Malin sent a message to his little leopard, telling her that he was going to explore the sewers, and then followed Bill and his group into the sewer. To prevent his clothing from being a hindrance during this exploration, Malin specifically took out his ghillie suit, then used a spell formation to combine the ghillie suit with his clothes and the military uniform obtained from Thainan’s army, making some adjustments with the spell formation—the ragged strips of the ghillie suit were integrated into the military uniform as stitching material, and the cotton clothing he was wearing was deliberately made to look ragged with added strips, particularly the fishing hat on Malin’s head, where the once beautiful checks were no longer visible, replaced by a look that seemed like it was pieced together with dozens of fabric and leather scraps. "If I hadn’t watched you do all this, I would really envy you for having such a talented mother, because I can hardly mend my own clothes," Rochelle, the black lady, said with some envy as she looked at Malin’s change of outfit. Malin smiled: "I’m curious, you all seem to be disabled." The word "disabled" wasn’t understood by Bill and the others, but after Malin explained the reason for this term, a hint of bitterness appeared on Bill’s face: "It’s hard for someone as transcendent as you to understand how we survivors have lived on, facing various kinds of pollution, and in many survivor residential areas and campsites, certain mutations aren’t even considered non-human. Three years after the Great Devastation, nuclear missiles swept across the North America region, and far more people died from radiation illness than from the mouths of those monsters." "Who summoned the nuclear missiles?" Malin was a bit curious. "The Chosen, the Savior and Gravedigger of this world," Bill said, and Zoe, one of the younger duo, turned her head: "Bill, don’t use so-called truths locked in a stasis field thousands of years ago to deceive this strong one, we’ve already lost our history, face it, old man." The girl’s words, which were almost offensive, didn’t anger the old man; he just sighed. Malin didn’t express any opinion; to him, neither a thousand prophecies nor stories could compare to what he’d seen with his own eyes. If there really was a Savior, maybe Malin would find something when he went to Washington—after all, he heard it was bombed like a radioactive wasteland game. As Bill’s group was about to enter the camp where they were based, Malin specifically prepared four deer legs for them—this was the most precious trading item in the camp, and even if someone managed to get fresh meat, Bill’s group’s four deer legs would definitely be the top tribute of this hunt. So when all four of Bill’s group carried the deer legs to the camp entrance, a snaggle-tooth managing the entrance looked them over, then glanced at Malin. "Who’s this kid? I don’t remember you leaving with five people," he didn’t open the door but looked at Malin warily. Malin could see the scenery outside from there—after entering the entrance, it seemed to be a place similar to a subway waiting hall, with at least three fire points facing the entrance. Two were invisible to Malin, but he saw one with a futuristic-looking setup. "Survivor outside," when negotiations were needed, Bill stepped forward, pointing at Malin: "Snaggle-tooth, this is a survivor who’s been living in the outside world until now." The snaggle-tooth named fellow looked Malin up and down, who was holding a stitched-together revolver in his hand, then grinned broadly: "You say he’s a survivor, but this tender-skinned little kid is a survivor, can he shoot?" The survivors around the fire point behind the door started laughing. Malin also laughed, then snapped his empty left hand. A flame danced at his fingertip. Snaggle-tooth’s smile froze instantly. He saw that when the flame on Malin’s fingertip jumped to another finger, it turned into an ice-forged spirit, which spun a few times on Malin’s fingertips, and when it leapt to a smaller fingertip, it turned back into a flame. "Ah... I, I say that’s enough, kid, welcome to Stafford Survivor Camp," Snaggle-tooth said, somewhat sheepishly making way for the entrance but still stopped everyone: "Wait, I must notify Jack, that kid must come and have a look, it’s the rule, old Bill." Malin glanced at old Bill, who nodded. "Mr. Malin, Jack is our camp’s Observer, he has the ability to see all truths beneath the surface, you’ll need to stay here." "Alright, indeed suspicion is the path to survival," Malin nodded to show he didn’t mind. Jack was called from his bed. As an old fellow, he’s the longest-living transcendent in the camp, not because of extraordinary power, quite the opposite, he’s the weakest, without strong talents other than good eyes, he virtually does nothing, but because his talents were good, his three children inherited them, so Jack Stafford, the only one in the Stafford camp with the noble surname of Stafford who isn’t the Camp Master—without Jack’s ability, the camp would probably be infiltrated in minutes by Chaos’s hounds or unknown monsters, so at seventy-two, he could snooze without working.