Don’t raise unruly people in extreme cold weather

Chapter 888

While the survivors of the City of Seven Hills were still reeling from the attacks of the evil cult, a group of immigrants from the north finally arrived at the weather-beaten city.

The roar of the airborne transport ship cut through the sky, and a huge shadow shrouded the ruins.

The survivors looked up and saw several huge steel ships slowly landing in the temporarily expanded port area. After the hatch opened, a team consisting of craftsmen, farmers, doctors and soldiers walked down the gangway in an orderly manner.

The members of the immigrant group wore thick northern uniforms, carried tool bags on their shoulders, and held alchemical lanterns in their hands. Their eyes showed both wariness of the unknown environment and anticipation for a new life.

Many of them did not come voluntarily but were attracted by favorable terms—empire promises of land, tax exemptions, and the opportunity to establish a home in this new land.

The mission leader personally greeted them, his voice carried throughout the camp through a loudspeaker:
"Welcome to the City of Seven Hills! You will participate in rebuilding this great city, and the Empire will guarantee your safety and future!"

However, when the immigrants actually set foot on the land of the City of Seven Hills, the scene that greeted them made everyone gasp.

They thought they would see neatly planned temporary shelters and warehouses filled with supplies, but what they saw was only a group of shabby tents swaying in the cold wind and a crude supply distribution point that was barely functioning.

The missionaries' tired faces and the survivors' vigilant eyes all show how tight the resources here are.

There was an unsettling smell in the air - a pungent mixture of rotten meat, burnt charcoal, and some indescribable stench.

The smell lingered faintly at the tip of the nose, reminding everyone that the threat from the evil god's followers was never far away.

Several immigrants unconsciously touched the amulets they carried with them, as if this could dispel the uneasiness in their hearts.

As night fell, the scene in the makeshift camp was even more terrifying.

The immigrants were crowded in the barely built makeshift houses, listening to the howling wind outside mixed with strange screams, which sometimes sounded like the roar of wild beasts and sometimes like the screams of humans.

In the darkness, someone whispered, "Did we make a wrong decision?"

This sentence sounded particularly clear in the silent tent, but no one dared to respond.

Despite the difficult situation, the northern immigrant group injected new vitality into this lifeless city.

In the biting cold wind, they used the prefabricated panels brought by the airborne fleet and the glowing alchemical adhesive to quickly build rows of simple houses.

Craftsmen led the survivors through the ruins of the City of Seven Hills, carefully clearing the wreckage of collapsed buildings with shovels and crowbars.

Whenever intact metal beams or usable stones are found, they are sorted and stacked - the metal materials are sent to the makeshift smelting furnace, and the stones are neatly stacked in the reconstruction area, waiting to become the cornerstone of the new building.

Farmers are busy in the area protected by the energy tower. They use special reclamation tools to turn over the frozen soil and break the hard ice bit by bit.

A simple greenhouse frame has been built. The transparent alchemical glass glows in the sunlight, and cold-resistant crop seeds brought from the north are cultivated inside.

Everyone was looking forward to the crops maturing quickly to ease the increasingly tight food supply in the camp.

However, the problem of resource shortage soon became apparent.

The head of the missionary group frowned at the material distribution meeting at the temporary command post. The list in his hand clearly showed that the stored food was only enough to last for three days.

To make matters worse, when engineer Marcus was checking the water supply system, he discovered that the underground water pipes were maliciously contaminated by the evil god's followers.

When he pried open the manhole cover, a pungent stench of decay hit him in the face, making it almost impossible for him to open his eyes.

There was a strange black slime attached to the inner wall of the water pipe. Not only was the water mixed with corruption and pollution and became extremely smelly, but there were also suspicious flocs floating on the water.

The experienced Marcus immediately took samples for testing, and the results horrified him - the water not only contained highly pathogenic bacteria and toxins, but also traces of alchemical corrupting agents, making it completely undrinkable.

He wiped the sweat off his forehead with a grim face, and immediately reported to the head of the missionary group through the alchemical communicator: "The water supply must be cut off immediately! This is not ordinary pollution. Those lunatics added something to the water. Drinking one sip is enough to be fatal!"

He had to urgently order the suspension of the entire water supply system and use the few alchemical water purification devices to deal with the emergency.

These precious devices were originally intended for medical purposes, but are now used to maintain the most basic living water.

The immigrants then realized that the challenges they faced were far more severe than they had imagined.

There was a long queue in front of the makeshift water purification station, and each person could only get a small pot of purified water.

The children's chapped lips and the anxious eyes of housewives all indicate the despair brought about by this water crisis.

Although the head of the missionary group urgently allocated supplies, the quantity was limited and could only barely last for three days.

Stocks in warehouses were depleted much faster than expected as migrants had to share what little food and water purification equipment remained with survivors.

Whenever supplies were distributed, fierce quarrels would break out between the two sides - the immigrants accusing the survivors of hiding food, while the survivors angrily accused the immigrants of being greedy.

Such sharing obviously did not go smoothly.

Some of the survivors were deeply hostile to the immigrant group. They took advantage of the night to destroy the newly built greenhouse supports and secretly released precious irrigation water before dawn.

Even worse, some people wrote the words "Imperial running dogs" with charcoal ash all over the camp, and even spread vicious rumors, claiming that "the Imperials want to sacrifice us to the new gods."

These rumors spread like a plague in the camp, making the already tense situation even worse.

An elderly immigrant woman, holding an empty water jug, looked at the group of survivors whispering in the distance and muttered to herself: "Are we here to help or to suffer?"

No one can answer this question at the moment.

In such a tense and chaotic situation, young Eric became the only bond maintaining the relationship between the two sides.

This teenager who grew up in the ruins is familiar with the survivors' deep-rooted vigilance and understands the mission and difficulties faced by the immigrant group.

He shuttled between the two groups every day, patiently explaining each other's difficulties in his hoarse voice.

Explain to the survivors that the alchemical greenhouse brought by the immigrant group can solve the food crisis, and explain to the immigrants that the survivors' fear of the believers of the old gods is not unreasonable.

On an evening with light snow, Eric was leading a patrol team consisting of twelve teenagers of his age and six adult survivors who were willing to cooperate, on a routine inspection along the perimeter of the granary.

Suddenly, a muffled argument was heard from behind the granary.

He signaled the team to stop and approached alone in the dark. In the moonlight, he saw the lame old John waving a torch and excitedly saying something to a dozen ragged survivors. "After we burn the granary, we'll see how those Yankees can still pretend to be good people!" Old John's broken left leg dragged blood on the snow, and there was a crazy fire in his cloudy eyes. "They are just like those evil god believers, they all want to take our souls."

Eric didn't care about the danger and rushed out to stop them: "Stop! This food is enough for everyone to eat for half a month!"

His sudden appearance caused the conspirators to scatter like frightened beasts, but Old John raised his torch with a grin, screaming from his burned throat: "Little traitor! Who are you Victorians to decide our beliefs?"

This sentence was like a spark splashing into a powder keg, instantly detonating the long-suppressed hostility.

Several survivors who had converted to the new god rushed out from the darkness, their eyes burning with fanatical anger, and wrestled with Old John's men.

The dull thud of fists hitting flesh, angry curses, and painful groans intertwined into a chaotic sound.

"You lunatics!" roared a young New God believer, smashing his fist into the face of Old John's accomplice.

As the other party staggered back, someone swung a frozen clod of earth at Eric, who was standing on the edge of the conflict. The sharp edge of the clod of earth cut a bloody wound on his forehead. Blood immediately flowed down his cheek, leaving a glaring red line on his pale skin.

In the melee, a torch was knocked to the ground, sparks flew, and soon ignited the tarpaulin of the granary.

The flames greedily licked the canvas and spread rapidly in the cold wind. The orange-red flames reflected the distorted faces.

Just when the fire was about to get out of control, the missionary leader arrived with fully armed steam knights. The alchemical fire extinguishers in their hands sprayed white foam, quickly extinguishing the flames that had just started.

That night, Eric returned to the tent alone and found an anonymous letter written in blood on scraps of leather in the dim light of the oil lamp.

The crooked handwriting seemed to be carved with fingernails dipped in blood, and each stroke was filled with deep hatred: "The blood of traitors is most suitable for the altar on a full moon night."

The smell of blood on the letter made his stomach churn.

He clenched the threatening letter tightly in his hand, his knuckles turning white from the strain.

Outside the tent, the familiar and strange chanting of the old gods' followers could be faintly heard in the howling cold wind. The sound drilled into the ears like a poisonous snake, making people shudder.

The next morning, just after daybreak, Eric hurried to the Steam Knights' base, clutching the anonymous letter that smelled of blood.

In the morning mist, the knights were performing routine maintenance on their armor. Steam gushed out of the exhaust holes, condensing into white mist in the cold air.

When the Knight Commander took the letter, his metal gloves made a cold clash sound.

When he unfolded the threatening letter written in blood, his iron-blue face became even gloomier, and the wrinkles between his brows were as deep as if they were carved by a knife.

"These damn cultists." He cursed under his breath, his fingers unconsciously crumpling the edge of the letter.

"Immediately implement level two alert!" The Knight Commander turned and gave a stern order to his adjutant, his voice sounding particularly loud in the armored loudspeaker.

"Double the patrol teams and focus on monitoring the granary and water purification station. In addition." He paused, his eyes fell on Eric, "Equip this kid and his patrol team with standard weapons."

Within an hour, the atmosphere in the camp was visibly tense.

The Steam Knights, fully armed, set up checkpoints at various important roads, and their heavy footsteps echoed on the frozen ground.

Eric and his companions received brand new breech-loading rifles - although these weapons made in the North were not as heavy as the knights' equipment, they were enough to deter ordinary thugs.

However, these tough measures were like pouring water into boiling oil, which only caused greater waves.

The survivors who were unwilling to cooperate gathered at the edge of the camp, whispering to each other, their eyes full of hostility.

Some people deliberately disrupted the work of the craftsmen, while others secretly damaged the newly laid water pipes.

At the same time, the technological power of the North began to create miracles on the ruins.

The engineers wore heavy protective clothing and held special alchemical spray devices, spraying a solution with a faint blue fluorescence on the frozen soil.

As soon as these solutions come into contact with the hard permafrost, they make a "sizzling" sound and emit wisps of white smoke. The originally rock-hard permafrost begins to soften and becomes easy to dig like moist clay.

This laid a solid foundation for reconstruction work, and workers will soon be able to lay foundations on the treated land.

The unfolded floating city module is like a moving industrial behemoth. Under its unfolded metal shell, a complex production line is revealed, which continuously processes raw materials day and night to produce prefabricated building materials of various specifications.

The most amazing thing was the upgraded energy tower - the range of the constant temperature barrier it released doubled, and the warm air flow melted the snow within a radius of 100 meters, revealing the ancient stone road that had been frozen for many years.

Those weathered stone slabs glow with a warm luster in the sun, as if telling the city's former glory.

In this new land, the attitudes of some survivors began to soften.

They took the initiative to come to the missionaries, accept the baptism of the new God's faith, and even picked up tools to join the team building the first new God church.

The frame of the church has been erected and workers are installing stained glass windows. The sunlight shines through the glass, casting colorful shadows on the ground.

But the shadow still exists - every night when it falls, the survivors who refuse to cooperate will gather in the dark corners where the energy tower cannot reach, watching all these changes with hatred in their eyes.

There was a dangerous gleam in their eyes as they spoke in low voices.

The tense atmosphere in the camp was like a fully drawn bowstring, and everyone could feel the dangerous atmosphere that was about to explode.

However, the shadow of the dungeon never dissipated.

Just as the reconstruction work was in full swing, the evil god's followers launched another surprise attack.

They detonated the bomb that had been buried under the construction site. In the violent explosion, half of the greenhouse was blown to pieces, and glass fragments and twisted metal frames flew everywhere.

The Steam Knights attacked quickly and killed some of the evil god's followers, but two craftsmen from the immigrant group were also seriously injured in the explosion, and their blood dyed the newly paved stone road red.

Subsequent investigations revealed that some of the survivors in the camp secretly provided assistance to the evil god's followers.

This discovery made the originally relaxed atmosphere tense again, and the rift of trust continued to widen among the crowd.

(End of this chapter)