Extreme Cold Era: Shelter Don't Keep Waste-Chapter 901 - 129

Jiang Bo'Er was smashed out of the drainage pipe by Beifa's punch and then forcibly dragged out of the narrow pipe.

The metal pipe crumpled like fragile tissue paper under the iron fists of the alchemical maid, with remnants of Jiang Bo'Er's torn clothing hanging on the twisted edges of the pipe.

Even when Beifa's cold hand clamped around his neck, the frail youth still clung tightly to the rusted metal container.

His knuckles turned white from excessive force, and his nails dug deeply into his palms, drawing blood.

As Beifa seized the container, she could even hear the brittle snap of his finger bones breaking. Yet, the boy never let go—Beifa had to cruelly pry his clenched fingers, one by one.

For Beifa, compassion was a non-existent data parameter.

Though her precise differential core could compute complex logic, it was merely the mechanical reasoning given to her by Perfikot to facilitate executing orders.

What was heartbreaking sobbing and trembling to humans was mere unrecorded behavior data in Beifa's eyes.

So when Jiang Bo'Er's scratch-covered face was drenched in tears, and his broken fingers spasmed in the cold wind, Beifa simply kept her grip on his neck, dragging him to the plaza outside the Energy Tower without choking him to death. 𝚏𝕣𝐞𝗲𝐰𝕖𝐛𝐧𝕠𝕧𝚎𝚕.𝐜𝚘𝗺

She executed the "capture saboteurs" command with precision, dragging the boy across the icy ground like cargo.

Under the glaring searchlights of the Energy Tower, Jiang Bo'Er lay curled up in the center of the plaza, the accumulating snow gradually stained dark red with blood, while the maid commander watched expressionlessly.

In a way, Beifa was still showing mercy; otherwise, it wouldn't take her a minute to kill everyone here, and that's assuming she would even need the time to locate these people.

By this time, the captured insurgents and saboteurs were continuously escorted to the center of the plaza, piled haphazardly like discarded goods.

Their number was in the dozens, far exceeding the garrison commander's expectations.

He had originally thought that even if there were insurgents, at most, there would be three or five desperadoes. After all, this was genuine sabotage, as opposed to the drunks in taverns grumbling and cursing the authorities.

Capture meant beheading; who would risk their barely tolerable life just to court death?

But reality had slapped him hard—the ragged, emaciated Frenchmen before him were some half-grown children, some wrinkled elders, and even a few frail women.

Most had vacant eyes, but a few stared at the garrison soldiers with unabated fury in their eyes.

Clearly, the commander chose to ignore the most crucial fact—the Frenchmen had nothing left to lose.

When hunger and cold became the norm, when every last shred of hope was crushed, death might well become a form of release for them.

When the last insurgent was brutally dragged into the plaza, tossed in the snow like a ragged sack, Perfikot's visage finally appeared before the crowd.

Yet, it was still just her exquisite substitute mannequin—a body of brass gears and alchemical joints stood motionless in the cold wind, its face eerily perfect and mechanical in indifference.

Through the alchemical device of mental resonance, Perfikot watched these captured prey through the mannequin's eyes from her distant laboratory.

Most were dressed in rags, the thin fabric providing no defense against the harsh cold of the Northern Territory, their exposed skin a mottled blue and purple from the freeze.

Long-term malnourishment had left their cheeks hollow, eye sockets sunken, resembling a group of undead resurrected from the grave.

Many were covered in thick layers of coal dust and grime, obscuring their original complexion, as if they were part of this industrial city.

Some of the relatively more robust had unhealed lash scars and bruises on their arms and backs—the shape and position of these old wounds were immediately recognized by Perfikot as "souvenirs" from the suppression of a mining riot.

Clearly, many in this group were the insurgents who had escaped the mines, and the supposedly vigilant garrison had let them waltz right into the city?

This realization made the corner of Perfikot's mannequin's mouth twitch.

Though the substitute couldn't fully mimic her expressions, the vexation transmitted from the mental link was almost tangible—what on earth were Marsel's garrison doing?

Right after curbing a riot, they let this pack of rats infiltrate the city? So your idea of "martial law" is just a front?

Perfikot suppressed the harsh mockery on the tip of her tongue, the mannequin's fingers unconsciously tapping the cane, producing a light metallic clang.

She observed the shivering prisoners in the plaza through the mannequin's cold eyes, then glanced at the heavily armed yet noticeably lax garrison soldiers, and suddenly understood why Marsel ended up in its current sorry state.

While the Empire's ruthless exploitation was undoubtedly the root cause, the corrupt governors and officers were the final straw that crushed this city.

They greedily extracted every bit of profit, yet couldn't be bothered to maintain even the most basic order; they indulged in privileges and luxury, indifferent to the lives and deaths of the people under their rule.

Perfikot could even imagine those corpulent officials huddled in their warm mansions at this very moment, counting their pilfered funds, turning a deaf ear to the turmoil in the city.

"Ah, the Empire is truly blessed to have you lot!"

The mannequin perfectly replicated her sigh, down to the subtle curve of sarcasm at the corner of the mouth.

This statement was both a satire of the wastrels before her and an expression of her helplessness at the current situation—after all, under the governance of these vermin, it was a miracle Marsel had not fully collapsed yet.

She had originally thought that while they were corrupt, they at least had basic competence; but now it seemed they lacked even that, failing to perform even their most elementary duties assigned by the Empire.

She even considered whether to conduct a sweeping purge in Marsel, clearing out these parasites, perhaps boosting the city's efficiency?

Although her plan required stability, it did not mean she needed the stability maintained by this group of vermin.

If it could enhance operational efficiency, she wouldn't mind replacing these corrupt bureaucrats with others.

And perhaps it would even help quell the explosive public dissent brewing within the city?