Synthesis-type adventurers

Chapter 46 Gears and Garbage Mountain

The mornings in Rusty Harbour always have a rusty smell, a sticky, damp, and cold smell that goes straight down your throat.

Last night's torrential rain not only failed to wash away the city's grime, but instead mixed the stench of backflowing sewers and the pungent smell of heavy engine oil into a paste that clung to every single paving stone.

Rod tightened his stiff leather trench coat; the old leather was hardened from dampness, and the edges were worn white.

That wide-brimmed hat was taken from some unfortunate person who died by the roadside, and it still smelled musty.

Rod pulled his hat brim low, completely burying the upper half of his face in shadow, leaving only a section of his stubble-covered chin visible.

Two figures, also bundled up tightly, followed behind him.

Avira wrapped her short, dazzling blonde hair, which had grown back, with a piece of greasy, worn-out linen. She turned her once-glorious family crest over and placed it against the rough cloth lining of her chest.

Her signature plate armor was covered by a large gray robe, the hem of which was covered in mud. At first glance, she looked like a down-on-her-luck mercenary struggling to make ends meet.

As for Chiba, the situation is much worse.

"This cloak is so heavy! And this smell..." Chiba's muttered words were muffled by the fabric, "It's like it's been pickled with the entrails of dead fish for three whole years!"

She was huddled inside a coarse linen cloak that reeked of mold and a fishy stench, with only half of her small, red, frostbitten chin showing.

The large tail that was forced to be tucked into her trouser leg became a burden, making her awkwardly adjust her center of gravity with every step she took, her strange posture resembling that of a poultry with a broken leg.

"This scent perfectly masks your fox smell... uh, I mean, your alien characteristics," Rhodes corrected without turning his head. "Also, that's a fisherman's cloak, of course it smells fishy. If you want the Hohenheim family's hounds to come looking for you by scent, you can take it off and run around naked now."

"You're the one who smells like slut! This is noble musk!" Chiba retorted through gritted teeth, but his hands obediently tightened their grip on the collar of his cloak. "Speaking of which, what are we doing in this godforsaken place so early in the morning? This is the territory of the Gear Brotherhood, those guys would squeeze every last drop of oil from their bones to sell for money."

"Purchase the goods," Rod only uttered two words.

At the edge of the road, a massive fortress, forcibly pieced together from countless discarded metal plates, rusty gears, and tangled pipes, stands in the middle of the road.

This is the largest waste recycling station in the southern district.

This place was once Old Hansen's territory, a paradise for countless scavengers at the bottom of society who barely survived.

Back then, as long as you were willing to bend down, you could always dig out enough money for tomorrow's meals from this huge garbage dump.

Now, that kindness has disappeared.

Several huge steam pipes, due to years of disrepair, continuously spewed out scalding white smoke, and the valve gaps emitted sharp, piercing hissing noises.

Several newly erected mechanical watchtowers, each ten meters high, stand at the entrance, their murky beams of searchlight cutting back and forth in the gray morning mist.

The guards wore brass exoskeleton armor, and the hydraulic pistons made heavy panting sounds with their movements.

The muzzles of their steam rifles were lowered, and their eyes behind the goggles were cold, as if they were looking at a herd of livestock waiting to be slaughtered.

A long queue had formed at the entrance. The ragged scavengers clutched a few copper coins, blackened by sweat, their faces ashen and their eyes sunken.

"Entrance fee: 5 copper coins per person." A mechanically synthesized voice with an electric current echoed from the loudspeaker across the empty square. "Monthly scavenging permit: 1 silver coin."

"See? I told you so." Chiba peeked out from under his cloak, curling his lip. "Once old Hansen died, this place was completely taken over by those mechanics. Before, there were no barriers to entry; you just had to pay taxes on the scraps you collected. Now, you have to buy a ticket even to collect garbage. In this world, poor people aren't even allowed near garbage dumps."

"Formalized management will inevitably lead to the concentration of resources." Rod was relatively optimistic. "In the past, good things were all picked up secretly. Now that there are thresholds, some valuable waste materials can be left."

The line moved forward slowly, like a dying worm.

When it was Rhodes' turn, he flipped three silver coins between his fingers and dropped them into the greasy coin slot on the guard's chest.

"Get the permits," Rod gestured behind him with his thumb, "and bring two assistants."

The guard's eyes, hidden by thick goggles, swept over the three of them, his gaze lingering on Avira for two seconds, as if assessing their threat level.

"Once inside, your activity area is limited to Zones C and D."

The guard pulled three stamped black iron nameplates from his pouch and threw them over. The nameplates had sharp edges and were crudely engraved with numbers.

"Areas A and B are heavy industrial waste sites; going in without a hazmat suit is suicide. Also, any ancient artifacts found must be handed over; anyone found keeping them will have their hands chopped off."

Rod caught them, casually hung one on the buckle of his belt, and then handed the other two to Avira and Chiba.

"Let's go."

"A whole silver coin! You might as well have given it to me!" Chiba felt a pang of heartache after going bankrupt. "That's enough to buy a mountain of black bread! You went in just to scavenge that pile of rusty junk?"

"When it comes to purchasing goods, we need to use professional terminology."

Rod stepped across the oil-stained police line, the deafening roar of machinery instantly filling his ears and almost drowning out their words.

"Moreover, the wool comes from the sheep's back. This investment of one silver coin will soon turn into a tenfold or a hundredfold return."

Passing through the heavy gate, the view did not open up; instead, it became even more cramped as it was squeezed by countless huge metal components.

The scene before us is quite different from what it was nearly a month ago when this area was still under the jurisdiction of Old Hansen.

This is a desolate jungle constructed of steel.

The conveyor belts crisscrossed and twisted in the air like tentacles, the friction of the tracks producing a teeth-grinding noise, as they transported tons of garbage down from the upper levels of the city.

Huge mechanical grabs descended from the sky, accompanied by the groaning of twisting metal, grabbing piles of mixtures of household garbage, industrial waste, and alchemy residue, and roughly slamming them into different sorting pools.

Steam filled the air, and sparks flew from the welding torch.

The air was thick, filled with the pungent smell of strong acid, the burnt smell of waste engine oil, and the sour smell of rotting food; every breath burned the nasal mucosa.

"vomit……"

Chiba gagged and covered her nose. As a half-fox, she naturally possessed a sensitive canine sense of smell.

"This place is a stench inferno!" she couldn't help but complain. "Rhodes, are you sure there's anything here that can be exchanged for money? All I see are tons of scrap metal and... what's that? A rotting, swollen dog leg?"

"Be on guard around, and don't let anyone get within five meters of me."

Rod ignored Chiba's complaints and gave orders to Ivyra beside him.

"Yes."

Avira's answer was short and forceful.

Her hand rested on the sword hilt, her emerald eyes scanning the scavengers around her, their eyes gleaming with greed.

In this region where order has collapsed, robbery and theft are as natural as breathing.

Rhodes quickly adjusted his breathing, focused intently on the twenty-meter-high mountain of mixed garbage in front of him.

[Analyze Vision], enabled.