It was an aerial fortress built of fat and cartilage.
Rorschach recognized the creature from his memory.
This book was first published on Taiwan Novel Network, 𝖙𝖜𝖐𝖆𝖓.𝖈𝖔𝖒, offering a reading experience with error-free and orderly chapters
(image here).
The Sky Sailfish—a product of the ecological upheaval following the Great Fog Tide.
It is classified as belonging to the [Fog World] - [Plankton Gate] - [Salonfin Class].
As a subspecies mutated from the old-era "Giant Sunfish" after inhaling excessive phlogiston, this monster, despite its enormous size, is often labeled "low threat" due to its limited brain capacity and slow reflexes.
But that's only if it's not hungry.
And now, the bloody scent emanating from the Windwing Serpent's wounds has clearly attracted this eight-ton behemoth.
"Damn it! It's going to eat our cargo!" Yuri's scalp tingled as he looked up. The behemoth was clumsily adjusting its attitude, trying to swallow the winged serpent hanging from its belly.
"Hard left! Forget about the boiler pressure!" Rorschach roared.
Yuri slammed the stick.
Sparks flew from the gears as the Rusty Nail glided to the side.
Although the ornithopter's change of course was timely, aerial combat always relied on the potential energy changes brought about by altitude differences.
And the advantage was clearly on the big guy hovering above the Rusty Nail.
Although the Sailfish missed its target, the speed from the dive didn't make it veering too far off course. Its side fin grazed the wing, immediately tearing the skin and sending rivets flying. The Sailfish
clumsily rolled over, opened its huge mouth, and swallowed the piece of metal whole, chewing it with a crunching sound, seemingly enjoying it.
"Damn it! Is it starving? It'll even eat sheet metal!" Rorschach stared at the clumsy fish, dumbfounded.
After swallowing, the Sailfish's air sacs inflated, and its massive body, propelled by buoyancy, quickly rose into the air, regaining its high ground advantage. Immediately following, another wave of flesh-like impacts followed.
Rorschach, his resolve hardening, grabbed his last pneumatic forklift, aimed, and pulled the trigger.
Bang—
the compressed steam exploded, and the fork struck the Sailfish's eyelids.
But unsurprisingly, the fork was instantly deflected by the transparent keratinous layer on the eyeball's surface.
He quickly pulled the rope and reloaded.
The fork grazed the scales, sending sparks flying.
"Damn it! I refuse to believe it!" Rorschach roared, firing a third shot the instant the plane leveled off.
This time, the sound of flesh piercing flesh filled the air.
The fork plunged deep into the Sailfish's abdomen, half the shaft embedded!
"Hit!" Rorschach's heart leaped with joy, instinctively reaching for the winch.
However, his joy lasted only two seconds before Rorschach noticed a detail—no blood.
Such a deep wound, yet not a single drop of blood flowed.
Rorschach felt a chill run down his spine, knowing what this meant.
This damned monster probably had an incredibly thick layer of fat beneath its skin!
At the same time, the pull of the Skysailfish traveled along the cable, causing the fuselage to lurch.
He tried to retrieve the harpoon, but the barbs were stuck in the thick layer of fat, impossible to pull out.
"Rogue! Utterly rogue!" Rorschach cursed.
He couldn't beat it, and he couldn't shake it off; this thing was like a flying piece of chewing gum!
Seeing that the winch connecting the harpoon was about to break, Rorschach had no choice but to draw his dagger and cut the cable.
What other option was there?
How could he escape this thing's clutches?
Looking at the Windwing Serpent's carcass violently swaying in the wind beneath the fuselage, Rorschach suddenly realized something.
He might as well let it have the Windwing Serpent; prey was valuable, but life was more important!
Rorschach abruptly stood up, his serrated dagger plunging into the Windwing Serpent's carcass, tearing off a large chunk of flesh.
"Stupid thing! Eat this!" Rorschach tossed the chunk of flesh into the air.
A chunk of bright red meat arced through the air and struck the snout of the Skywing Fish.
However, the behemoth didn't even glance at it, letting the phlogiston-rich delicacy slide down from the clouds.
Its murky eyes remained fixed on the Rusty Nail; clearly, in its barren brain, this "giant iron bird," reeking of blood and spitting out hot air, was the most succulent prey!
"Rorschach! The tail servo is stuck! If this continues, we'll be smashed to pieces!" Yuri's face was deathly pale, on the verge of collapse.
"Shut up! I'm thinking of something!"
Rorschach, unconvinced, cut off another piece and threw it out, but the result was the same.
Seeing the giant jaws closing in, he gritted his teeth, preparing for a third attempt.
Just as he was about to use the force to cut, *whoosh*—the
world froze.
The sounds of wind, the roar of the beast, and the rumble of the engine all vanished.
Countless points of light emanated from the Windwing Serpent's corpse, coalescing into a deep blue hardcover book, floating in mid-air before Rorschach's eyes.
The few square characters on the cover both surprised and delighted Rorschach.
"Phnom Penh Exploration Guide"
[Record: December 11, 1894 AD, you successfully hunted two Windwing Serpents in the airspace of Farwind Town in the North Ural Mountains aboard the "Rusty Nail," and attempted to dissect them. Knowledge +2]
Rorschach's heart skipped a beat.
This…this is my cheat code?! He'd
been in this world for half a month, and while recuperating, he'd tried calling out "System," "Deep Blue," and many other familiar commands, all to no avail.
He'd almost given up and was ready to honestly continue as an apprentice hunter, but he never expected this thing's activation condition to be dissecting prey!
Having narrowly escaped death, Rorschach, ignoring the damned delay in payment, focused his mind and opened the book.
On the parchment pages, lines rapidly expanded, leaping off the page to form a three-dimensional map!
At the center of the map was the green dot of the "Rustnail," and the enormous fish head following it was clearly the Sailfish.
A map?
What use could a map be at this moment?
He was about to turn to the second page when his eyes suddenly sharpened.
A hundred meters above the Rustnail, above layers of clouds, lay a thick layer of cumulonimbus clouds!
The air there was thick with moisture, the clouds extremely dense, and the internal airflow complex.
For the massive Sailfish, which relied primarily on buoyancy, this environment was unfriendly, but for the small and agile "Rustnail," it was a natural smokescreen!
A true stroke of luck!
Although a series of thoughts flashed through Rorschach's mind, they all happened in the blink of an eye.
"Rorschach! What are you daydreaming about! Cut it! It's about to bite!" Yuri's roar pulled him back to reality.
The gaping maw of the abyss had already attacked again, the stench of the attack ruffling Rorschach's hair.
"No! I'm not cutting it!" Rorschach sheathed his dagger, his eyes filled with determination. "Yuri! Full speed ahead! There's a cumulonimbus cloud above us! Charge in!"
In the midst of the chaos, Yuri glanced up at the sky. There were only thin, white clouds, seemingly harmless in the sunlight. Where was the cumulonimbus cloud?
Had Rorschach received some divine revelation? Could he see so far through such a thick cloud barrier?
Despite his inner turmoil, Yuri roared back, "Cumbularia?! It's full of turbulence inside, going in is suicide!"
"Listen to me! The turbulent airflow can shake it off! That's the only way out!"
Yuri gritted his teeth, looked at the approaching maw, and pulled hard on the control stick: "Damn it! I'll risk it! God of machines, please protect the pistons from exploding! If I survive, I'll clean the church floors for three months!"
Rusty Nail roared, its nose suddenly lifted, and it shot into the sky.
During that short 100-meter climb, the gaping maw repeatedly grazed the tail of the aircraft, only narrowly avoiding a stall thanks to Yuri's frantic maneuvers, which forced the Rusty Nail to perform several extreme maneuvers on the verge of stalling.
This mere 100-meter stretch to the clouds felt like an eternity.
Finally, the ornithopter disappeared into a chaotic gray-white expanse.
They plunged into the cumulonimbus clouds.
Visibility dropped to less than a meter, and a fierce wind whipped at them with icy air, causing the aircraft to shake violently, as if it might fall apart at any moment.
However, that annoying fish head had finally vanished.
(Please remember Taiwan Novel Network → 𝐭𝐰𝐤𝐚𝐧.𝐜𝐨𝐦 website, to read the fastest chapter updates)
"We've shaken it off! That guy didn't keep up!" Rorschach watched the red dot on the map recede further and further away from the ornithopter until it finally disappeared, and he breathed a sigh of relief.
But before he could even catch his breath, Yuri's anxious voice rang out again.
"Rorschach! We're doomed!"
"What? Didn't we shake it off?"
"The compass! The compass is malfunctioning!" Yuri pointed to the wildly spinning needle on the instrument panel and said with a wry smile, "The magnetic field here is chaotic, I can't tell up, down, left, or right! I have no idea where we're flying! If we crash into a floating island, or plunge headlong into a strong convection..."
Even in the 21st century, getting lost in cumulonimbus clouds is tantamount to death.
Rorschach wasn't too worried.
He opened the Phosphorus Exploration Guide again.
On the holographic map was a majestic mountain range composed of dark clouds. It stretched upwards, boundless, all the way to the edge of the map.
And the "Rusty Nail" was merely a speck of dust that had just probed a few dozen meters into this mountain range, and the map they had explored, winding and turning, was their flight path!
Now, all they had to do was to find a straight line between the starting point and the destination and fly out!
"Yuri, listen to me." Rorschach closed his eyes, pretending to sense things. "My intuition tells me the way out is on the right."
"Intuition?! You're fucking talking to me about intuition now?!"
"My intuition saved us once, and it can save us a second time!" Rorschach opened his eyes, looking at Yuri with unwavering certainty. "Right rudder 15 degrees, dive 100 meters!"
Yuri looked at the face he had spent two years with, and finally gritted his teeth, choosing to believe.
"Sukabrye! I'm on your side! From now on, this plane will obey your command. If it crashes, I'll give you a good whack in hell!"
Before the words were even finished, the Rusty Nail plunged into the chaos.
The turbulent air currents were like a mischievous child, constantly manipulating the ornithopter, trying to make it fly according to its own will.
Just three seconds later, Yuri's expression turned grim.
In the violent turbulence, his vestibular senses were distorted.
One moment he felt himself tilting to the right, the next he felt like he was flying backwards, but the gravity sensor under his buttocks told him he was climbing.
This was every pilot's nightmare—spatial disorientation.
"Five degrees to the left, maintain thrust!"
A voice came from behind, abruptly pulling Yuri back to the cockpit from his dazed state.
Only then did he realize how dangerous the situation had been. He quickly followed Rorschach's instructions, forcibly suppressing his instincts and pressing the left rudder.
Whoosh!
A gust of downdraft slammed into the wing, sending the Rusty Spike slid sideways.
"Full right rudder! Press the nose down!"
Yuri didn't have time to think about why he was being pushed to the left and then flying to the right; fortunately, his hands were faster than his brain.
The plane lurched sharply on the verge of stalling, narrowly avoiding a purple lightning bolt that exploded in the clouds.
"Good! Correct! Two o'clock, full speed ahead!"
Every time the fuselage was blown off course by turbulence, Rorschach's corrective commands would immediately follow, as if he were directing the flight with a map in hand.
"Dive thirty meters!"
"Pull up! Maximum angle of attack!"
"Roll left! Quickly!"
The Rusty Spike traced zigzag lines through the dark and pale clouds.
Finally, propelled by a powerful surge of warm air, the Rusty Nail burst through the clouds like a cannonball.
Sunlight pierced the darkness.
Golden light flooded the cabin, blinding the two men.
They had made it!
Looking back, the cumulonimbus cloud resembled a thick wall, isolating death in another world.
On the distant horizon, several red and white navigation balloons floated silently—beacons erected by the Covenant Federation.
"Praise be to the God of Machines…" Yuri slumped in his seat, sweat soaking his jacket. "We…we survived?"
Just then, a siren sounded overhead.
The airship emerged from the clouds, its massive shadow looming over the Rusty Nail, its dark cannons pointed directly at them.
Seeing the crossed hammer and wrench emblem imprinted on the hull, the two men completely relaxed.
It was a Covenant Federation patrol airship.
(Image here)
"Ornithopter ahead, identify yourself!" a voice boomed over the loudspeaker.
A few minutes later, the Rusty Nail slowly approached the patrol boat.
Yuri had long since forgotten his earlier despair and immediately began boasting animatedly.
He spoke and gestured, claiming that he had stunned the Sailfish with a beautiful "Neva Spin," and portraying his partner Rorschach as a madman who dared to fight an eight-ton behemoth hand-to-hand and snatch the spoils from the dragon's jaws.
The crew on the patrol boat were stunned by his words and looked at him with admiration.
"Escaped from the mouth of a Level 1 Challenger Sailfish? Just the two of you trainee hunters? That's certainly something to brag about." The first mate nodded, asking with some anticipation, "Your spoils must be quite substantial, right?"
"Of course! Look, everyone—"
Yuri proudly turned to the side of the fuselage.
Everyone's gaze followed his hand.
On the Rusty Nail's tattered landing gear, two pieces of... rotten flesh hung forlornly.
They were two Windwing Snakes, only their upper halves remaining, with jagged cuts, clearly severed by something.
Blood was dripping down the fuselage, a truly pitiful sight.
The most valuable parts—the venom sacs, the intact wing membranes, and most of the phlogiston blood—had all ended up in the Sailfish's belly.
The air was silent for a few seconds.
The first mate's lips twitched, his initial admiration turning to pity.
"Ahem... indeed... 'snatching food from a tiger's mouth.'" He reached into his uniform pocket and pulled a metal tag, handing it to Rorschach.
"Take this. The supply ship from the county town just arrived today, and the military passageway is cleared. You can head back to Farwind Town on the way. If the carrion crows steal this meat, your flight will have been a complete waste."
The next second, he angrily gave the clouds the middle finger.
"That damned flying pig intestine! It's a garbage bag stuffed with moldy sawdust, rusty gears, and canned meat filled with ants! I curse it to be coal ash in a boiler in its next life!"
Looking at Yuri, who was spitting as he spoke, and the patrol boat crew's pitying gazes,
Rorschach silently covered his face, feeling that the atmosphere was even more suffocating than when he faced the Sky Sailfish.
Farwind Town, like a patch of gray moss, sprawls atop Mount Koiva.
From above, the town appears orderly, well-planned, and meticulously organized.
The entire town was uniformly planned by the Covenant Federation's Construction Bureau; gray concrete blocks lined the contour lines, and brass steam pipes stretched like veins, carrying heat from phlogiston boilers to every building.
It was afternoon, and a thin black stream of workers flowed through the streets. Those were workers in overalls. They gathered in front of the "ration station," forming a long, winding line, waiting to exchange their daily rations.
At the summit stood a pristine white-spired church and several mansions with private gardens—the Upper City's inner ring, inhabited by citizens of "Silver Badge" rank and above. Descending along the contour lines, the soot-blackened tenement buildings were the hives of "Iron Badge" citizens like Rorschach and Yuri. Under the Holy Covenant Federation, a person's position, like these buildings, was planned and tightened by the church from birth. Education was provided by the church, jobs were assigned by the church, and faith and livelihood were inseparable. The 33rd hangar of the Gospel Department in the Seventh Ring District of the Lower City was the "workstation" assigned to trainee hunters like Rorschach and Yuri. The Rusty Nail's weathered flapping wings finally stopped beating, the landing gear slammed onto the gravel ground, the shock absorbers heaving and spewing hot white steam. "It must be the God of Machines' intervention, it didn't fall apart!" Yuri jumped out of the cockpit, patted the fuselage, and then gasped in distress. The flapping-wing aircraft was now a pitiful sight. A half-meter-long tear was ripped in the skin of the left wing, revealing the broken steel frame inside. A dent was imprinted on the outer shell of the steam boiler beneath the fuselage; if it had been ten centimeters deeper, they probably wouldn't have made it back. "Stop lamenting, get those two lumps of flesh off." Rorschach had changed into a black rubber apron, put on a gas mask and goggles, and was carrying a pneumatic skinning knife with a hose attached. This was the most important task for all hunters after a hunt—phlogiston extraction. Only by separating the still-active phlogiston from its body could it be called "blue gold." The two wind wing snakes, now only their upper halves remaining, were hoisted upside down on the crossbeam by pulleys, looking particularly pitiful. Their most valuable parts—the venom sacs, wing membranes, and most of their blood—were gone; now, all they could hope for were these scraps. Rorschach used his foot to move the filter basin directly underneath, catching the dripping blood. Rorschach didn't even glance at the two pairs of tattered wing membranes, cutting them off and tossing them into the waste bin. Next came the main event—skinning and extracting the fat. Rorschach skillfully wielded the skinning knife, inserting it into the severed chest cavity and slicing upwards. The skin peeled back, revealing a layer of fat on the neck that emitted a faint blue glow. This was the source of the mist-borne species' energy for survival in the highly toxic fog, and the only two valuable items in these two mutilated corpses . Rorschach switched to a warm knife, meticulously scraping off the blue fat and collecting it in a tin-lined wooden bucket, each cut extremely careful, not wasting a single gram. "Luckily, the snakes' brains are still intact," Yuri said, standing on the platform, scooping out the brain matter with a silver spoon. "With these two lumps, we can probably exchange them for two red coupons! That's a whole pound of real beef, or three dozen eggs!" While Yuri turned to process the brain matter, Rorschach began processing the snakes' livers. Suddenly, the knife tip paused, as if hitting something hard. [Record: December 11, 1894 AD, you discovered a winged serpent stone while dissecting it, White Collection +1] Rorschach's hand stopped. He glanced imperceptibly at Yuri on the platform—the blond youth was facing away from him, humming an unknown tune, intently stirring the brain fluid in the silver-plated crucible. Using his body as cover, Rorschach swiftly reached his left hand beneath the mangled liver, his fingers snapping shut. An object about the size of a thumb fell into his palm. He then casually slipped it into the inside pocket of his rubber apron. The whole process was fluid, as if he had merely wiped the blood off his hands. A few meters away, Yuri was completely unaware of this. After finishing with the brain fluid, he turned to look at Rorschach, who was focused on separating the liver from the surrounding connective tissue. He leaned closer, his tone eager. "Rorschach, look, although the Rusty Nail looks pretty bad, the core engine isn't damaged. Just replace two connecting rods and patch up some skin... it should be fixed in a couple of days at most." Rorschach didn't reply. "If we pull off one more big heist, we'll have enough work points! Then we can apply for bronze badge citizenship!" Yuri said, cleaning the table while observing his partner's expression. "Think about it, with your marksmanship and my flying skills, we definitely still have a chance!" Rorschach threw the separated liver into the mortar, slamming it down heavily. *Pfft.* The nineteen-year-old frowned slightly as he watched the tissue in the mortar gradually turn into a slurry. Yuri noticed his hesitation and quickly helped pour the liver into the silver-plated crucible, sprinkling in catalytic salt. "Once we get the bronze badge, we can move to the Upper City! No more eating that damned canned ant food, no more scrimping and saving for a few pieces of coal! We'll have rations of fresh vegetables and meat every month! We can drink real tea, and even get tobacco on holidays! That's what a human life is like!" Rorschach looked at the gradually boiling mixture in the crucible. Tiny blue spots were beginning to appear on the surface, a sign that phlogiston was being released. Reason told him that the safest option now was to rest and use the spoils to survive the winter. But he knew that if he refused now, his impulsive partner might do something stupid. "My head still hurts, Yuri," Rorschach finally spoke, pointing to the blood-soaked gauze on his forehead. "And the Rusty Nail isn't functioning well right now. This matter… I'll think about it when I get back." Yuri sensed the softening in his voice, and his eyes brightened slightly. "Okay! As long as you're willing to consider it!" Yuri glanced at the crucible; the extraction was mostly complete, only the final stirring and settling were left. "I'll oversee the rest of the work here. You go back and rest for a couple of days. I'll report the rusty rivet for repair and do a major maintenance check. As for whether to go out again... we'll talk about it after you've recovered." "Don't use cheap rivets; they're our lives at stake," Rorschach cautioned. "Don't worry! I'll use the best brass rivets!" Yuri grinned, pushing Rorschach out. "Go back to sleep." Rorschach waved his hand, turned, and walked out of the hangar. The biting cold wind, mixed with the smell of coal smoke, hit him, clearing his groggy mind somewhat. He tightened his collar, looking slightly weary, and walked towards the apartment, his right hand in the pocket of his work pants.
There, in his palm, was a warm, hard object.
It was a winged snake gallstone that he had secretly removed while processing the liver.
This was a standard studio apartment on the eleventh basement level, with a faint musty smell in the air.
The ceiling fan creaked, the white noise of the downtown residents falling asleep; when it stopped, it usually meant the ventilation ducts were blocked by some unknown soft-bodied creature.
(Please remember to find good Taiwanese books on the Taiwanese novel website, t͎͎k͎͎a͎͎n͎͎.c͎͎o͎͎m͎͎, a super convenient website for the fastest chapter updates.)
Luo Xia woke up from his slumber, groped in the darkness to light a kerosene lamp, and then fell asleep again.
In the dim light, one could see that the room's furnishings were sparse, bearing the rough marks of a male's life.
A single bed reinforced with steel pipes, a makeshift washbasin made from an abandoned boiler, a pair of homemade dumbbells welded from large gears, and an oak table.
On the table, there was an item that clashed in with its surroundings.
It was a silver-plated photo frame, its edges oxidized and blackened, but the glass was spotless.
The photo was black and white, the image frozen beside a swing, a burly young man pushing a little girl.
The girl's features were scrunched up in laughter, and she held half a lollipop in her hand.
Creak—
Luo Xia, lying on the bed, turned over and finally opened his eyes, his gaze falling squarely on the photo.
For no reason, he felt a warm current flow through his veins and into his heart, giving rise to an urge to go hunting and earn more work points.
He knew it all stemmed from the little girl in the photo, Wendy, the original owner's sister.
Dispelling the thought, he yawned, threw back the thin blanket woven from some unknown material, and got out of bed.
He stepped barefoot onto the concrete floor, his spine stretching out with a series of popping sounds.
This nineteen-year-old body was truly a gift from the Creator.
Despite the intense fighting he'd done yesterday, a single night's sleep had him feeling refreshed and full of energy again.
This body was far superior to his fragile physique from his previous life.
Luo Xia then remembered his purpose, reaching under his pillow with his right hand to feel around. His fingertips touched a hard object, confirming the Windwing Serpent Stone was still there.
Last night, back in his apartment, the exhaustion that felt like his entire skeleton was being torn apart had completely drained him, and he'd fallen into a deep sleep without a second thought. Only now could he finally calm down and delve into the connection between this hidden treasure and the so-called "collection" in the *Phnom Excavation Guide*.
With a slight thought, the deep blue book reappeared from the void.
The first page was still the 3D map, and now a green dot representing himself was amidst the layered gear-like buildings and steam pipes of Farwind Town.
With another thought, the image shrunk abruptly, revealing the near-death flight path from yesterday!
Luo Xia stared at the flight path, his heart pounding.
In this world without radar or radio, relying solely on compasses and maps for navigation, this was practically cheating.
Once you'd flown through it, the skies held no secrets!
Rorschach felt his mouth go dry. The map function on the first page was already this incredible; what would the later pages hold?
The second page contained his experiences.
There were only three entries: a successful hunt of the Wind Serpent yesterday, a failed hunt of the Sky Sailfish, and the discovery of a stone from its dissection.
[Detected green-quality item: Wind-winged Serpent stone]
[Include?]
Rorschach held the stone, considering his options.
Based on his years of hunting experience, this kind of stone from mist-borne species was usually a byproduct of phlogiston precipitation. While rare, it just meant a higher phlogiston content.
He might as well include it and see what use it was.
Without further hesitation, he tentatively pressed the stone against the page.
The stone sank into the parchment without any resistance, as if sinking into water.
"Plug and play!" Rorschach raised an eyebrow. "That's really convenient."
If he could swallow any large "collectibles" he encountered in the future, that would be incredibly convenient, since reality doesn't have storage backpacks or rings like in games.
He turned to the third page.
This page featured six geometric symbols, labeled: "Control," "Innovation," "Balance," "Enterprising," "Dedication," and "Seeking Knowledge."
(Image here)
Currently, only the fist symbol representing "Control" was colored, with the label "[Cognition: 1]" below it. The other five symbols were all grayed out and unusable.
[Hint: Increasing your Cognition on the Path of Control will enhance your organism's tolerance to phlogiston weapons and armor.]
[Hint: You can currently only progress on one path.]
Rorschach rubbed his chin; this wasn't hard to understand.
The six symbols likely corresponded to the "Extraordinary Professions" system of this world.
The original owner's lifelong dream was to pass the assessment and become an "Iron Guard" clad in steam-powered armor. The armor on the Iron Guard was made of "phlogiston alloy," forged with high-purity phlogiston, far stronger than ordinary steel, equipment only a formal airship expedition could afford.
The original owner had trained relentlessly for this goal, and that 1 point of understanding in "control" likely came from that.
Good.
In this world dominated by steam industry, high armor was indeed safer than glass cannons.
He continued to turn to the fourth page.
This was a newly unlocked skill tree, with only the two bottom icons flickering faintly, awaiting selection.
[Armor Breaker]: Your attacks have a 1% chance to forcibly break through the enemy's armor.
[Veteran]: Your control over all phlogiston-powered weapons is increased by 1%.
[Upgrade Requirement: Green Collectible *1]
Rorschach's gaze lingered between the two for three seconds.
Forced armor penetration sounded powerful, but 1% was too low... What was the difference between this and meeting a blind date with someone who was only focused on studying?
In comparison, the stability offered by [Veteran] was indeed tempting.
Rorschach's finger hovered above the [Veteran] icon; he felt that as soon as he clicked, the muscle memory for weapon use would be etched into his mind.
But ultimately, with a thought, the dark blue book slowly closed and dissipated into the air.
Let the bullets fly a little longer; he could lie still for two more days anyway, so he might as well wait and see. What if the situation changed in the next couple of days, or what new tricks the book had come up with?
After dealing with all this, a strong sense of hunger struck; after all, he hadn't eaten for about ten hours.
Rorschach went to the cupboard and began rummaging for food.
There wasn't much left.
A bag of synthetic starch, a can of ant-insect food.
This can of food was originally intended as a protein supplement after his intense workouts. It had an ant pattern printed on it, with the words "High-Protein Ant and Insect Meat Paste – Proudly Produced by the Holy Alliance Biological Academy" printed next to it.
According to Holy Alliance scientists, the raw material was a "giant breeding ant" specifically optimized for underground farming.
But based on his recollection, Luo Xia seriously doubted this official statement.
After all, a stiff tentacle would occasionally appear in that dark brown meat paste. He had reason to suspect that this thing was some distant relative of the American cockroach.
Looking at his pitiful possessions, Luo Xia couldn't help but mentally give the middle finger.
If it weren't for that damned "Flying Fat Intestine" intercepting him and swallowing most of his spoils, the complete Windwing Serpent he and Yuri brought back would have already been exchanged for a large sum of work points.
With enough work points, he could now easily go to the black market in the lower city and get half a pound of real cured meat, instead of being so penniless and forced to struggle with this pile of what appeared to be industrial waste.
Banishing the nauseating thought, he poured the synthetic starch into the enamel mug, added hot water, and then tore open a packet of "universal nutritional powder," sprinkling it in and stirring it into a paste.
He took a bite, and the strong, earthy smell assaulted his nostrils; the texture was rough and sticky, almost like chewing on a lump of wet mud.
While recovering from a high fever, his tongue had lost its sense of taste, and he hadn't realized how awful this stuff was.
To avoid abusing his taste buds, he hesitated for a moment before picking up the "ant and insect can."
As the tin lid was pried open, he took a spoonful, only to encounter a hard, unpleasant "surprise."
Luo Xia brought it to his eyes, his eyebrows twitching.
It was a rat's head, about the size of a thumb.
Most absurdly, this "ant and insect" had its eyes closed, its expression serene, its whiskers curled, and a slight smile playing on its lips. It was as if it hadn't been made into canned food, but rather a chef pushing a cart into the private room, waiting for Luo Xia to give it a five-star review.
"Ugh—"
Rorschach's throat tightened, and he almost spat all the starch paste he had just eaten back into the jar.
The air in the lower part of Yuanfeng Town always carried a sulfurous smell, and in winter, a visible grayish-yellow mist could be seen drifting through the streets.
The cold wind was like a dull knife, tirelessly cutting the faces of every passerby. Along the
streets
, pipes were wrapped in asbestos layers; the heat seeping from the seams condensed quickly upon contact with the cold air, turning into icicles that hung in rows and strings.
Most pedestrians were hunched over, wearing thick gray work clothes, their faces a sallow, malnourished yellow.
When Rorschach's nearly 1.9-meter-tall frame passed by, the crowd automatically parted to the sides. In this world where the lower classes relied on physical labor to earn work points, strength itself was a status.
Rorschach wrapped his coat tighter around himself. It was a winter coat pieced together from recycled synthetic fibers and coarse canvas. Despite its pungent odor and stiff texture, it kept him from freezing in the sub-zero temperatures.
Relying on his memory, he turned into an alley behind the steam hub.
This was Farwind Town's "Free Exchange Point," or, to put it more bluntly, the black market.
Looking at the bustling alleyway filled with the sounds of steam and vendors, Rorschach couldn't help but feel a pang of感慨 (gan3kai3, a complex feeling of mixed emotions, including admiration and awe).
The Covenant Federation had been established for forty years ago. The reason it could take in countless refugees in the resource-scarce apocalypse and firmly occupy most of the high-altitude mountains of the Ross region was due to its strict yet effective founding policy—the fourteen-level citizenship system.
This system precisely allocated survival quotas based on citizen level.
For example, Rorschach, as a level twelve apprentice hunter, was already at the top of the "Iron Badge Citizen" level, but he still wasn't eligible for even a single "red coupon" representing natural meat or a "green coupon" representing fresh fruits and vegetables.
While the allocation quotas calculated by countless difference engines by the Covenant Federation ensured the continuation of the human population, they ultimately could not satisfy the fragmented desires of every individual.
The Church was well aware of this, and thus this tacitly allowed gray vein existed as a management buffer.
The familiar sign before him stopped Rorschach's thoughts: "Ivan's Grocery Store," Rorschach's most frequented shop.
Pushing open the door, Rorschach felt a wave of warmth wash over him.
Behind the counter, old Ivan was bent over, pressing the "Steam-Powered Armor Maintenance Manual" with his scratched mechanical prosthetic arm, his right hand holding a magnifying glass as he carefully studied it.
As Yuri's father, old Ivan had practically watched Rorschach grow up.
In the years after Rorschach's parents' accidental death, he often fed Rorschach at his family's grocery store; even the dumbbells in Rorschach's family were made there.
"Holy God, Rorschach! How was your rest?" Old Ivan looked up, his eyes first showing surprise beneath his sparse, graying hair, then his face hardened. "That brat Yuri said you guys were being targeted by the Sky Sailfish. Logically speaking, that altitude in the air doesn't meet the safety procedures for trainee hunters at all! You were practically gambling with your life, understand?"
"It was an accident," Rorschach replied casually.
Old Ivan snorted. "An accident? People who rely on luck in the fog tide end up as monster excrement! Anyway, what brings you here today? Speaking of which, you haven't visited Wendy at the Tzu Chi Hospital in a while, have you? Are you going to buy that little girl some snacks?"
As he spoke, he turned and rummaged through his things. "I just got a batch of synthetic dried fruit. Although the sugar is industrial saccharin, the taste is passable."
Rorschach's heart skipped a beat, feeling a little guilty. "I'm planning to go tomorrow. Today… I have other things to take care of."
He then pulled out the can of "added" ant-insect food from his pocket.
The lid was half-open, revealing a rat's head amidst a mass of dark brown worm-like flesh.
Old Ivan jumped to his feet. "A rat's head?! This is real protein, rich in cartilage and calcium. This is something that can't grow in those fermentation tanks at the Saint Union factory. Kid, you've hit the jackpot!"
In the Lower City, synthetic starch only ensured people didn't starve; for those seeking sustenance, rats and sparrows were the regulars.
"I want to exchange for a red ration coupon," Rorschach said bluntly, his gaze sweeping over the goods locked in cages behind the counter. "Or half a pound of real meat. Pork, beef, even monster meat with a trace of phlogiston will do."
Old Ivan was somewhat surprised, and he habitually began to ramble: "Red coupon? Rorschach, you should be saving your work points to exchange for a better hunting rifle. Meat is for those with means. Just this week, the listed price for a red coupon is twenty-two work points, while your blue fuel coupon—"
He quickly flipped through the mechanical calculator on the counter, "because it's almost spring, fuel demand is decreasing, and the exchange rate is falling. As for this rat head, although it's rare, it's worth at most three cans of ant food."
The calculator spat out a narrow strip of paper. Old Ivan sighed and pushed the package in front of Rorschach. "What you have isn't even enough to buy half a pound of pig offal. Listen to me, get something more substantial."
Rorschach looked at the number, wanting to say something, but a spasm shot through his stomach—his stomach was protesting.
"Then tell me what I can get in return."
Old Ivan looked at Rorschach's slightly pale face, remained silent for a moment, and finally softened.
He bent down and pulled two eggs from a pile of cotton wool at the bottom of the counter, their shells still covered in chicken droppings.
But to Rorschach, they were brighter than the sun.
"A can of rat head, plus your blue fuel coupon, for two eggs." Old Ivan lowered his voice. "If you leave the eggshells with me, I can also lend you a pot and two drops of vegetable oil for free. You know, eggshell powder is an excellent feed additive; some chicken farmers are short of it."
Rorschach's Adam's apple bobbed; the burning hunger in his stomach urged him to consume some calories immediately.
Besides, the roads in the lower town are rugged; if he were to get bumped and broken on the way back, he'd have nowhere to turn for help.
"Deal."
Old Ivan led Rorschach to a side room, a makeshift kitchen with a cast-iron frying pan on a coal stove.
He held a small brown bottle in his right hand, using a dropper to sparingly squeeze out a tiny amount of oil.
One drop, two drops.
The oil landed on the scalding iron pan, forming a thin film that instantly released a fragrant aroma.
Rorschach picked up an egg and gently tapped it against the edge of the pan.
With a crack, the egg white slid down.
The egg white expanded rapidly upon contact with the hot oil, golden-brown bubbles rising at the edges.
Then, the golden-red yolk settled in the center.
"Sizzle—"
The sound was heavenly.
A rich, caramelized aroma exploded in the narrow shop.
This was the smell of proteins activated by the Maillard reaction, violently tearing through the soot and musty smell that filled the air, piercing straight into the nostrils.
The noise outside the shop abruptly ceased.
Passersby stopped and turned their heads, all looking towards the depths of the shop. The miner stopped in his tracks, his nostrils flaring, and the sound of him swallowing saliva filled the air. Several figures unconsciously took half a step forward.