"Are you from that monster world?" a sentry shouted.
"Monster world? No, it's called Radiation. You can also call it the Wasteland. Thank God we found you," the large merchant called back.
"Praise the darkness for letting us find you," the sentry said irritably.
"Don't say that. When one person's pain is shared by two, it becomes half as painful," the merchant said with a cheeky grin.
A bullet struck the ground in front of him, but the large merchant was not frightened at all. He even took out a large picture magazine and showed it to the soldiers.
The soldiers all had good eyesight, and the fortress gates soon quietly opened.
Cockroaches, ghouls, hunting dogs—like the north wind in winter, they sought to strip the suits from people's bodies, yet achieved the opposite. The sturdy iron gates of the fortress now opened of their own accord before a single picture magazine.
The soldiers quickly began doing business with the merchant.
They traded bullets and canned food for cigarettes, drinks, and picture magazines.
By the time Major noticed, they had already completed three rounds of trade...
Major flew into a rage. "What if they're enemies?"
He had never expected his own soldiers to be so undisciplined.
Perhaps it had something to do with the painful deaths they had just experienced. Discipline could no longer restrain them.
"What enemy would disguise themselves as merchants? Who would ever do business with them afterward?" a soldier asked in confusion.
"Why wouldn't they?" Major recalled books he had read and rebuked him. "Close the gates immediately. Inspect the traded goods. Only take them once they're cleared."
In the end, they really did find a problem: the drinks contained some radiation.
The Wasteland merchants claimed they were innocent. Everything was like that where they came