Taxes are only within machine gun range!

Chapter 277 "Wall of Flesh and Blood"

Milton went outside and saw the renovation company's convoy arriving. The leader jumped out of the car, sweating profusely in the cold winter wind.

Although they had heard that the name "Hell Tax Collector" sounded terrifying, but was actually much better to the people than the government's bandit conscripts, Milton's horror stories were so numerous that being named by him still put them under a lot of pressure.

"Quick, get off the bus!" the leader shouted to his equally pale-faced employees, adding a scare tactic, "If you're any slower, the 'Hell Tax Collector' might throw you into the blender!"

Milton didn't hear what they were whispering about and directly beckoned the man over: "Are you in charge?"

"Yes, yes!" the leading supervisor said with a fawning smile. "Sir, if you have any orders, we'll create the conditions even if there aren't any."

“This community has walls covered in graffiti. You’re in charge of repainting them.” Milton gestured. “Go in and take a look, come up with a quote, and the military government will release the funds to you within three days.”

Funds to be allocated within three days?!

The supervisor perked up immediately: "Yes, no problem!"

"Very good, go and do it."

Upon hearing this, the supervisor didn't immediately move. Instead, he cautiously looked around and asked, "By the way, esteemed 'Hell Tax Collector' officer, I heard from the officers who came to us that you prepared some necessary materials, but we... we don't seem to see them."

Milton stopped in his tracks upon hearing this, looked at the ashen-faced people covered in various symbols of "Primitive Voodoo," and swept his finger across them: "Isn't that right there? Look how lively they are, they look very fresh, they'd make excellent building materials."

After witnessing firsthand how extremist ideologies could completely poison a child, Milton's attitude towards these people was singular: exterminate them all!
Moreover, the execution was carried out in the most cruel way.

Because these extremists can only understand the most extreme languages, only brutal methods can completely suppress them.

The supervisor was stunned, and asked incredulously, "These...these people? Are they...building materials?"

Damn it, he was just using that phrase to scare his men, and now the "Hell Tax Collector" is actually planning to do it?!
“That’s right, let’s do it now. Turn them into putty and let everyone know what happens when you go against me,” Milton said. “Don’t you have a cement mixer? Let’s get started.”

Perfect timing, there should be plenty of eyes looking this way right now.

"Yes, it is!"

The supervisor wiped the cold sweat from his forehead, turned to his subordinates, and said, "Quickly, get our building materials into the mixer!"

The workers, pale-faced, cautiously approached the cult members and, under the guard of the army, led them to the mixer.

After giving the order, the supervisor looked at Milton again to make sure that this "hellish tax collector" wouldn't suddenly kill someone before cautiously asking, "Sir, are you doing this to intimidate some people? After all, these materials, uh, are actually not suitable for use as paint."

Milton glanced at him with interest: "Go on."

“How about this… I just heard your men firing inside and saw a building collapse. We can build a wall on the open space—it won’t cost anything, absolutely nothing,” the supervisor emphasized, and continued, “Then we can preserve this batch of special paint and apply it there, turning this place into a memorial and interactive space, what do you think?”

"This is just a rough idea. Our company will come up with a detailed plan to ensure that this batch of paint can be used for a long time. What do you think?"

The supervisor even only planned to charge a token amount of money.

If we can secure this order successfully, will we still lack orders in the future? Will we still lack orders from the new government?

Milton thought about the proposal carefully and felt it was quite feasible, but he still found a problem: "If it's just for building a wall, we shouldn't be able to use up all this paint. Wouldn't that be a bit wasteful?"

The supervisor opened his mouth—isn't this just a deterrent tactic? They really want to "make the best use of everyone"!

Milton saw the other person was stunned, sighed, and finally decided to make the decision himself: "Well then, since this 'wall of flesh and blood' is to be made into a monument and a museum, it must have a certain quality and cannot collapse easily. It would be best to drive new piles."

"Didn't you say you had more materials than you could use? Perfect, if we need to drive piles, we can use these people... Have you ever heard of 'driving live piles'?"

The supervisor was dumbfounded: "Strike, strike a 'live stake'?"

He already felt that Milton shouldn't have become a warlord, but should instead become an artist.

They've even named this wall "The Wall of Flesh and Blood"!

That's incredibly imaginative!
Milton glanced at the cultists and nodded: "That's right, these special materials are driven into the foundation and pile foundation as 'piles' before construction begins."

"Yes, just like you said, my main goal is to deter these cultists, so I don't need to be too fundamentalist or too brutal. Just give them a warning."

The supervisor, and even Flora who was listening in, felt a little numb.

Okay, okay, so this is the kind of reprimand you're giving me?

There aren't many enemies who can be subjected to such methods by the "Hell Tax Collector." The "Primitive Voodoo Cult" alone possesses both the "Mound of Jing" and the "Wall of Flesh and Blood." It can only be said that they are a magical organization that can anger Milton twice in a row. These two museums can be considered Milton's recognition of them.

But thinking about what had just happened, and the scene of the child holding the bomb and his mother being reduced to ashes, Flora felt that doing so was indeed satisfying.

He used the enemy as paint for the wall, and buried even more people alive deep into the foundation of the wall as "living piles" to ensure the structural stability of the "memorial wall" and to permanently and deeply display this cruelty to all those who still dared to make trouble under his nose!
The level of horror in dealing with religious fanatics is extremely high.

Flora couldn't help but complain again: "My God, you're really good at managing money. You open up new travel projects wherever you go, don't you?"

Using this method to stimulate the economy is simply ingenious.

Milton just smiled and said, "Come on, bring your pile drivers over, let's start construction now."

The construction company manager swallowed hard, patted his pocket, asked one of his employees for a few coins, nodded, and said, "Yes... I'll go contact them! I'll find a public phone booth!"

"Just use my mobile phone."

"Yes Yes!"

"..."

Soon, the company's bulldozers and excavators arrived, carrying various building materials, and drove to the community that had just been bombarded by large-caliber howitzers.

Of course, those terrifying war machines had left the scene to continue cleaning up the rest of the city, leaving behind only police officers to maintain order.

Bulldozers and excavators cleared away the rubble with great efficiency, and then, carrying a total station, they used lime to draw stake lines on the ground—this total station was purchased by one of their somewhat daring employees from the Chinese construction team working in Milton.

I never thought I'd actually be able to use it today!
Next, the pile driver arrives, its tracks rolling over the ground to begin drilling holes for the cast-in-place piles, followed by hole cleaning...

The construction team stopped at this step—instead of lowering the steel cage, they turned to look at Milton.

By this time, the effects of the war had subsided, and some daring civilians stood nearby, curiously watching the scene—some of them even glancing at the cultists, secretly cheering for Milton.

These lunatics have greatly impacted their lives, not only intimidating children and spreading strange ideas, but also being extremely violent, even more so than the gangs of the past.

As a result, once they encountered the "Hell Tax Collector," they ended up in this sorry state. They just still don't understand why the "Hell Tax Collector" hasn't eliminated them yet.

The cult members were also unaware of their impending fate; they looked at the construction tools with a hint of confusion and fear in their eyes.

Seeing that the time was right, Milton stepped forward, bent down slightly, and patted the face of a cultist—laughing without any emotion: "Burning a bronze bull is a classic, but it's too deliberate and too focused on scaring people."

"It needs to be terrifying. Just thinking about horror isn't enough. It also needs to be relevant to real life and have some practicality. After the execution, it needs to leave a lasting impression, instead of just vanishing into nothingness. Do you understand?"

The cult members were dumbfounded; for a moment, they didn't know whether to nod or shake their heads.

Milton straightened up: "Don't understand? That's okay, I'll teach you myself."

After saying that, Milton exerted force and forcibly grabbed a burly man, dragged him toward the pit, and threw him in.

At this point, the pile driver was ready.

The pit is located directly below the pile driver.

Even a fool could understand what Milton was trying to do!

Milton raised his hand and said, "Release."

The pile driver operator swallowed hard, telling himself it was just a simple task, and pulled down the control lever.

The massive iron hammer emitted a piercing metallic scraping sound as it was instantly lifted to its maximum height.

The cultist looked up in terror, his pupils reflecting a heavy, muddy, oily steel silhouette that drew closer and closer, eventually blocking out the entire sky.

Do not……

when!
The steel object, weighing several tons, carrying its accumulated potential energy, hurtled irresistibly towards the only living thing at the bottom of the pile hole.

A deep, muffled bang, loud enough to stop a heartbeat, rang out.

The ground trembled slightly, and small pebbles rolled down the pit walls.

Piling machines that can drive piles deep into the ground encounter almost no resistance from carbon-based creatures like humans; they can even drown out the sound of flesh being crushed by steel.

A thick, dark red liquid, mixed with grayish-white bone fragments and unrecognizable soft tissue pieces, shot out under immense pressure from the narrow hole in the pile and the tiny gap at the edge of the hammer!
The steel cable tightened again, slowly and laboriously lifting the hammer, stained with blood, bone fragments, and mud, back from the deep pit... The bottom of the hammer was clung to torn cloth, a few strands of dark hair, and bloody flesh. As the hammer rose, the viscous liquid it kicked up dripped down, slamming onto the unrecognizable, flattened, and indistinct mass of flesh at the bottom of the pit.

Such a scene brought an extremely strong sense of impact to everyone.

Many onlookers immediately turned away and went back into their houses, not intending to watch any longer.

The "Hell Tax Collector" is indeed as terrifying as the rumors say!
"Alright." Milton clapped his hands, waking everyone from their shock. "Next one, hurry up and come up—don't rush, one at a time, one person per pit, don't fight, don't make a fuss, keep order, I guarantee you will all die a very, very terrible death, no need to rush."

Those cult members who witnessed all of this turned pale, and some even vomited!
Milton glanced at the supervisor and asked, "After filling the pit, are there any problems with the rest of the people making paint and painting it?"

"No, no..."

“Very good.” Milton glanced at the mixer truck. “Then let’s get started—start now.”

"Yes, it is!"

Soon, the cult members, who were already slumped like mud, were forcibly carried and pushed into the mixer.

"Do not!!!"

"No, we know we were wrong, no, no—"

"'Hellish tax collector,' please, please!!!"

"We were forced into this situation. I'm a victim too. I'll never do it again!"

Milton was unmoved by such deathbed confessions, just as they had never given other poor souls a chance, and Milton would not give them any chance either.

"start up."

Rumble…

The sound of the mixer working could be heard as one of the cult members' heads got stuck in the machine, and intense pressure began to squeeze his skull.

"No, no! Aaaaaaah!"

His head was deforming little by little, from an oval shape to a cube, until finally the entire skull could no longer withstand the enormous pressure.

Click, click.

Wow!

The putty is already taking shape.

"..."

Milton nodded in satisfaction and opened the door of the command vehicle: "Good, you can keep working here. I will come to personally inspect this 'wall of flesh and blood' after the project is completed."

"Yes!"

Flora got into the car, and after the door closed, she couldn't help but say, "After what you did this time, the 'Primitive Voodoo Cult' has been completely eradicated... no, it will be difficult for other terrorist ideologies to invade our land in the short term."

The propaganda of terrorism is far less impactful than the shock and impact of Milton's actions.

Milton has presented the most extreme violence and cruelty, and extremists and terrorism have lost their space to survive.

They might even be mocked by local residents with a comment like, "Is that all?"

“Special times call for special measures. I’m not really crazy, after all.” Milton waved his hand. “The things at home are mostly settled. Now tell me the battle report from the front.”

"The government troops are retreating desperately... Hmm, should we take advantage of their disarray and low morale to give chase and see if we can expand our gains?"

Milton thought for a moment and replied, "No rush, let me think about it carefully."

After saying that, he opened the panel and began to check what new equipment would be unlocked after conquering Solora and expanding his territory again.

(End of this chapter)