Although the bureaucratic system could still maintain basic operations through the inertia built up over the years, the problems exposed by this Collapse disaster could not be ignored.
In particular, the potential crisis caused by missing administrators, which might affect tax collection for the next quarter, deeply worried Moros.
Others might not know, but how could the necromancer not?
Compared to the later Great Collapses, each more shocking than the last, the hallmark of the Eighth Great Collapse—Sleeping Sickness—had claimed nearly a hundred million lives, yet it was far from deserving the title of the most magnificent disaster.
Leaving aside the distant future, the next Great Collapse alone would spread across a far wider area and have a far deeper impact, clearly indicating that it would vastly surpass the Eighth Great Collapse in brutality.
In the vast historical tapestry of the Native World, the artificial black hole unleashed by the Ninth Herrscher: Herrscher of Rock had swallowed the entire Mu Continent.
Compared to that, what did the Sleeping Sickness of the Eighth Great Collapse even count for?
Now, the Eighth Great Collapse had already revealed signs of instability within the bureaucratic system under the necromancer's command, forcing him to personally step in and deal with it.
So when the storm of the Ninth Great Collapse truly swept in, what would become of the administrative system under the necromancer's command?
Moros truly had no confidence in the answer.
To prevent future Great Collapses from crushing the ruling system he had built, he needed to take decisive and effective measures.
The necromancer's demands were simple and direct.
He only hoped that before the shadow of Final Judgment descended upon this planet, the tax revenue from his territory would remain stable without suffering any drastic decline.
This obsession with stable tax revenue drove