This Game Is Too Realistic-Chapter 589.2: Im Not Going To Be A Human Anymore!

Midnight Pubg grinned, raising his massive new arm and scratching his head with the clumsy hand. "No problem. I feel fine already."

Strength type players didn’t heal as fast as Constitution types, but they were still faster than most.

He felt amazing!

He couldn’t wait to go try it out on some Creepers.

No... With his gear, Creepers were a was te of his time. He needed Tyrants or Rotten Knights to test it properly.

Leaping off the table, Midnight Pubg landed with a thud.

Eberts dropped his earlier suspicion, smiling in satisfaction. "Your recovery is impressive. Normally even at full health, post operation pain lasts three or four days... How do you feel?"

Thumping his chestplate, Midnight Pubg grinned. "I feel full of power, like I could twist my own head off!"

Eberts coughed, quickly warning, "I’d advise against that... This is half a million in equipment. If you die before fighting, I won’t get my test data back."

Midnight Pubg laughed, "Relax, I’m not stupid. I won’t twist my own head off for fun."

With that, he strode toward the door.

Alarmed, the doctor stopped him. "Wait! To avoid rejection reactions, you should stay for observation for a few hours!"

Any foreign material in a host with an immune system risked rejection.

Though manageable in theory, they had never implanted so much at once.

Midnight Pubg waved it off. "No worries. If I feel bad, I’ll come back. But I just got a mission, I’ve got to head out."

"Mission?!" The doctor gaped at him like he was a monster.

Midnight Pubg laughed heartily. "Yeah, what luck! Perfect timing."

When he logged off earlier, he saw a mission pop up in the official website. Tempted, he logged back in, just as the NPC finished tightening the last screw on his Exowarrior system.

The surgery had ended right on cue.

"But..." The doctor still wanted to argue, but Eberts stopped him.

"Let him go."

Watching the young man head for the elevator, Eberts smiled in delight. "Such an eager child. And you’d smother his enthusiasm? Tsk tsk... How can you be so heartless?"

The doctor stared at his boss in shock.

Heartless? Who’s really the heartless one here?

After a pause, Eberts added cheerfully, "Besides, I want to see combat data sooner. That way we can improve the next version."

He was deeply pleased with his choice.

Joining the New Alliance had been the best decision of his life!

...

Pinecone Ranch.

The winter sun was weak, even chilly, and its touch on people’s faces felt cold. It felt like one was being soaked in icy water.

A dazed, vacant expression lingered on every face in the settlement.

People looked at one another with fear in their eyes, as though staring at wild beasts, worried the other might suddenly go mad the next second.

In a way, the slaves of Pinecone Ranch could almost be considered free people. They didn’t wear chains while working. They were simply bound to the land, forbidden to leave it.

They were slaves, but not entirely so. They worked 15 hours a day instead of 24. They had property, but never fully their own, only the parts the master permitted them to use.

A typical family there had a wooden house, a few children, a small plot of land. It was called a share of the ranch, and a few fruit trees.

The food grown on their shares was mostly for themselves. But besides tending their own fields, they also had to farm the master’s.

If they wished to use the master’s mill, machinery, fertilizer, or high-yield seeds brought by wastelanders, they had to pay extra tax.

As there was no currency, taxes varied. Sometimes it was three chickens and fifteen eggs, sometimes two jars of jam. The amounts were usually announced at the start of the year.

That was for farmers.

For those who ran inns, made pulp for furniture, or practiced other crafts, their tribute came in other forms.

Hammer was one such slave. He was the most ordinary kind.

His name might sound odd, but in Pinecone Ranch, it was not strange at all.

His neighbor had been a young man named Bench. But last night his wife had bitten half his face off, and he was gone.

Hammer’s memory of the night before was hazy. He only recalled going to bed early, and waking not in bed but out on the street among many others.

It had frightened him half to death. He thought it was a miracle sent by the chosen Apostle and dropped to his knees in prayer.

Only later, when the New Alliance broadcast announced what had happened overnight, and when he saw corpses carried out of the settlement for burial, did he slowly recall those blurry moments and realize what had happened to him and the others.

It had been a nightmare.

He only felt grateful that he and his family was still alive. Though they had gone mad, they hadn’t eaten anyone, nor had they been killed.

Before dawn, he had gone to check on his neighbor’s house, only to find the crazed woman had hung herself. All that remained was her infant crying in its swaddling clothes.

Whether out of maternal instinct, or because she had gnawed long enough on her husband’s corpse, she hadn’t eaten the child.

Unable to bear it, Hammer carried the pitiful infant home and gave him a name, just as carelessly chosen as the one his father had.

From that moment, Bench changed from a young man of 21 into a half-grown child.

Later, Hammer would have to report it to the person in charge. He believed the man would understand, count the child under Hammer’s household, and thus reduce his winter grain tax.

Wanting to clear his mind, Hammer stepped outside and drew a deep breath. But the lingering stench of blood ruined any hope of relief.

Still, there was no time to idle.

According to the rules, he had to reach the cowshed with his tools before sunrise and await the orders for the day’s work.

Panting as he jogged across muddy roads, he pushed open the gate and barely arrived before being marked late.

Beneath the ramshackle shed stood many others.

Seeing the crowd nearly complete, Hammer panicked, fearing the lash, but he forced himself forward.

To his surprise, the person in charge wasn’t at the door as usual.

Strange... The sun must have risen in the west today!

But his relief was short-lived. Inside, he saw the person in charge was indeed present, standing with the butler’s servants, whispering in serious discussion.

Hammer’s heart clenched again as he crept closer.

"My lord..."

He meant to explain about Bench’s family and ask to reduce his grain dues, but he was waved off impatiently. "Out of my sight. I’ve no time for you."

Without sparing him a glance, the man’s eyes warned him away, then turned back to the servants.

"Commander Luo Feihui is dead, it seems..."

"Didn’t he have a brother?"

"His brother is just a captain. What use is that?"

"This is a problem. He seemed to be the only one with ideas."

"What about the other officers? Any stance from any of them?!" 𝒻𝘳ℯℯ𝑤ℯ𝒷𝘯ℴ𝓋ℯ𝘭.𝑐ℴ𝑚

"Hard to say..."

As he overheard their conversation, Hammer’s face went blank.

What were they talking about?