Chapter 480 The times are changing too fast

Regardless of what a skilled carpenter might think after seeing the "Tractor of the Kingdom of Gutaf," the lizardmen of the Southwest Swamp had no intention of wasting this steel monster.

The old chieftain Tartak stood on a slightly raised hill at the edge of the tribal camp, his cloudy eyes wide open, his wrinkled chin almost touching the ground.

He stood like a stone statue weathered for a thousand years, staring blankly at the bustling scene below, as if he had forgotten to breathe.

In just one day, this lifeless swamp was completely transformed.

The day after the death of the merman tyrant named Kunga, the Campbellian construction crews tamped down the path connecting the southwestern swamp to the outside world into a straight dirt road, and a massive construction crew surged in like a tidal wave.

They brought noise, fireworks, and even more so, the unimaginable spectacle of the local savage lizard people—

A steel monster roared deafeningly, swinging its long neck and massive iron claws, each swing easily tearing through the soft yet stubborn mud.

That's not all.

Even the bravest warriors in the tribe were helpless against the silted-up riverbed, as fragile as a rotten log in its presence.

The waterway that used to require hundreds of people and an entire rainy season to barely clear was completed in just one morning!

Unrefined swamps are unsuitable for most crops due to lack of oxygen and supersaturated soil moisture, but they are rich in organic matter.

If the stagnant water in the swamps can be drained and scientifically managed, the land in the southwestern swamps could indeed become fertile.

The Campbellians don't understand science, but the players from another world know it all too well!

Now is the time to grab land!

For Your Majesty the Demon King!

Tartak's surprise wasn't over yet. The Invincible Group's capabilities weren't limited to excavators; they also moved the metal supports used to lift the buckets into the swamp.

These metal supports weren't for digging holes, but rather for lifting the logs that were being transported into the swamp and placing them precisely in the designated locations.

This task originally required a huge amount of manpower, much like dredging a clogged river. But now, the most strenuous work seems to have become the easiest job?

Aside from their advanced tools, those guys, who were significantly taller than Campbells, also radiated a light of faith.

They shouted slogans he couldn't understand, their voices excited and loud, as if they contained some kind of mysterious power!

"Oh my god! Expansion pack! Expansion pack! I love the dog planner!"

"Fuck it! Double contribution points, guys! Plus, there's a ghost money reward! This time the prize is way bigger than Wheat Field Village!"

"Holy crap—why are there so many people here? Which bastard got the nerve to write a guide on the official website again?!"

Although he couldn't understand what they were saying, Tartak could feel their almost insane enthusiasm, which made him feel ashamed.

Those human laborers who appeared to be Campbellians seemed to have been influenced by these people and infected by the fervent atmosphere.

This time, Tartag understood.

Most of the lizardmen in the southwestern swamps can speak some human languages; otherwise, he wouldn't know so much about Thunder City.

"For Saint Sith!"

"For His Highness Edward!"

"For the land! For my wife and children—"

There are also houses in the suburbs of Thunder City!

Amidst the roar of the steel behemoth and the shouts of the crowd, uniquely designed and sturdy wooden buildings rose from the ground at an unimaginable speed.

Mr. Sak Gale from the United Kingdom of Gutaf explained that these wooden houses, called stilt houses, are best suited to the humid environment here.

As for why the lizardmen needed to protect themselves from moisture, that remained a mystery. Tartak was too embarrassed to ask, and Mr. Nasak didn't explain it to them either.

Aside from the tall base and the sharply defined main structure, the roofs of these wooden houses also incorporate an artistic style similar to that of the "St. Clement's Cathedral"—towering and slender, heavy and mysterious, as if a miracle descended by some mad god.

[Jade-faced Hand-tired King] ultimately incorporated his understanding of Gothic aesthetics into the Lizardmen's architecture, although the actual effect looked more like a murloc's "shack".

Actually, it doesn't really matter.

Even the worst art modeling is still a completely new building compared to the original mud huts of the River Bend Tribal Alliance.

Several stone lizard elders, equally stunned by the sight before them, trembled as they approached Tartak, their faces a mixture of indescribable emotion and awe.

"Chief..."

"You are simply...so farsighted!"

"Truly a wise man, one in a thousand years, among our Stone Lizard clan! Those damned humans actually agreed to build houses for us for free! We are extremely honored to have a chief like you!"

The elders spoke excitedly, their eyes filled with admiration as they looked at Tartak. Tartak's lips curled up in a smile, his shrewd face bearing a hint of amusement.

Of course, it's impossible to give it away for free.

However, there are still many different opinions on how to make the payment.

A piece of unwanted rotten wood left to rot in the swamp, or sold outside and split 40/60, with the remaining 20% ​​shared with the tribe, is certainly a good thing for ordinary members of the Stone Lizard tribe.

Tartag and Kunga are different.

Kunga would rather let the meat rot in the pot than let it go to waste, as long as it all belonged to him. Even if he had to sell it, he would keep all the profits, even a quarter of it, for himself.

But Tartak was, after all, a local lizardman, and he truly loved this land, not just considered it his personal domain. He knew perfectly well that it was better to find factory jobs for the young men of his tribe who followed Kunga in his campaigns; the former would involve bloodshed, while the latter would only require sweat.

Mr. Sak, on behalf of the United Kingdom of Gutaf, provided him with a batch of aid loans with negligible interest rates, and he immediately used half of the money to improve the tribe's infrastructure.

This includes dredging waterways and repairing roads, as well as moving clansmen into new houses.

As for what to do with the remaining half of the loan...

That's a different story.

"It's truly incredible," one elder said with envy, also marveling to himself, "Have the humans outside... really become this powerful?"

"That idiot Kunga! He actually dared to challenge such an existence, he was truly courting death!" The third elder spat, his tone filled with lingering fear and relief. "Fortunately, our chieftain is wise and followed the trend of... the times!"

The elders showered the chieftain with praise, elevating him to unprecedented heights.

Only one elder, who looked younger, frowned and asked a question that puzzled him greatly.

"But... Chief, I still don't understand. Didn't that winged messenger say that the Dragon God's people are coming to take us home? They're building all these houses here now, are they going to take them with them?"

That's a rather immature question.

A meaningful smile appeared on Tartak's wrinkled old face, showing no trace of the confusion he had displayed when he met Mr. Sack earlier.

“Korgak, my child, it doesn’t matter whether the Dragon God’s people take us home or not… Do you really think the continent of Gana is a blessed land? If that’s the case, then the ones coming to take us are not the Dragon God’s messengers, but the Dragon God himself.”

The elders were taken aback. Some of the lizardmen understood the meaning of the words, while others wore expressions of confusion.

Tartag offered no explanation, his murky gaze sweeping over the vibrant construction site below, a glint of intelligence in his eyes.

What they say is completely unimportant.

"Whether they are servants of the Dragon God or lackeys of Saint Sith, whether they are sworn enemies or close friends, it's all a matter of a few words... What really matters is what they have brought us and where they will lead us."

Tartag knew perfectly well that compared to Grand Duke Edward and the King of that so-called Gutaf United Kingdom, he and his people were nothing more than insignificant figures. They weren't even qualified to sit at the end of the long table and listen, let alone play at the table.

He might not even be able to see clearly how many people were sitting at the table, or who the two people actually arm wrestling were.

If you insist on squeezing onto the table, that's what will happen to Kunga.

But even ordinary people have their own way of living.

Although the Stone Lizard clan cannot control their own destiny, they can easily seize the opportunities of the times and cling to the powerful figures who have come to them.

Compared to the Campbells who were fighting in the north and south, they were perhaps even more fortunate.

At least Tartag had no grand ambitions; he neither wanted to become a great king like Edward nor wanted to force his way onto a table that didn't belong to him.

He could close his eyes in peace as long as his people were no longer starving and freezing, no longer living in those leaky shacks that let in the rain in winter and the wind in summer.

...

Tartagh is a sober chieftain.

However, not all members of the River Bend Tribal Alliance are conscious lizardmen; among them are the merfolk who have firmly established themselves within the entire alliance.

Kunja's death did not deter them; instead, it provoked a backlash from the Merfolk tribe.

His most stubborn remnants, the "Greyfin Tribe," and several ancient merfolk tribes that had hated land-dwelling races for generations refused to accept the so-called "new era."

However, they were clever enough to know that they had no chance against Campbell's cavalry, so they broke up into smaller groups and scattered throughout the swamp, hiding in dark waterways and deep in the woods, and launched a sneak attack on the players' convoy of building materials under the cover of night.

It has to be said that the combat power of life skill players is indeed not very good. If Brother [One Leaf Knows Autumn] were here, they probably wouldn't even have a chance to ambush.

The Campbells were caught off guard.

However, what these merfolk couldn't understand for the time being was that the group of big, dumb guys, instead of being afraid after losing several of their companions, erupted with "morbid excitement," howling in a language they couldn't understand, and then organized a larger "punitive expedition" to rush back.

"Let's grind monsters, brothers!"

"The NPCs attacked first! Fight back!"

"Oh my gosh! My experience! It's all mine!"

"Red names! They're lizardman raiders! I saw them! Their names are in red!"

The gangsters outside Thunder City were no match for them, and the lizardmen in the swamp were certainly no match for them either.

In particular, one "brilliant" individual hid a rotary machine gun on a supply vehicle, deliberately feigning a lack of defenses to lure the merfolk raiders into an invasion.

When the group of naive and ignorant fools got closer, the guy suddenly came back to life, shook the handle and fired, knocking the merman raiders into a daze.

The bullets rained down like a storm!

The lizardmen of the Old World encountered the same baptism that the Archangel Dragon Kingdom had once experienced.

These pirates, who roamed the whirlpool sea, had never seen such terrifying firepower before. They thought they were being attacked by a full-scale thousand-man squad from the Duchy of Campbell!

After suffering heavy casualties, these Kunga remnants have learned their lesson.

Instead of targeting dangerous supply trains, they assassinated Campbell's scouts who ventured deep into the swamps to explore and map the land.

This time they picked the right target, but they also messed with the wrong person.

When the body of the third scout was found near the sluice gate at the construction site, the new owner's patience had clearly reached its limit.

On this day, Tartag was inspecting the foundations of a row of newly erected stilt houses when a gaunt figure appeared silently behind him.

"Chief Tartak".

The sound was like boots stepping on muddy ground covered with dead leaves, making the old chief's heart clench, and he turned around shakily.

He saw the man's face; it was Zerik, the patriarch of the Guardian Clan, who was said to be the "Governor of the Special District" who had come from the United Kingdom of Gutaf to guide their work.

Although he always felt like he came from the labyrinth next door, he didn't seem to come from the distant continent of Gana at all.

“Zerik… Lord.” Tartak bowed his head respectfully, not daring to look into those cold eyes, as if looking at them for even a moment would steal his aging soul.

"There are several rats gnawing on the owner's granary."

Zerik's voice was flat and straightforward, as if he were talking about something trivial that had nothing to do with him, or as if he was suppressing his anger. "They are hiding in the mangroves at the mouth of the river, refusing to accept the mercy of the 'Dragon God'... What do you think we should do?"

Tartag swallowed hard.

"Whatever you say, we'll do it."

Those guys were just seaweed that drifted in from the sea. He couldn't care less about their lives or deaths, and he hadn't even agreed to let them stay in the first place. They were the ones who insisted on staying.

As for those young men who were fooled by them...

Good luck to you.

Even the Dragon God couldn't protect all the lizardmen, so what merit did he, a chieftain, have to save all his people?

"That makes things easier."

Zerik let out a hissing laugh and spoke in a cold, slow voice.

“Chief, you are one of the first to embrace the new era. I think you should be interested in seeing how we help lost souls…find a new life.”

"Observe..."

“Yes.” Zerik turned around, a strange light flashing in his vertical pupils in the shadows. “After all, we are all ‘children of the Dragon God.’ Shouldn’t we, as brothers, deepen our understanding of each other?”

Tartak felt a chill run up his spine and down his back. Unable to refuse, he could only silently follow behind him.

Meanwhile, Tauf, who was dozing in the cemetery, sneezed again and glanced warily under the basket.

very good--

Alakdo is not here!

She breathed a sigh of relief, turned over, and went back to sleep.

She's been laying eggs every day lately, and she feels like the Demon King is draining her of her energy.

...

The air in the mangrove forest at the estuary is filled with a strong salty smell and the stench of decay.

The twisted tree roots, like claws from the abyss, emerge from the black silt, intertwining and forming a natural labyrinth.

The sunlight was blocked out, with only a few rays of light piercing through the dense canopy of trees, illuminating the blood and oil floating in the water.

Those tree roots are not necessarily all naturally formed.

Several pointed-eared figures wearing cloaks stood in the shadows of the forest. Their skin was pale, and their eyes were cold, as if they were looking at hundreds of filthy rats.

Under their watchful eyes, deep within a twisted thicket, hundreds of stubborn lizardman raiders were cornered.

They stood with their backs against an impassable thicket of tree roots, facing a group of silent guardian warriors, desperately brandishing rusty harpoons and bone knives.

Under the Demon King's leadership, the current Guardian Clan is no longer the little insects they used to be, which they could easily manipulate. Not to mention that many of the Demon King's "chosen ones" are mixed in with them.

The merman leader, blind in one eye, roared in despair, "Land scum! And you reptiles who betrayed the swamp! You won't get away with this—"

Zerik had no interest in listening to his nonsense.

He stood on a dry, high ground, side by side with Tartak, coldly watching the group of desperate warriors.

Tartag glared and cursed.

"Shut up! The Stone Lizards are lizards that live on land. What right do you goldfish who have swum ashore have to talk about us like that!"

These words made the merman leader's fins twist in anger, but he couldn't find a rebuttal for the moment.

The young stone lizards who had joined the rebellion with the merfolk wanted to say something, but they were too exhausted to do so at the moment.

Tartag softened his tone and spoke earnestly.

"Considering we all believe in the Dragon God, it's not too late for you to turn back now—"

Before he could finish speaking, Zerik turned his head and looked at the old chieftain with the eyes of someone looking at an idiot, as if the latter had said something stupid.

"Surrender? Chief Tartark, what are you talking about?"

It is true that the lizardmen worship the dragon god.

But he worships the Demon King, only now he acts in the name of the Dragon God.

Before Tartak could speak, the chieftain of the Palace Guardian clan turned his gaze back to the front and spoke slowly and deliberately in a cold voice.

“What my Lord needs is obedience, absolute order and cohesion. These stubborn traitors are like rust growing under His authority. Yes, they… are ‘rubbish’.”

“And my mission,” a hint of fanaticism flickered across his pale face, “is to transform 'waste' into… 'resources'.”

Zerik never looked at the desperate merfolk and lizardman raiders again, but simply raised his chin slightly towards the shadow behind him.

“Purify them.”

The dozens of palace-guarding monks he brought with him stood silently behind him like ghosts.

Instead of reciting any of the natural prayers or doctrines of the Holy Light familiar to Tartars, they chanted evil incantations.

That ancient and deep voice was like a whisper from hell, tearing at the nerves of the living with a scorching, eerie force.

Tartak's face showed a hint of pain, but he managed to hold it in, while the corpses crawling at his feet could not.

Black mist spread visibly from beneath the monks' feet, rising in wisps from the black swamp and decaying tree roots.

"roar--!"

Driven to the brink of despair, the merman leader let out a final roar and led his men in a charge.

However, they stopped in horror after taking only two steps.

In the mud puddle between them and the acolytes, something seemed to... move.

A pale, swollen claw suddenly emerged from the mud and grabbed the ankle of the merman warrior at the forefront.

Then, one, two, ten...

The lizardmen who had died in the previous battle had come back to life and stiffly crawled out of the shallow water!

Their faces were rotten, and only two eerie green will-o'-the-wisps remained in their eye sockets.

They made no sound, but with their mouths covered in mud, they pounced on their former companions like wild beasts.

"Aaaaaah!!"

One scream after another rang out as the surviving mermaids fought desperately, but they were powerless to stop the permeation of the deathly aura and the swords of the dead.

Bathed in that black mist of death, all the living lizardmen became sluggish and even had difficulty breathing.

Meanwhile, those zombie-like ghouls became even more swift in the mist, each move filled with a fierce and powerful aura.

This is no longer war—

It was a one-sided massacre!

Blood stained the mud black as merfolk were pounced on, their throats slit, only to rise again after a few breaths and join the slaughter.

Finally, some of the merfolk could not bear this extreme fear.

They threw down their weapons and rushed towards the estuary outside the mangroves, stumbling and scrambling across the shallows before plunging headlong into the icy, turbulent sea.

They swam away into the distance without looking back, vowing never to approach this cursed land again... just as hastily as when they were driven away from other places.

As for the other lizardmen who couldn't swim and joined the merfolk in causing trouble, they could only embrace their desperate fate amidst screams.

The massacre ended quickly.

Hundreds of lizardmen who put up a stubborn resistance were all killed.

As for the ordinary members of the Grayfin tribe, they were surrounded by the Guardian warriors not far from the battlefield.

They didn't dare pick up their weapons at all, huddled together kneeling in the knee-deep mud, trembling violently, unable to make a sound, only their teeth chattering wildly.

Merfolk cannot actually live in the sea; like the Tidefolk of the continent of Gana, they must build nests and lay eggs on the shore.

Dozens of newly "transformed" ghouls, with stiff steps, joined the encirclement, quietly awaiting new instructions.

Looking at their kin, now turned to death, their fish-scaled faces were filled with terror. Their biggest regret at that moment was following Kunga to migrate here.

Zerik, leading the terrified Tartak, slowly descended the high ground, stepping over the floating pieces of flesh to reach the survivors.

And you?

No one answered.

Zerik smiled, seemingly pleased with their performance, and slowly raised his arms, soothing these wounded souls in a gentle tone.

"Do not be afraid. Our Majesty and the great Dragon God are merciful. They have forgiven your sins. It is only because I... could not tolerate those ungrateful dead fish that I have punished them a little."

Although he had become a ghoul, he still learned from other members of the Gecko Clan about how the Merfolk had exploited the Gecko Clan and the disasters they had brought upon them.

That was something from his past life, that's true, but now that he's the patriarch of the Guardian Clan, he can certainly avenge his people.

Anyway, the Demon King definitely acquiesced.

Otherwise, why send him?

“Let bygones be bygones,” Zerik said with a kind smile and a gentle voice. “From this day forward, the ‘Greyfin’ tribe will cease to exist. That name, along with your foolish past, will be buried.”

"You are the 'Fish-Men'."

"Your mission is to dredge mud for the city of your new masters. You will use your hands to create miracles on this swamp with us, or... live on in another form."

He glanced casually at the lizard-man ghouls standing quietly beside him.

Different from myself.

They were puppets manipulated by acolytes, and had no independent personality or soul.

Under the threat of death, some of the merfolk quickly reacted, slamming their fins into the mud and begging for mercy in tearful voices.

"We are the fish-men! Dig, dig the mud! Praise... the Dragon God!"

"Praise be to the Dragon God!" The others followed suit, chanting Gutaf's name, their kowtows sounding particularly jarring in the deathly silent mangrove forest.

Only Taff in the Great Cemetery was sneezing incessantly.

Zerik smiled with satisfaction.

He turned around, and the ghouls and the newly born "fishmen" were already being driven by the acolytes, marching in formation toward the bustling construction site.

The "players" who are loyal to the Demon King will be assigned specific tasks.

In the corners beyond the Campbells' sight, they will become the cheapest and most obedient laborers of the River Bend Tribal Alliance, contributing to the construction of the Southwest Swamp.

Until one day the Demon King pardoned their sins.

Standing beside Zerik, Tartak witnessed the whole thing but didn't dare to make any move or utter a single word of pleading.

He felt no sympathy for the merfolk, and only felt sorry for the stone lizard youths who criticized him for being weak, not regretful.

At this moment, the old chieftain's strongest feeling was that the rapidly changing era was becoming increasingly incomprehensible to him.

What those guys in black robes were chanting just now wasn't dragon language at all; it was clearly necromancy from hell!

"I never imagined the Duchy of Campbell would be so blasphemous, joining forces with the demons of hell..."

He clearly remembered that humans and hell were mortal enemies.

Tartag couldn't help but sigh.

The world outside is changing so fast...

(End of this chapter)