That night.
West of the Second Ring, artillery fire and gunshots rang out without pause as mercenaries slaughtered the swarming mutants under the cover of airstrikes and bombardment.
Meanwhile, the north, which had been in an uproar all night yesterday, was strangely quiet tonight.
Over ten kilometers away, with a forest of steel buildings in between, gunfire was certainly impossible to hear, but the explosions should at least have carried faintly over.
Still, Zhao Yongxu did not find it strange at all.
A bunch of country bumpkins fighting with fire pokers—if they could handle the tide, that would have been the strange thing.
That battle last night must have exhausted all their strength. Even if they had not been swallowed by the surging tide, they had probably tucked their tails between their legs and run.
Gazing at the silent night sky to the north, a hint of contempt flashed through his eyes.
"What a bunch of idiots."
They did not have the ability, yet they did not know enough to stay far away. Were they not just asking for trouble?
Everyone knew that the tide moved toward areas with dense populations and fewer slime mold mutants. Whether it was population growth or large-scale eradication of slime mold mutants, both accumulated something called "aggro."
Of course, it was normal for those country bumpkins not to know that.
At most, their heads could hold half a copy of Boulder City Voice's "Guide to Getting Rich." They might not even recognize many words, so how much could they possibly know?
In his view, those people were no different in essence from the beggars asking for food outside Boulder City's gates. They could even be called the same kind of trash.
Drawing his gaze back from the north, Zhao Yongxu, standing by the window