Let go of that monster girl!

"That doesn't seem like a bad idea."

It tastes better than chimera jerky.

She picked up the wooden spoon, tentatively scooped up a spoonful, and put it in her mouth.

The moment the brown paste entered my mouth, an extremely unpleasant taste shot straight down my throat, as if an invisible hand had grabbed my neck.

The taste on the tongue is a mixture of the nauseating fishy smell of the inlaid jerky and the astringent aftertaste of the nutritious mushrooms, with a slight hint of sweetness and saltiness, as diluted as a rabbit girl in heat in a group of rabbits.

It looks disgusting, smells disgusting, and tastes disgusting.

However, each of these was far less disgusting than the chimeric jerky and mushroom cakes; at least, there was no feeling of stomach churning after swallowing them.

This stuff would give a giant cargo rat three days' worth of diarrhea.

An ordinary person would spit it out of their nose after taking a bite, but the rat girls have been eating mushrooms and jerky for so long that they've long since gotten used to it.

Yes, you can eat it.

While eating, the mine rat turned its head and asked its companion.

What is this?

"The Baron said it's called 'Delicious Nutritional Paste'."

"Delicious and nutritious? Sounds pretty much like a delicious nutrition bar."

The mine rat remembered the white nutrition bar it had eaten once during the disaster month, which was considered a rare treat that could only be enjoyed during the New Year in the low mountains.

"It's a nutrition bar. The Baron said he doesn't have enough slime to make nutrition bars every day, so this is called a 'compromise solution.' I heard that it has to be cooked in a copper pot, otherwise the bottom of the pot will corrode and create a hole."

What's inside?

"The Baron said that whatever you put in is just amino acids and sugar, so we put in everything."

The mine rats, holding plates, lined up in a long queue to receive their food, the line stretching from the canteen window all the way deep into the mine tunnel.

The rat girl who had just been received turned pale and walked away stiffly, carrying the plate.

The rat girls who hadn't received their turn turned pale, tiptoeing and peering ahead, each one looking as if facing a formidable enemy.

The miner rat responsible for distributing food used a clip to clamp its little nose, opened its mouth to breathe, and turned on the large tap at the bottom of an enormous copper can.

The brownish-yellow paste slowly flowed from the faucet, sticky and splattering onto the tin tray.

The mine rat, having received its food, walked away with the plate looking disgusted.

The next mine rat in line raised a small hand and timidly spoke:

"Um, this looks kind of disgusting. Could you please use a big spoon to serve it?"

"Okay."

His voice sounded muffled because he was pinching his nose.

The miner rat responsible for distributing the food deftly opened the iron buckle on the top of the can and lifted the lid of the copper can.

He picked up the large iron ladle, scooped a lump of paste from the jar, and slammed it onto the plate.

"If you don't like it, we still have the mushroom cakes and mixed meat jerky from before. Would you like to try those?"

"No, no, this is fine!"

The mine rat quickly grabbed the plate and ran away.

On the low hill city wall.

Moren sat upright once again on the edge of the battlements, holding a tin tray identical to the mine rats', which also contained a plate of brownish-yellow paste.

He scooped a small spoonful of the paste into his mouth with the baron's special silver spoon and savored it.

Ok.

It tastes better than mushroom soup.

When she learned about the new recipe, the cook was so sad she almost cried. She grabbed Moren's arm and tearfully said that she would definitely make the mushrooms taste even better.

Molen also felt that this method of throwing ingredients directly into chemical treatment did indeed lack the soul of a chef.

However, a chef's skill alone probably can't save the taste of dried mushrooms and chimera meat jerky.

However, he still found a few alchemical rats and had them work with the cook to see if they could improve the taste of this mysterious nutritious paste.

The clanging and clattering of the mining tracks on the city wall echoed through the air.

With the rat-finch tank at the front, a string of artillery wagons were linked together end to end, slowly driving past Morren along the mine tracks.

The cannons on each artillery wagon had been unloaded, and a fence had been added around them. The empty wagons were now crowded with laughing and joking militia rats on shift change.

They sat cross-legged, leaning over the edge of the car to look out, waving their little hands to Morren as they passed by.

"Your Excellency!"

"Greetings, Your Excellency!"

Molen raised his silver spoon and waved it at the mice.

He stirred the food on his plate and took another bite.

Unappetizing.

But it's still barely edible.

In fact, in terms of purchasing alone, Dwarf Mountain's current economic conditions are more than enough to allow the mouse girls to eat relatively normal food.

The problem is, even if Molen could buy it, he couldn't bring it back.

The food rations for over two thousand mouse girls—that volume and that weight—are no joke.

Airships fly fast but have a small carrying capacity; a round trip with a full load of food can only last for about half a month.

Molen didn't want to send those airships, which could explode into fireworks at any moment, on a round trip of 100 kilometers every two weeks just to buy groceries.

This risk is ridiculously high.

A vehicle is required.

A reliable and high-capacity vehicle is needed.

Moren, holding a plate, glanced at the rat girl train that was slowly descending the city wall along the mine track slope.

The little heads on the bus were still playfully shoving each other, and their laughter drifted over from afar.

He touched his chin.

This could barely be considered a solution.

The Mousefinch Tank has a simple gearbox that allows the vehicle to change speed by switching between drive gears with different numbers of teeth.

The problem is that the Mousefinch Tank still can't go off-road.

Although the amount of iron consumed by the mine rails is not large, it is still considerable.

Molen once estimated that even just building from the low hill to Flower Town would require nearly a hundred tons of iron.

In the industrial age, this was just a fraction of the output; a steel plant could produce more than that in a single day.

In the Middle Ages, a hundred tons of iron was enough to arm an entire legion.

Even with the help of acid and gunpowder to mine, the rats' mining and iron smelting speed is ultimately limited; it's impossible for them to burn so much iron just to build a road in a short period of time.

Molen put the last spoonful of nutritional paste into his mouth and stared at the blurry snowfield in the darkness in the distance.

Alas, productivity is still not enough.

The more the land yields, the bolder the people become.

or……

Molen thought of a certain cat.

Chapter 72 Sugar Cubes

"You know what? I dreamt last night that you ate all the sugar cubes. I'm so annoyed."

"It woke me up in a huff."

"But I'm still very happy, after all, I saw you again."

"Sweetie, have some candy..."

There used to be a mountainside corridor somewhere in the low hills, and the railings extend a long way along the mountain wall.

The railings were covered with countless small wooden and bronze plaques, all different sizes and shapes, which rustled softly in the mountain breeze.

The hills didn't have enough land to erect a tombstone for every rat, and most of the rats that died in the dark areas didn't leave anything to be buried with.

The first sign the Baron hung on the railing is nowhere to be found.

Many rats now have a habit of hanging a small tag on the fence before they travel far away or before a month of bad luck.

If they come back alive, take down this sign.

If not, I hope they won't be silently forgotten.

Mouse Girl Bai Fan stood in front of the railing, took out a few sugar cubes from her pocket, and placed them one by one on the railing.

Then she took out a small wooden plaque from her bosom and hung it on the railing.

She couldn't write, so the bronze plaque was just uglyly engraved with a few little mice holding hands.

Tin foil stood behind alum and reached out to pat her head.

Bai Fan turned around and pounced into the tin foil's arms, burying his face in her chest, his two round ears drooping limply.

A low, but not sad, tune drifted over.

Several mouse girls sat on small stools in the middle of the corridor, with tarpaulins covering their heads to block the snow.

One held a flute carved from copper pipe, another played a small zither made of fungus wood, and a third hummed softly, all mixed with the sound of the wind and the rustling of signs.

They all wore small carving knives around their necks.

Their duty is to help those mouse girls who can't write to carve what they want to say.

And to prevent the mouse girls who see these words from falling off the railing.

Tin foil held the back of alum's head with one hand and gently patted her back with the other, his gaze slowly following the railing.

The guardrail, which stretches for hundreds of meters, is covered with layers of signs.

New signs are placed on top of old ones, and old ones cover even older ones, densely packed together, making a rustling sound when the wind blows.

Some of the handwriting was blurry, while some was clear.

"When I return alive, I will propose to the Baron!"

"Don't touch the Chimera's tail."

"I have two bottles of berry wine hidden under my bed. Brave mouse, go and find my treasure."

"Four patinas share this plaque."

Tin foil's gaze lingered on a small, round wooden sign.

A square sun was drawn on the wooden sign with clumsy strokes.

Under the sun, there are stick figures drawn in simple strokes, with several small stick figures with black round ears surrounding a large stick figure without ears.

The big stick figure is holding the hand of the smallest one next to it.

Below, tiny, clumsy words are written:

"I want to grow up."

Tin foil reached behind alum and picked up a sugar cube that alum had left for the sweet fruit from the railing.

It was stuffed into the mouth of Bai Fan, who was crying with his eyes closed.

Bai Fan's sobbing gradually slowed down, but tears continued to flow.

"I never thought there would actually be a place where you can eat candy every day," the foil muttered to itself.

Aishan is truly a magical place.

When Dessert Hill was plunged into the dark zone, Morren was still a young master and had not yet inherited the title of Baron.