Terra Tinkers Construct is fine.

—If you don't have a real love for crafting, who would stick with Tinker's Construct for so long, right?

"S-Sir?"

Milan has been thinking about this for a little too long.

Frank stood by the door, watching the scene without daring to move, frozen there as if his hands were numb; Milan, who had come to her senses, nodded to signal him to continue. Without saying much, he continued the mechanical action of opening and closing the door, causing the tripwire hook to pop out from the door crack and fall to the ground with a clattering sound.

"Okay."

The experimental results came back, showing reproducibility, which was good; Milan stopped his work, picked up the tripwire hooks and weighed them in his hand, and suddenly most of the tripwire hooks on the ground disappeared.

Frank's eyes widened once again.

This time, however, Pavel seemed unfazed. When Milan waved to him, he calmly approached them.

"The rest is the same as yesterday's arrangement. Frank, you just wait here. If anyone else has business to do or needs to record something here... just help me push the door open when you're free. There's no strict requirement, just do what you think is best."

“Pavel, let’s go.”

"Well, if I may be so bold, sir."

After a day of interaction, Pavel realized that Milan wasn't some crazy person who indiscriminately killed people, and he gained some courage to speak up.

"Is it alright to just leave this machine, which can create things out of thin air, and all these things it produces, just sitting there like this?"

You mean cleaning the excavator?

Milan glanced at it, chuckled, and shook his head.

"That thing doesn't matter, what's important is the technology; it's not worth much money itself."

"As for the tripwire hooks that were brushed out..."

He glanced at the two Ursus men, his expression suddenly becoming somewhat intrigued.

"Why don't you two go up and give it a try? If you can really take it, I'll give it to you."

Just kidding, the [Trickle Hook] is a standard synthetic artifact. Not to mention the wooden parts, the core material is a real [Iron Ingot].

To put it simply, the density of iron is 7874 kg/m³, and an iron ingot, which is 1/9 of that density, weighs about 875 kg. One set of materials can make two tripwire hooks, so the actual weight of a single one is over 400 kg.

—If you can really carry it, I'll really give it to you without it shaking at all.

Milan's words came from the heart, but disappointingly, the two Ursus men tried their hand at it, and despite their best efforts, even with their carotid arteries bulging, they still couldn't manage to slip the tripwire hook into their pockets.

The reason behind it is heartwarming (without emotion).

However, this was just a minor incident—leaving the not-so-familiar outpost, Milan, guided by Pavel, stepped into the intricate underground structure of Chernobog; the air here was a mixture of rust, engine oil, dust, and a faint smell of cheap alcohol and moldy food.

The passageways are not planned in a neat and orderly manner, but rather vary slightly in details such as pipe supports due to different areas.

Pavel was clearly quite familiar with the area. He led Milan through the well-lit streets, explaining in a low voice, "Sir, back when we were still called the Steel Pipeline, we mainly controlled a few maintenance channels and a small material transfer point in this area. Because we didn't have many people, our control area wasn't large, but the location was good."

"You know where our income comes from. Besides the dirty work, it mainly comes from collecting tolls and taking a cut from the black market... It's not that we have the ability, but the underground black market pays a cut to the workers who maintain the block. It's a customary rule. Even if there are no gangs in the upper echelons, they will still hand it over to the corresponding work group."

In what seemed to be the boundary of the moving blocks, with a vague "atmosphere" difference between the two sides, he pointed in several directions and said: "The east used to be the territory of the Black Talon Gang. Those guys were even worse than us. They were more like underground bandits than the workers in charge of the blocks. They specialized in stealing power furnace waste, controlling the lower-level clean water, and occasionally breaking into underground warehouses."

"The northern passage connects to a larger waste disposal site, which is controlled by the Gear Gang. They are a large gang and I heard they have connections with a high-ranking officer in the military or police. They often cause trouble everywhere because of their superior equipment."

“We usually try to avoid conflict with them. They’ve been eyeing this land for a long time, but it was only through Boris’s connections at higher levels that they managed to suppress it… Now that you’ve taken down Boris, this area might be a bit troublesome.”

"As for the south."

He paused, glanced at Milan's expression, and then continued, "To the south... straight ahead is the third industrial zone, which is the iron foundry I mentioned to you."

When the name was mentioned, Pavel's voice became noticeably softer and his tone more cautious: "Those guys, they're not just a gang, they're more like thugs directly employed by higher-ups... You know, we used to supply them mostly through them, but that was just sending people over there. As for what's inside, only Boris probably knows."

He paused again, then said indirectly, "Well, speaking of the iron foundry, there's something I'm not sure if I should say..."

"You said."

"Oh."

So he looked around and said cautiously, like a thief, "I remember that during the time I was there, the iron foundry didn't seem to be in such a hurry to send people over... which means that we've only recently started sending illegal immigrants over there, otherwise we wouldn't have a reputation for illegal immigration, right?"

"Are you in a hurry to hire someone lately...?"

Milan pondered for a moment: this intelligence was of little value to him, but it wasn't the kind of information that was hard to verify either; the Reunion Movement's offensive was being manipulated by a mastermind behind the scenes, and the truly powerful and influential nobles in Chernobog had fled long ago, while the mediocre ones who couldn't escape in time might have been ambushed by the Third Army on the way.

Only those who truly know nothing become the backdrop to the facade of Chernobog's tranquility, waiting to be shattered by natural disaster.

—So it seems there's someone with some influence behind the iron foundry.

Because of their identities, they knew the news in advance and rushed to complete the task before escaping, grabbing as much as they could by any means necessary. As for what would happen after they escaped, everything would be wiped out by the infected riots and natural disasters, leaving no trace behind—well, the logic is complete and not hard to understand.

Milan listened silently to Pavel's introduction, and combined with Boris's notes, a dark ecosystem of the Chernobog underworld gradually became clear in his mind; the steel pipes were indeed in a delicate position, their importance was secondary, but they were related to a series of forces.

He smirked and said in a low voice, "Interesting."

Pavel didn't understand what he meant, so he continued, "Sir, the underground area hasn't been very peaceful lately. I heard that the Gear Gang is recruiting and seems to have taken on a big job. They've been accumulating space for the Black Claw Rats. Those rats also sneak over here from time to time, and lately they've been doing it more and more often."

"Moreover... the news of Boris's death may not be kept secret for long, after all, everyone still has an association above them."

He hesitated for a moment, then continued, "That old hyena from the Gear Gang has a very keen sense of smell. Once he finds out that we've changed leaders and that one of us is an outsider, he'll likely come to test us."

"So, in other words, we've always relied on Boris's personal connections and background to suppress the noise of those around us; now that things are getting more unsettled, we've become the most conspicuous and seemingly the easiest target, right?"

Milan thought for a moment and gave a brief summary; while Pavel opened his mouth, but nodded with difficulty: "Yes, sir, that's it."

"That would be interesting."

Amidst the roar of machinery, Milan's gaze swept across the shadows of the complex structure, where figures or eyes seemed to flicker in the dim light, much like the lurking danger Pavel had hinted at in his words.

"What niche did Boris and his henchmen occupy in this area before?"

—What is an ecological niche?

Seeing Pavel's bewildered look, Milan explained, and he quickly replied, "We're just manual laborers, how many of us are really good fighters? The lower levels mainly rely on us for maintenance, and then the military, police, and associations keep an eye on the higher levels, which is why we've ended up in this situation."

"As for ordinary thugs and the like, we don't have that kind of thing around in Ursus. If a fight breaks out, it's not necessarily a matter of who's afraid of whom... But if you're talking about really good fighters, most of them are probably at the level of Boris's henchmen; as for whether Boris himself is a mage, I'm not sure."

—That's it?

Milan was speechless, but then he realized what it was: based on his understanding of Ursus, what was the imaginary enemy who had been restraining him from causing trouble?

Shield Guards, battle-hardened elites, army groups, even the Emperor's personal guards... and super Terrans like Sister Tower.

The lack of confidence in escaping such a monster is why Milan always seems to suffer from a hamster-like fear of insufficient firepower; but now, considering the actual situation and their own level...

Isn't this a case of overthinking in high-level games, completely ignoring the environment they're in? Even if you consider it a fishpond, it's just a shallow area.

"Okay, I think I understand."

There was a slight sense of amusement and exasperation, but mostly a feeling of relief after the unease dissipated; Milan let out a sigh, shook her head, and said, "Let's go back, there's nothing else to see."

"A bunch of reckless fools, they won't last long. Let me go back and think it over."

"Hey."

"……what?"

Around noon, before Milan and Pavel had even returned to their hideout "office," workers... or rather, members of the "canned food" gang had already begun to gather there.

They didn't dare go directly into the office, even though Milan wasn't there and only Frank was inside; but they were quite bold to do something like large animals in a zoo waiting to be fed while chatting in hushed tones outside the door.

He said meals would be provided.

Someone rubbed their stomach, nudged the person next to them with their elbow, and said in a voice that wasn't actually that low, "Do you think it's reliable?"

Chapter 50: Inviting Guests, Then Beheading

"That person... he said he'd provide meals."

Do you really think it's reliable?

This topic quickly became the focus of the workers' whispered discussions.

Some might think: Ah, as a major power in Terra, Ursus shouldn't be so poor on average, especially considering the inhabitants of a mobile city—a pioneering civilization—not the crocodile people of Sargon's primeval forest, nor the unlucky Sarkaz of Kazdel.

We've entered an industrial society; surely, at least in the most basic aspects, people shouldn't be starving.

Milan's response to this question, after conducting research, was: Hehe.

To put it more politely: Have you ever heard of the Russians' farming techniques, which are practically at a mentally challenged level?

In the world before his transmigration, the nation that served as the prototype for the Ursus civilization was never very good in this regard, not to mention the even worse Ursus: it still retained a production system with a strong military focus, a classical aristocratic system with an almost extreme imbalance of power and wealth, and an almost hereditary fondness for alcohol, as well as the profits from the alcohol market brought about by large-scale drinking...

Not to mention that their farming technology level might not even be comparable to that of the Soviet Union, and it was comparable to that of Tsarist Russia at that time. Milan even suspected that even if he slapped MC-level agricultural productivity onto the faces of these Ursus nobles, they would not open up the absolutely overflowing grain to the people at a low price.

They openly brew bootlegging under various custom-made regulations, smuggling it to those who are willing to pay for it and reaping profits; as for the problem of ordinary people not even being able to meet their basic needs for food and clothing...

Before Milan time-traveled, she watched a stupid period drama. She forgot the plot, but she remembered a line: "Such good grain and piles of silver, and you give them to those peasants?"

As for the level of farming techniques used by ordinary people in Tsarist Russia,

The level of farming technology in Tsarist Russia was simply nonexistent—even without any external aids, Milan felt that with the common sense imparted by compulsory education and the memories etched into his genes, he was at least qualified to be an agricultural official.

This has led to a situation where, even in mobile cities—an environment that is considered a "decent and stable civilized society" in Ursus and Terra—food remains a worrying expense for most of the common people in Ursus.

That's why the workers reacted so strongly when Milan said he would provide a meal... which is why they are reacting so strongly now.

And such high expectations.

"Meals provided...who knows?"

The office door was open, and they could all see that Frank was the only one inside, struggling with the strange door when he had nothing else to do, and he looked drenched in sweat.

Someone scoffed and said indirectly, "Boris didn't have such good fortune back then. He was already being kind by not deducting our hard-earned wages."

"Hey! Frank!"

With his usual skepticism mixed with a barely concealed hope, someone stood at the door, craning his neck and calling out, "Frank! What's going on inside? Does... does that new little boss's word count?"

Since there wasn't much paperwork involved, Frank, who had been spending all his energy cleaning the excavator, paused for a moment and simply sat down on the ground to reply, "I don't know, but that's what the adults said, didn't you all hear it?"

"An adult? Tsk."

The person who had managed to hide his ulterior motives earlier spoke strangely: "Food? What kind of food can we provide? We're not like Boris; we all work hard to support our families. Everyone knows the market price of grain."

"What kind of rubbish could be transported from this godforsaken place? Spoiled bread, sprouted beans, or expired canned goods? Oh no, canned goods aren't even fit for people like us, but expired potatoes might be a possibility."

"It seems like food prices have gone up again recently, and Boris died. What if we don't even have this much income anymore..."

These words caused a slight commotion because the topic was so realistic and adult that they had no choice but to agree with it; they were used to being exploited and did not have high expectations for the favors of those in power, and even instinctively skipped the doubt and went straight into the stage of accepting empty promises.

But what if?

"Maybe this time will be different?"

"What could be different?"

"I personally feel it's different."

A younger worker muttered, "He really did give us gold coins yesterday... those were Chervin gold coins. You guys, put your hands on your hearts and tell me if there's any reason why we're giving them back today."

His voice wasn't loud, but it still sounded clear in this environment.

The strange voice fell silent: "No matter what, the money Milan gave us is the reason they all came today; everyone knows that if you only get a monthly salary of two thousand, you're basically hiring a monkey; if you only get a monthly salary of three thousand, don't expect the brothers to work their butts off; and if you only get a monthly salary of five thousand, I'm doing my job well as a favor."

A monthly salary of 20,000... overtime? Boss, don't say anything more—I'd be happy to live in the office if you wanted me to.

The idea that one person gets two Chervin coins can be interpreted as follows: You've just joined and haven't done anything yet, but the new boss first says that all the previously dangerous tasks have been canceled, and then gives each person 10,000.

If it were you, wouldn't you at least finish this month's work first, check the market situation, and then make a decision?

"I wonder how much dirty money Boris made before."

Someone spat and said indignantly, "The new boss has taken Boris's money, he must be rolling in it now, I think he's reliable in terms of being extravagant."

"Reliable, right? Why don't you mention that the new boss was reliable when he was killing people?"

"..."

This is also an undeniable point—admittedly, disposing of corpses is easy in their region, and conflicts are commonplace; for the Ursus people, violence is as commonplace as eating and drinking…

But the way Milan treated dissidents was something they dared not say was common; and recalling Milan's treatment of dissidents, they dared not speak, and even the few who had been thinking were momentarily speechless.

Milan's rock-paneled helmet is still sitting on the office floor... If you're thinking of taking his body, have you asked him about that terrifying armor?

"..."

So the workers fell silent once again, this time even more somber, to the point that they lost all interest in gossiping.

Just then, clear footsteps suddenly came from the other end of the passage.

"Everyone is here?"

Milan's voice rang out from the other side of the passage.