Terra Tinkers Construct is fine.

This could very well be their idea or content.

—So who's going to stop this guy? You?

Whoever wants to go can go—after some private discussions, a consensus was reached on this point, and at least most of the Sarkaz suppressed their impulsive thoughts.

The white-armored canned guards stood in formation behind Milan. The intense battle had left them panting, and although their stamina was still maintained thanks to the "fullness" effect of stewed bones, the high-intensity exercise had put a strain on their blood and energy.

With adrenaline surging, the excitement of battle relied entirely on a burst of energy, but this energy has now temporarily subsided, making it difficult for them to even set up their formations properly.

But no one dared to cause trouble at this time.

Because Milan stood alone in front of them.

"……Ah."

A laugh suddenly came from under Milan's helmet.

"The Reunion Movement? Talulah's orders? Not for a fight to the death?"

His voice beneath the mask was somewhat muffled, yet the strange, unsettling quality remained undisguised.

"Did you know? Just recently, a group of people claiming to be from the Reunion Movement came to provoke us—interestingly, two groups of people, each accompanied by a pack of ravenous thugs, stormed our door without warning, wielding swords and magic against my men."

"Back then, you didn't say it wasn't about fighting to the death."

"Now that they can't seem to get past this, they've realized they need skilled help with the infected?"

"...You do have some ability, but it is not a wise move to be enemies with our Reunion Movement!"

Garsen stepped forward, wearing the tactical vest and jacket commonly seen on mercenaries, revealing his muscular arms, making him look even more robust than Milan in his armor. Upon seeing their leader actually appear, the other Sarkaz, regardless of their own thoughts, still stepped back.

He suppressed his anger as he tried to salvage the situation, saying, "The leader of Talulah wants to recruit you. If you are willing to bring your subordinates to join us and fight for the future of the infected, everything that happened before can be forgiven."

"If you join now, you'll be a cadre of the Reunion Movement. After we take this city, you'll get a share of the spoils!"

Milan almost burst out laughing.

"Let bygones be bygones? Is that what you should be saying to me?"

"You smashed up my door, injured my men, and now you're talking to me about the future of the infected? Did your leader teach you this rhetoric, or do you think that just because you have enough people, you're qualified to give me a chance?"

Garson took a deep breath and said in a deep voice, "Verbal arguments are pointless. The goal of Reunion is to save all the oppressed infected. Your power should be used for good, not to dominate the underground of this doomed city."

"Stubborn resistance will only make our compatriots' blood shed in vain."

"So now you remember that my subordinates are fellow infected people?"

Milan raised his chin, and even through the mask, the Sarkaz could feel his contemptuous gaze.

"Your methods of recruiting people are quite unique. Or is it that in the eyes of the Reunion Movement, infected people who don't immediately kneel down and accept your flag deserve to be beaten half to death before they are qualified to listen to the teachings of your leaders?"

This caused a rustling sound even among the Sarkaz group.

The Sarkaz have always revered strength, and most of them believe in the idea that the strong are respected—mainly because the Kazdel region has been plagued by civil war for years and has never had a period of peace, resulting in an average level of education that is often neglected even during prenatal education.

They have a whole repertoire of deception, betrayal, and bluffing, but their hypocrisy is more of an open and blatant act. Everyone knows that the other party is not trustworthy, and if they meet on the battlefield, they will each rely on their own abilities. While there are certainly those who agree with the Reunion Movement's slogans, most of them are driven by deeper considerations behind the Sarkaz mercenaries.

Milan's words exposed this hypocrisy that they themselves found laughable—making those who weren't particularly convinced of Garsen's leadership secretly laugh at them.

"We are just testing the waters. Not just anyone can become a cadre. This is something that deserves our attention."

Garsen snorted coldly: "Only strength can earn the respect of the Reunion Movement; otherwise, you are only fit to become part of the spoils of war."

"Then I think it would be pointless to talk to you about the main components of the Reunion Movement at this point."

Milan shook his head.

"You know to turn when your car hits a wall, you know to buy stocks when they go up, you know to correct your mistakes when you're sentenced... Mercenary, from what standpoint are you assessing my strength?"

"Who gave you the right to assess my strength?"

Garsen's face turned ashen.

Sarkaz mercenaries are all illiterate, so how could he possibly engage in a war of words with his limited skills? Milan's undisguised sarcasm was full of provocation. If he were just a mercenary leader, he would definitely not hesitate to take action on the spot to show what a painful lesson is.

But considering the orders from the Sarkaz mercenaries and his mutual exploitation with that dragon girl... Garsen's hand moved several times toward the greatsword behind his back, but in the end he still uttered a harsh word:

"You're sharp-tongued, but let me tell you, brute force and a turtle shell won't get you here. You'll understand the will of the Reunion Movement. If you don't submit here, you'll be crushed."

"Don't rush, did I say you could leave?"

Before he could even turn around, Milan delivered an even more direct and harsh message.

"In the end, it's still the same old story of chickening out when you can't win and going back to get reinforcements... The Sarkaz just believe that whoever has the bigger fist calls the shots. Now they want to run away after they've fought? It's not that easy."

Milan waved his hand behind him, but disregarding Sakaz's superior numbers, he slowly walked forward and said, "Come on, don't say I didn't give you a chance."

"Whether it's a one-on-one fight or a group brawl, you name your terms and I'll take it; if you want to crush me, don't wait, you have the guts to crush me right here and now."

"Otherwise, since you yourself have said so, you shouldn't have any complaints about getting the same result, right?"

Milan, beneath his armor, squinted.

He didn't remember the plot very clearly, but he did remember that in the original story, this guy was killed by Scout at the cost of his entire squad, and Scout also died in Chernobog due to the subsequent chain of events.

This was supposed to be a rescue mission for the Doctor, but it happened to coincide with the Reunion Movement's all-out offensive—Ace, Scout, and their subordinate squad members were all precious lives lost by Rhodes Island in this operation.

Even if many characters only appear by name in the story.

Milan also felt that at this moment, it was enough to motivate him to kill this guy—moreover, at a quick glance, besides W's iconic American cockroach, he also spotted two other familiar faces among the Sarkaz mercenaries... or rather, characters whose character art he could recognize.

—If we kill him here, will W still become the leader of the Sarkaz mercenaries as in the story, and later escape to Rhodes Island after failing to assassinate Talulah?

Milan felt that this question was worth testing.

So from the beginning, he never intended to let this guy go—otherwise, what if he went back and summoned Talulah, only to find himself trapped in the rescue plan?

"Insanity!"

Milan's disdain was secondary.

However, feeling that his prestige was being shaken among the Sarkaz, Garsen flew into a rage—Milan's provocation was essentially putting him on the hot seat. Although he had the support of the Military Council to become the leader, in the distant foreign land of Ursus, there were more than just one or two other mercenary leaders who disliked him.

If he were to slink away like this, not only would it be difficult to explain to the Reunion Movement, but it would also be hard to get these people to work with in the future... not to mention, there's always the possibility that someone might take a sneak attack at any time.

He has to fight, and he has to win.

"Since you're asking for trouble, I, Garsen, will gladly oblige! A one-on-one duel, let me see if your strength matches your courage!"

"Don't we need to add the experts you brought?"

Milan scoffed: "It's alright, I'm in a hurry, you can all come at me together."

"You're looking for 2 Leng Er'er, suspected of being cold-blooded, but now you're dead!"

These humiliating words finally ignited the fury of all the Sarkaz, and also made Garsen sizzle with rage, leaving him no room for his usual bluster and threats. He seemed to be blinded by anger, and immediately took the two-handed greatsword from his back, the blade instantly covered with a dark light.

But while using the weapon to attract attention, he also put his hands behind his back and quickly made several hand gestures.

Winning is what matters; as for how to win or whether the win looks good... the Sarkaz don't care about that.

"Drink Yilingqi Dad 4 Qi Siwu Liuyue - Yi Ah!"

The energy from Originium Arts swirled around the sword, and Garsen's greatsword whistled as it tore through the air. A powerful and straightforward slash followed, swift and imposing from the start!

But Milan raised his hand and swung his gun, unleashing another simple and straightforward shot that swept through the enemy ranks!

"clang--!"

Garsen's expression changed drastically amidst the echoes of the clashing weapons!

The gun and sword erupted with an even louder roar than before, the brute force colliding and sending shockwaves through the air, kicking up dust around the two men—Garson, as expected of the leader of the Sarkaz mercenaries, was indeed quite skilled, most notably in the following instance:

Facing Milan's sweeping attack of 2,700 kilograms, his greatsword, slashing straight at him, actually managed to block it!

"it is good!"

A burst of enthusiastic cheers erupted from the Sarkaz mercenaries.

Only Garsen himself had a face that was almost green beneath his faceplate.

—What a load of rubbish!

There is always a difference between seeing with your own eyes and experiencing it firsthand. For example, no matter how long he stared at it, he could never realize the extent of Milan's "strength" as clearly as he did at this moment. The power of the spear was unbelievably heavy, far exceeding his expectations. This strike made the energy on his sword sway like flames blown by a strong wind. The brute force poured into his arm, making him feel sore and numb from bone to muscle.

With his blood energy dispersed, his eyes seemed to become a little clearer.

—But...it's not that we can't fight!

However, he was still experienced enough in combat—as mentioned before, Milan's martial arts were rusty and his moves lacked variety; so Garsen immediately changed his tactics. He abandoned his imposing frontal assault and instead used his superb footwork and feints to circle around Milan, trying to find his weaknesses.

The greatsword, almost as tall as him, whistled through the air as he wielded it, his thrusts, slashes, and variations in technique flowing smoothly. He even employed Originium Arts, striking the ground with the greatsword to unleash energy that exploded upwards from the earth's surface.

Bells and whistles.

But Milan only has one style of play.

He neither dodged nor evaded, but simply gripped the spear with both hands, relying on the spear's inherent attack range—as long as Garsen appeared within his attack range, he would meet his momentum with a single swing of the spear!

Garsen slashed at his head, and he thrust at Garsen's chest; Garsen pulled back and tried to slash back at his arm, and he turned and slammed at Garsen's waist and abdomen.

The key point is to refuse interaction; you do your thing, I'll do mine.

But it was this very style of play that disgusted Garsen to the point of almost vomiting blood.

--madman!

Having taken one or two blows head-on, and then faced with a barrage of attacks that he couldn't dodge, he knew perfectly well that Milan's attacks couldn't be taken head-on. On the surface, he might seem to have room to parry Milan's attacks, but in reality, only he knew how much he couldn't withstand an explosive burst of power against a normal basic attack.

Milan dared to trade injuries with him, and the value of that tortoise shell goes far beyond what his two sour words could describe; but if he really dared to trade Milan's guns, then perhaps it would only be a matter of one of us taking a bite out of the other.

He desperately wants to back out now.

The faces of Sarkaz mercenaries are really worthless.

But now even escaping is a problem for him—Milan's spear is heavy, but its force is unusually strange. He can feel that the force should have sent him flying, sword and all, especially since he was cooperating.

Unexpectedly, when he tried to back away, the enormous impact did not translate into momentum and act on him at all. Instead, as he tried to block and borrow the force, he was as if he was absorbed by something invisible, making it impossible for him to even fall down. He could only stand at this distance where everyone could only fight head-on.

Skillful advantage proved utterly powerless against overwhelming strength and defense—knowing he couldn't afford to delay any longer, Garsen disregarded dueling rules and launched a fierce counterattack against Milan, deflecting the spear with a single blow and staggering backward as he shouted:

"Now! Do it!"

Chapter 93 Go Talk to My Iron Armor

The living layer (in a mobile city) is the subsurface portion, primarily serving as a support system for surface facilities. Here, the most common features are tunnels containing cables and water pipes, as well as foundations of living buildings, basements, emergency refuge spaces, and the underlying soil layer.

Interestingly, while the upper levels of a city are constantly being relocated and renovated, the underground parts are different; they don't completely erase the traces of each renovation, thus leaving behind a large number of "structural adhesion" phenomena:

Entering the underground electrical room of a building and opening the back door might lead to a street of sewers; then walking to the end of the tunnel and turning, you might find yourself in another underground parking lot.

—EE Eriksen, "Earth Voyage", Industrial Technology: Mobile Cities, p. 47

All of a sudden!

Garsen couldn't bother sending a signal; he could only force a move in his battle with Milan to create space in order to call for the ambush that had been lying in wait. Duels were never an option for the Sarkaz mercenaries; they were just fraud and dishonesty, and in Kazdel, they weren't even considered immoral.

Mercenary leaders are naturally well-versed in this.

As soon as he signaled, the hidden forces that had been lying in wait immediately revealed their fangs: the first to attack was a long-planned ranged attack. In the shadows of the old platform behind them, several Sarkaz sorcerers had already completed their channeling. Fireballs, magic bullets, and arrows wrapped in malevolent energy illuminated the darkness and rushed toward Milan with intense light.

It wasn't just the sorcerers—perhaps other mercenaries weren't so proactive—but Garsen's own trusted men switched to Sarkaz heavy crossbows and pulled the trigger, unleashing a barrage of armor-piercing heavy arrows.

Even a familiar face secretly raised the launcher and fired a grenade with a simple ghost face drawn on it; whether or not they were just joining in the fun is another matter, but this concentrated fire was really ruthless and cunning, obviously intended to completely annihilate the target with a destructive attack - this treatment was not like that used on people, but on armored vehicles!

However, Milan's reaction exceeded everyone's expectations.

The safe distance Garsen created for himself also became an empty space around Milan—his heterochromatic spear vanished as if by magic in his hand, and a bright, silver cube appeared in his palm as if taken out of another dimension. With a wave of his hand, it was placed into reality out of thin air, like building blocks.

A standard giant iron block of one cubic meter!

In the blink of an eye, a curved wall was built around Milan!

—What is that?!

The Sarkaz were stunned by the scene, and didn't even have time to exclaim in surprise, before they watched as Milan's dark armor was completely buried by the silver-white iron blocks. Of course, they had no idea that after the iron was free, Milan had more iron reserves than cobblestones, which had long since replaced the soil and cobblestones he used as obstacles, and there were more than he could ever spend.

“Rumble, rumble—!”

The onslaught was explosive; spells and crossbow bolts slammed violently against the surface of the iron block, unleashing deafening roars and blinding light. The enhanced crossbow bolts could even pierce the surface of the pure iron block. Fireballs exploded, and the impact of flames and magic bullets intertwined into a razor-scraper-like tongue of fire that surged and licked across the surface of the iron block, even snapping the crossbow bolts in half and licking away a layer of the iron block's surface.

However, even an attack of this magnitude could only show its powerlessness in the face of a solid iron block that weighs nearly eight tons in reality, with a volume of one cubic meter. After the deafening explosion and intense sound and light effects, they could only see the slightly reddish melting marks on the surface of the iron block in the thin layer of smoke and dust, which gradually blurred the damage caused by the first wave of attacks, revealing how fierce their long-planned attack was.

Accompanied by a soft but clear tapping sound, strange cracks, like textures, gradually appeared on the surface of the iron block. The pattern of the cracks became larger and more obvious—finally, with a "snap," the entire iron block shrank and sank, as if it were being attracted into the gap in the iron wall.

And revealing the dark-colored armor they were already familiar with underneath.

...He was even carrying a large shield.