Let go of that monster girl!

With half the fence removed, the area of ​​the nursery that can be enclosed has also decreased significantly.

But it's okay if it's a little small.

After all, there aren't that many mice that need it anymore.

The village chief stood at the village entrance, looking down at the wooden sign that had fallen to the side of the road.

The three characters "Apple Village" are now just faint dents.

She looked around but couldn't find the paint.

So she bent down and broke off a small section of charred roof beam from the collapsed ruins by the roadside.

He carefully rewrote the three characters "Apple Village" on the wooden sign with charcoal black.

The remaining dried mushrooms and pickled vegetable jars were moved to the center of the village and re-divided into smaller portions according to the size of the rat heads.

If they lose their house, they will temporarily move to another house; if there aren't enough blankets, two mice will share one.

Cloudy weather is a type of weather.

Drought is a type of weather.

Plague is, of course, a kind of weather.

And a month of disaster is naturally a type of weather.

The rats probably still don't know what the Disaster Month is, or they may not even have heard of it.

All they knew was that the sun had never risen again, and that there was a month each year when they had to find a place to hide.

But this is not something that would frustrate the mouse too much.

Back when those tax officials were still in power, the rats had to hide twice a year!

It's simply a matter of replacing wheat with mushrooms, which makes the game much less palatable.

The world is in ruins, and the mouse girl sews and mends it.

The lord of Citrus Territory is a very lovely old lady, a very kind old catgirl.

Every year, while the sun is still shining, she worries about tax issues.

Now that the Dark Zone has arrived, tax officials no longer dare to come here.

The mice retreat to her castle once a year and enjoy an even better winter than before.

So much so that when those mysterious white ant girls and nuns appeared, not many rats were willing to go with them.

Last year, during a month of disaster, a huge red whale crashed into the walls of the Duchess's Castle, and many rat girls were melted.

It took the rats quite a while to gradually return to the village after helping to repair the city wall.

The rat girls chatted idly as they inspected the recyclable wood in the ruins.

"Last night I dreamt that a rat was hitting my head with a hammer, clang clang clang."

"I also dreamed of Squeak. I dreamed that I turned into a hammer and was hitting the rat girl's head, bang bang bang bang."

One of the mouse girls lay on the ground, its round ears pressed against the ground, motionless.

The mouse next to her peeked over to look at her.

What are you listening to?

"Ta-da!"

Ding ding ding ding.

The sound of striking metal came from deep within the fog.

Now all the rats in Apple Village heard it.

A mouse shadow appeared in the fog.

A group of rat girls emerged from the thick fog.

Their steps were neat and powerful, and each of them had a healthy figure and rosy complexion.

The uniform light red overalls clung to her petite frame.

It was wearing a safety helmet, with two round holes for the mouse's ears.

They carried long metal bars on their shoulders, walked straight past the entrance of Apple Village without looking to the side, and began their work as if no one was around.

Lay down sleepers.

Install mine rails.

Road spikes.

Ding ding ding ding.

One by one, the mouse girls of Apple Village surged to the village entrance, crowding together and staring wide-eyed at this group of unfamiliar kin who emerged from the mist.

Who are they?

"Ghost Mouse, squeak?"

"Where is their ghost ship? Where is the captain?"

It seemed to be to confirm the rats' speculation about the ghost ship.

Just as the apple village mice were whispering amongst themselves, a small train slowly emerged from the southern fog along the newly laid tracks.

The wheels rolled over the mine tracks, and the carriages were piled high with more rails and sleepers.

The blacksmith rats casually unloaded the supplies and continued laying them out.

A tall man, possibly the "ghost ship captain," sat cross-legged on the guardrail at the front of the car, expressionlessly munching on a white stick.

The train carried him in from the fog in the south, and then slowly drove into the fog in the north.

Not long after, the group of strange rat girls that had suddenly appeared also disappeared into the thick fog of the north along with the train.

Only a straight metal track remained.

There were also mouse girls gathered at the village entrance, dumbfounded.

"Their clothes are so beautiful."

"That lollipop looks delicious."

"Where did they come from, squeak?"

All the mouse ears slowly turned in the same direction.

The direction from which the mine track extends.

"So, is our village still going to be repaired?"

now.

"Ghost Captain" Morren was still sitting on the front of the Rat Girl Train, munching on the nutrition bar that looked like plaster.

The blacksmith rat driving the car looked up and asked curiously:

"Your Excellency, aren't we going to stop the car and say a few words to them?"

"No need."

Molen popped the nutrition bar into his mouth and pulled a crumpled map out of his pocket to look at it.

Several noble territories in the northern part of the low mountains were marked, with settlements circled and uninhabited areas crossed out.

"All they need to do is see a bunch of healthy mouse girls wearing pretty little clothes. Those who want to leave will find their own source."

"All we need to do is clear the obstacles on both sides of the mine track to ensure they can safely reach the hill."

Strength is more effective than any advertisement.

The blacksmith mouse nodded, then asked another question:

"What about the mice that don't want to leave?"

Molen stuffed the map back into his pocket and replied:

"Those who are unwilling to leave, we'll have to 'talk' to their lord."

Aishan's approach is simple and brutal.

Molen had prepared both sweet words and sugar-coated bullets, and of course, he had also prepared little lime bombs.

As for whether the road to the northward expansion of Aishan will be filled with laughter and joy or with the roar of artillery fire.

That depends on which type the noble ladies in the north prefer to eat.

Chapter 101 (4k) Everything Goes Smoothly at the Start

The gentle-looking old catwoman stood in front of the stove, her plump body blocking most of the stove.

Its fluffy orange tail swayed slowly behind it.

Orange cats are known for being fat, but they often become very thin as they get older.

But Miss Orange is already very old.

But it has grown into a ball.

It's only slightly white at the tips of the feathers.

I don't know if it's because she's getting old or too fat, but that usual laziness of catgirls has been stretched out several times over.

Her movements were slow and hesitant; she cut the meat slowly, threw it into the pot slowly, and even wiped her forehead with the back of her hand slowly.

They've even gotten so old that they don't meow anymore.

Miss Orange scooped the cooked stew into the hollowed-out bread bowl.

The bread was baked to a golden brown, and the thick broth slowly seeped into the inside of the bread, releasing the rich aroma of real flour.

She carried two bowls of bread and slowly walked up to Morren and Lyme.

Eat slowly, there's more if you're not full.

The bread was yellowish in color and tasted like stale flour. The meat was also dried meat, with a slightly dusty smell from long storage.

But it tastes delicious.

Simple, warm, and delicious.

In the courtyard outside, each of the mouse girls from the dwarf mountain received a fragrant little bread bowl and squatted on the stone steps of the castle, eating with great joy.

"Wow, it's so hot!"

"Wow, it smells so good!"

"Oops, it fell onto my clothes."

Enjoying the bread bowl requires a little skill: first eat the stewed meat in the middle of the bowl, wait for the broth to slowly soak into the bread, and then eat it little by little.

If you bite it directly, it will squeak and scream like a blacksmith rat from the heat.

"Squeak!"

Miss Orange took a small jar from the cupboard, shook it, and took out two dried berries.

Then he slowly tossed it into the small copper pot on the table.

Add water slowly.

It was slowly placed on the stove fire.

"This old woman still remembers that young master Moron doesn't drink alcohol."

"These days there's no berry juice, how about a glass of berry soup instead?"

"Okay, thank you, Miss Orange."

It was clearly a noble consultation that was about to decide the fate of hundreds of rat girls.

Molen and Lyme, however, acted like two neighboring children visiting.

Lime picked up the small wooden cup and took a sip of the berry soup. The heat made the entire slime shrink back, and its little tongue stick out.

Molen also took a sip.