Still, it’s not too bad this way. I heard their plantation rises up to a plateau with just one opening, equipped with a few automated turrets, an operable lift-and-fall protective wall, and some watchtowers with ultraviolet lights for night watchers. In terms of safety, the average annual death rate for plantation civilians is 1.27 people per year. This includes about 0.71 people dying annually from operational errors—like with generators. Although they seem pretty safe to Malin, you can’t stop some average illiterates from getting themselves killed every now and then, even if professional electricians teach these civilians how to use them every time. Electrocution deaths are the most common, then there are the more unusual ones—such as being hit by excessive water pressure from sprinklers that rupture carotid arteries, getting dragged under seeding machines, or getting bundled with hay during harvest. In any case, what Malin heard from the guard captain about these ways of dying was very shocking. But on reflection, in this day and age, letting all civilians have access to books to read is inherently a luxury idea. In the Westland, in the Eastern Land, it’s already a luxury, let alone in North America, in the subway, where civilians living to 50 is a luxury in itself. As he bid farewell to the captain, Malin tossed him a gem he had collected before, letting him and his team have some extra income. Then, he waved and left the guards who were thanking him. Malin did not like these Mortals’ gratitude towards him, because he thought he was just giving a small favor. Their gratitude was because their lives were too hard, so much so that their gratitude for the gifts of the strong surpassed what they should have been. Sighing heavily, Malin thought to himself, of course, he knew their gratitude was genuinely heartfelt because it allowed them to live a bit better. In this age, living a bit better is already a luxury thought. Malin comforted himself, walked past the residential area, and returned to the front of the defensive line. In the residential area, there were some guards in red uniforms, and it seemed, from their functionality, that they were the Gendarmerie, maintaining order and preventing words or speculations of intentional or accidental sources, while the guards in black uniforms were more like Elite special forces, like Robinson before, old Jack’s eldest son. By the way, Malin also asked Tulin, who traveled south from the core zone through Amotke Station Camp to Stafford Camp, to confirm whether Malin’s existence was real or fake. This Mage stated that before seeing Malin’s strength, his only doubt was whether Malin was real or just a Chaos in disguise. He didn’t consider whether the camp was deceiving because he thought that guy named Robinson and his father, no matter how blind, couldn’t conspire with the Camp Master to deceive people. Even though Robinson also had the surname Stafford, deceiving like that would lead to a massive cleanup if the powerful from the core zone came, so either this was true, or he and his father had already been transformed by Chaos. So whether they were lying no longer mattered, because the camp had already fallen, and whether they lied was no longer important. Malin felt the situation was really as Tulin said. Although it sounded a bit disheartening, being in the subway, that’s pretty much the situation, so Tulin took the risk to achieve half-step Legendary strength with Hal, and he initially served in the North for two years, then returned to the core zone for leave, and because he almost had enough Points, he came with Hal. "This time when I go back, I’ll definitely have enough Points, considering I came back on leave from the North and then encountered this situation in the South, I can’t figure out whether I’m unlucky or lucky." Sitting by the campfire, Tulin expressed his regret and lament to Malin. On this, Hal had a completely different view. The Gnome was short on Points even more, but because he always did this kind of risky work, his Points accumulation rate was much faster than Tulin’s: "Whether serving in the North or sitting idly on the southern defensive line, both involve betting on our heads for a future, Sir Malin. It’s precisely because you were willing to teach us some theoretical knowledge that I was so delighted by your generosity, because such knowledge requires Points and camp currency to obtain in our place." "Camp currency, I’ve heard your camp currency is all different?" "Yes, the core zone uses Points, but each camp has different camp currency. As for why, after all, we were once the United States." When mentioning this, Tulin and Hal both laughed knowingly. Malin laughed too. These people, it seems the civilians in the outer camps are not aware of their past, or the pressure of living discourages them from spending time to understand, while those living in the core zone, the Transcendents, all know. "By the way, Sir Malin, what is your Westland like? Honestly, we’re really curious." Tulin and Hal’s curiosity, to Malin, seemed without purpose. With that in mind, Malin introduced briefly. When they heard Malin was the Duke of Carterburg, Tulin and Hal looked at their map and then said they couldn’t find a place called Carterburg on the old world map. So Malin had to explain the origin of Carterburg. After hearing Malin, these two Mages sighed as well. Everyone lived hard lives, but Malin’s ducal status and powerful Legendary strength are indeed deserving, especially when they heard Carterburg now has a population of hundreds of thousands, and the cities of Westland are above ground, which sparked great curiosity and longing for Tulin and Hal. Malin was initially puzzled, but after thinking... it’s understandable, they spent their lives with very few chances to see sunlight, so they would naturally have curiosity and longing. "If there’s a chance in the future, I’ll definitely visit Carterburg with Tulin. I hope, Duke, you’ll take care of us country bumpkins then." After visiting Malin’s Mage’s Residence and witnessing Malin’s power, Hal became Malin’s fan. Malin also didn’t tell them about his other identities—backed by his Legendary Mage status, he only said he was a duke, leaving these two Mages with little choice but to believe. As for why not mention other identities, Malin felt that announcing titles to bumpkins had no meaning—they wouldn’t understand, wouldn’t fully believe, and knowing they’re bumpkins, there’s no way to boast or pretend anyway. What’s the point? When night deepened, Tulin and Hal took charge of the patrol, bringing their team to start their work, while Malin volunteered to check in front of the defense line. In Malin’s imagination, perhaps some bold from the southern Chaos might sneak in, but in reality, Malin found nothing. No Vengeful Spirits or foreign creatures, Malin even discovered a small blocked hole—after asking the guards, they had no idea, even thinking their team hadn’t noticed the hole earlier. Malin inspected the hole and found traces of small creature activity, then the guards identified these tracks as left by a type of weasel with Illusion Technique Transcendent abilities. The guards said these little things were quite troublesome because they would steal food. The good news was these guys seemed to have abandoned their passage, though the reason was unknown. The guards looked very happy. But they didn’t know, Malin was very angry. It’s not like I’m a stoat-eating devil, you little bastards, are you really that afraid of me? As Malin turned to leave angrily, he glanced back into the depths of the tunnel.