Chapter Twenty-Three: The Sanctuary Ends

"Main Battle Tank" Paulus, "Rain-Blade" Ronconi, and "Explosive Shell" Anthony were all local martial artists. Although they had never managed to qualify for the Paralympic Games, they had all secured victories at regional tournaments and were considered formidable figures in their own right.

Except for "Rain-Blade" Ronconi, the other two warriors had retained their original faces. Both wore expressions of extreme arrogance. Bored by the wait for the welfare officer, Anthony asked the mayor, "Hey, old man Schultz, can that martial artist from your town really defeat Will Granddog without using any martial arts algorithms? Why hasn't he shown his face yet?"

The mayor shook his head, his posture deferential. "This... we simple folk don't know much about the affairs of martial artists."

"He probably just got his hands on a decent prosthetic body and is busy calibrating it, right?" "Rain-Blade" Ronconi, waving the pair of blades on his back, said in a low voice, "That guy is truly lucky."

"The warrior near Apennine is using cutting-edge components, after all." Paulus’s tone was pointed. "Tell me, how many thugs do you think that prosthetic body will attract?"

"God knows. Even if the total volume of parts is small, they are all high-end gear." Anthony sneered. "Surely there’s one or two who could make a name for themselves?"

"I, for one, hope he’s a bit famous. It might at least boost our own market value."

While the three were talking, a ground-effect vehicle sped toward them. It was similar to the one used by the tax officer Apennine, but had no private guards in tow.

The three martial artists quickly fell silent. Although a welfare officer held less authority than a tax officer, they were ultimately under the lord’s command. Since they wanted to make a living in this territory, they had to maintain a certain level of respect for the lord's personnel.

As in previous years, the welfare officer distributed several healthy infants to the mayor. These babies had already undergone limited esophageal modification surgery, making them easy to raise with just a nutrient-drip bottle.

The mayor quickly counted the infants and signaled the families who had volunteered for adoption to come forward and claim the ones they favored.

This was the genetic welfare.

Beyond this, the welfare officer would announce the "civilization protection." According to regulations, he would declare that the site was under the protection of civilization, and that the lord was obligated to attack any person or entity that invaded this settlement.

That was the extent of the welfare officer's duties.

But this year, the procedure was predictably different. After handing out the infants, the welfare officer turned and left immediately.

The old mayor had to scramble in front of the official and kneel. "My lord... this, isn't something missing?"

The welfare officer glanced at the mayor and pointed to the three visiting martial artists. "Aren't you well aware? Didn't you prepare for this?"

"Oh, my lord! This is no joking matter." The mayor pleaded, "Our town did indeed defeat the martial artist under Lord Apennine..."

"The specifics are irrelevant to me. You failed to pay the genetic tax in full. My not announcing the permanent revocation of your town's protection is already an act of mercy from his lordship." The welfare officer waved his hand. "Nineteen days from now, I will return to announce whether the protection stands. Until then, it is your own affair."

All humans had an obligation to maintain human genetic diversity. Refusing this obligation meant an automatic loss of civilization protection. Being unable to fulfill this obligation meant, in principle, that one could be left unprotected.

This was the first principle of the Dyson Principle.

If a lord deemed that the quality of a settlement's population had regressed to a certain level, they could indeed decline to provide protection.

Some lords would intentionally revoke protection from low-quality settlements for a period to "temper" them. If a settlement could survive without protection, it proved its worth. If the settlement was wiped out, the lord was simply relieved of a burden.

The welfare officer’s declaration was final. There was no room for negotiation. Over the next ten days, the Scrapyard town would have to fend for itself.

Doctor Schultz approached the mayor, filled with anxiety. "Uncle, this..."

"Enough, it is done..." The mayor shook his head. "At least we still have these three martial artists here, and 'Mountain' might be able to finish reconfiguring his prosthetic body in a day or two. By then..."

"I would advise you not to pin too many hopes on that 'Mountain' fellow." "Explosive Shell" Anthony let out a cold laugh. "A martial artist who has been stripped of his martial arts algorithms... heh. You don't know the cruelty of the martial arts world. To end up in such a state, how much could he have achieved as a warrior? He just exploited the enemy's arrogance and got lucky with a counterattack."

"You can't say that; being able to turn the tables in that situation is a skill in itself, isn't it?" "Rain-Blade" Ronconi shook his head. "At least none of us would encounter an opportunity for high-end parts when we were at our wits' end."

"True enough," Anthony nodded.

Doctor Schultz wanted to argue a few points. In their understanding, Xiang Shan might be a *Xia*—a chivalrous knight-errant. But he ultimately kept those words to himself.

*Xia* were not held in high regard. Many martial artists looked down on associating with them.

As they spoke, the wind suddenly picked up. More sand and dust swirled into the air, reducing visibility to barely ten meters.

The mayor watched the departing ground-effect vehicle in despair. He had heard of this procedure, but this was his first time witnessing it.

"In the name of the Dyson Principle, the Human Gene Bank Management Agency declares that the 'Civilization Protection' for the Scrapyard town for the previous work cycle has officially ended. As the Scrapyard town failed to fulfill its obligations at the start of this cycle, no new protection will be announced at this time. Until my next arrival, the townsfolk should continue their efforts."

Almost simultaneously, a voice cut through the sandstorm.

"So, that means this town is currently without protection, right?"

Deep within the sandstorm, a series of footsteps approached.

*Clang, clang, clang, clang, clang, clang, clang, clang...*

The sound of metal feet was incredibly heavy. "Main Battle Tank" Paulus’s expression shifted. His balance sensors weren't top-tier, nor particularly sensitive, but he could clearly feel the ground shaking.

*Is this really a warrior-class prosthetic? Or is it an industrial one?*

"Thug, do you really have no fear of death, appearing before me?" The welfare officer's voice boomed from the air through his speakers.

"Who knows?" the mysterious figure replied. "Of course, I am the lowest, most wretched worm. But for a protector of your standing, a bandit of my level isn't worth the trouble. You don't necessarily have to exert yourself against a pile of unprotected scrap, do you? Unless, of course, you are the sort who harbors a burning hatred for evil—in which case, I accept my fate, and we can lay out our weapons and have a proper fight."

The welfare officer snorted, the sand churning. The protectors simply flew away.

"Good luck," the man chuckled heartily. "Now then..."

*Clang, clang, clang...*

The terrifying footfalls approached the group.

"Main Battle Tank" Paulus swallowed hard. A protector of the welfare officer's level was a fully modified powerhouse, having undergone complete cybernetic conversion save for his brain. A bandit that even a figure like that found troublesome...

*Must not be reckless!*

"Halt!" Anthony’s shoulder-mounted machine gun lowered, aiming at the black silhouette hidden in the sand.

He didn't fire blindly. The destructive power of the Gun-Dao was superior to other outer-sect martial arts, but it was limited by ammunition capacity. Especially for a warrior like him, who competed in arena bouts. He had hollowed out his torso and removed most of his lungs just to store three thousand rounds of ammunition internally. Including the ammo box on his back that didn't hinder his movement, he could carry about twelve thousand rounds in total.

Of course, he had more supplies, but those were in the vehicle he arrived in—he hadn't expected the enemy to arrive so quickly.

Until he returned to his armed vehicle, those thirteen thousand rounds were Anthony's only reliance.

The newcomer looked like a massive industrial prosthetic, and his hands were held in a gesture resembling "surrender," so Anthony didn't fire immediately.

That was his undoing.

A violent gust of wind surged, followed by a terrifying noise that sent scrambled electrical currents through everyone's audio receptors.

The townspeople lost track of the black shadow in the sand almost simultaneously.

Amidst the gusting wind, "Explosive Shell" Anthony saw his own defeat. He, too, had lost sight of the giant shadow. The moment his visual graphics processor reported an error, he opened fire. Hundreds of bullets erupted in an instant.

Then, a steel rod tore through the sand.

All his bullets missed.

The steel rod embedded itself into Anthony's face. Silvery-gray fluid sprayed out.

The shockwave tore through the sand in a fleeting moment. During that time, those with artificial eyes saw the newcomer’s true face.

He was a giant, nearly three meters tall. His prosthetic body was completely encased in armor, with high, imposing shoulder guards that merged with a faceplate, shielding his unmodified human face. Aside from the structure of his limbs, the armor had no bumps or depressions; every surface displayed elegant curves.

He looked like an ancient knight clad in heavy plate.

The armor’s arm span was long, reaching past his knees. And this pair of arms, more robust than any industrial prosthetic, rested on a steel rod ten centimeters in diameter. That was the giant's weapon. He carried the rod on his shoulder, his hands resting atop it.

He hadn't even taken the rod off his shoulder to defeat Anthony. The giant had simply leaned to his right, letting the end of the rod dip and smash into Anthony’s face.

His attitude was entirely playful.

"That's one down," the giant said with a grin. "Little ones, you really shouldn't be so careless! Otherwise, Uncle Laifu is going to get bored."