Traveling through the wasteland, I became the conductor of a broken train.
47 Refugees who had been hungry for three days, an old-fashioned main gun with a blown barrel, and a loan shark of 17,600 crystal coins.
The people from the Cavalry Federation dropped their words: If I don't pay tonight, they will drag my train into the wasteland and feed it to the mutant beasts.
Fortunately, Goldfinger arrived late but arrived.
[Information Station]: Refreshed every ten days, accurately marking resource points and enemy weaknesses.
[Engineering Workshop]: As long as you have a blueprint, ore can be turned into bullets and scrap iron armored vehicles.
While others were lingering in the wasteland, I took the Dawn to farm and upgrade at the same time.
From digging the first shovel of iron in the mine to making the first bullet in the workshop;
From being chased and beaten, to chasing others and beating them;
From a broken carriage to a twenty-eight-car mobile fortress.
Riding Association? Those who fight are elites.
Tarot League? Intelligence crushing.
Mechanical disaster? There just happens to be a lack of rare blueprints.
The wasteland doesn't believe in tears, it only believes in the caliber of the railgun.
And I am the new rule on this track.
Reader comments
The data written by the author does not match up. Some supplies are gone after three chapters.
The data written by the author does not match up. Some supplies are gone after three chapters.
So-so. . .