunch of Ursusese bigwigs… ha.

Some were left with only fear, some were still bewildered, but some had a cunning and fierce glint in their eyes that they couldn't hide, and even glanced at Milan out of the corner of their eye, revealing a different kind of greed as if they were seeing a kindred spirit.

"Sir, everyone we could find is here..."

Pavel nodded and bowed repeatedly.

Milan then took out a notebook that recorded "controllability of subordinates" and flipped through it from back to front.

"Igor."

He read out a name.

Chapter 39: Incorporation and Establishing Authority

"Igor."

"Andre."

"Sergei."

Gregory.

"..."

Milan didn't even look up; he just stared at the notebook in his hand, flipping through it and reading out seven or eight names. There was a subtle rustling in the crowd; some people looked away, some subconsciously looked up and then hurriedly looked down, and some hesitated and made muffled sounds from their throats.

Some people blinked, revealing a mixture of cunning.

"So, nobody's here?"

Milan's voice sounded somewhat muffled through his helmet; the remaining dozen or so people looked around, and after a small commotion, they quickly quieted down.

He could sense that Pavel next to him seemed to want to say something, but because of the subtle movements of some people in the crowd, he suddenly became timid.

He smiled.

"Row."

"Then let me put it another way."

"From now on, I'm in charge here."

The person with cunning eyes raised their face.

"But I didn't like the original business content."

"Human trafficking, forcing women into prostitution, usury, and extortion under the guise of protection money... these matters end here."

Before the words were even finished, a slick-eyed man stepped forward, a fawning smile plastered on his face: "Your Excellency is wise, this matter is indeed not respectable... but then again, forgive me for saying so, but these items are..."

"Uh, the fastest way to make money in the gangs used to be, especially this kind of transporting people and goods and lending money. And it wasn't just the gang's methods, there were also..."

His eyes flickered with uncertainty. He pointed to his head and said in a low voice, but everyone present could hear him: "Some of the higher-ups are counting on this income. They might have other plans. If it's suddenly shut down, it's not just that we brothers won't have anything to eat. If some big shot comes after us, we might not be able to handle it."

The man kept his head down, but his eyes kept glancing at Milan, trying to see the wavering in the young face under the shadow of the rock helmet; just as before, it was obvious that several people behind him were nodding slightly, perhaps thinking they were hiding it well, but Milan could tell that they were clearly in cahoots.

"You don't agree?"

Milan's voice was calm, and even her brief reactions revealed no emotion.

The slick man's smile froze—perhaps he thought the new leader needed a way out, or perhaps he felt the newcomer was ungrateful—maybe it was something else entirely? Anyway, he gritted his teeth and forced a smile, saying, "Sir, boss, that's not how you say it, and that's not how you do things!"

"Look, the brothers risked their lives following Boris, all for the sake of living a life of luxury. If we cut off these sources of income, what's the point of us? Not only will we starve, but you'll also put in all this effort and not get any profit. What's the point?"

"And you guys, don't you agree?"

A group of burly men from Ursus, whose average physique was not much thinner than Milan's in full armor, looked at each other. Several of them, their eyes darting around, stepped forward while echoing "That's right, that's right."

They even tried to stare at, threaten, and even force more hesitant people to take sides...

——Boom!

There was a muffled sound.

"what--!!!"

The slick man's inflammatory voice abruptly ceased, replaced by an uncontrollable, loud scream, so powerful that it echoed through the lower level filled with steel pipes, creating a chilling wailing sound.

If it were a sharp object that caused the penetrating wound, perhaps the slick man could see the blade piercing through his body and show some incredulous expression—but he was hit in the arm and waist by an equally heavy object, and then, under the immense weight of Pei Mo Neng Yu, he was forcibly pressed down, his waist, along with his muscles, bones, and organs, were broken in half.

In this situation, he truly could not utter any other sound besides wailing.

Those who stand out are also unable to make a sound – the core race that constitutes the Ursus people (nation) is undoubtedly the Ursus people (species), and the racial characteristics of the Ursus people are analogous to bears; they often have excellent physical abilities and robust physiques that are manifested in their bloodline.

Ursus people typically pride themselves on their strength.

But they could all see what it was that Milan casually tossed out, and that had smashed an adult Ursus man into such a miserable state.

It's his helmet.

"..."

Milan didn't speak. He took off his helmet, revealing his face, which wasn't particularly handsome and even looked youthful, to everyone without any attempt to hide it. Perhaps some people would worry that being too young would make him intimidating, but Milan didn't care.

He didn't speak, and no one dared to speak at that moment. Only in the room where the air seemed to have frozen could one hear the slick man's voice, which went from being full of energy to becoming weaker and weaker, from screaming to shouting in pain to cursing, until even his breathing gradually disappeared.

How long has passed?

Maybe ten minutes, twenty minutes, or longer—Milan didn't speak, and everyone felt as if they had been choked; the smell of blood spread through the office, and the remaining people trembled all over, even those who wanted to stand up, as if they only had the strength left to keep from collapsing.

They finally understood that the young man in front of them, who looked young and whose race was indistinguishable, was not negotiating with them, nor was he playing any power games or allocating power.

He was announcing the rules.

—Boris, you *Ursus curse word*! Who the hell did you mess with?!

"Now, who has any objections?"

The silence created by Milan was broken by Milan himself, but after him, silence returned. No one answered; only the shallow breathing of a group of burly men blended together, creating a subtle, heavy, and chaotic atmosphere.

"Very good, it seems we have reached a consensus now."

Milan's gaze swept over the survivors.

After the initial counterattack, the screening of the resisters, and this establishment of authority... plus the guy who ran away immediately after hearing about Boris's death, those present are basically the lowest-ranking members of the Rust Gang.

Among these people are errand runners, those who work as laborers to conceal their identities, and some who may have been coerced into joining; there may be a few who are not good people, but most are just trying to survive...

To put it bluntly, people of their class wouldn't even get a share of the spoils.

“I know there are still some of you who are not convinced, some of you have your own ideas, and some of you have even done things that I don’t like.”

"But it doesn't matter."

Milan smiled.

"Come on, tell me, what did you all do before?"

Chapter 40: [Canned Food]

“M-Sir… I, my name is Nikita. I usually work as a maintenance worker in the No. 3 pipeline group in the power zone. When the gang needs something, they call me to keep watch or move some things…”

"I... I was responsible for going along to collect the debts... I went to middle school, but all I did was stand at the back and count..."

“I used to work at a mine, but then the mine collapsed. I didn’t get infected… Boris said that if I worked for him, I’d have food to eat…”

The remaining people rushed to confess, their words incoherent yet careful not to omit anything; Milan flipped through Boris's black history notebook, matching each of them to the entries, and quickly pieced together the operating model of this Rusty Gang called "Steel Pipes":

Aside from those few filthy businesses that are too disgusting to look at, they mainly operate under the guise of the "Mobile City Power Maintenance Association," working as workers in specific areas to maintain equipment. In the shadows, they control underground passageways, extort black market dealers, sell stolen goods, assist in smuggling and illegal immigration, and provide venues and cover for certain shady transactions.