Necromancer: Becoming a God from a Lord

The long winter that lasted for four months finally came to an end after the last thin layer of snow melted.

This also means that the northern wilderness is about to usher in the spring when everything revives, and the fertile land can be sown and plowed for the new year.

Most native wilderness people do not have the habit of celebrating the New Year. For them, the transition from winter to spring is often a life-and-death moment when they cannot get enough food. Many frail old and young people cannot survive until the land thaws and they can dig cassava to fill their stomachs.

These human refugees and orc herders who live at the bottom of the wilderness food chain have an average life expectancy of less than 40 years old, and are even inferior to the lowest landless hired farmers living in the warm southern border.

This is also the first winter in Max's life that he can eat well, wear warm clothes, and have a stable home. On the streets of the residential area, the snowmen built by children have melted to the point that only the base remains. There are still many children who dig up the remaining snow covered with mud and roll it into balls to throw around, making the whole street full of laughter and playfulness early in the morning.

For adults like Max, the melted snow is very annoying. It will make the cotton shoes damp and moldy, and the soaking into the inside will make the entire sole of the foot frozen.

In the past days, most of the refugees would probably huddle in the earthen kiln pits they dug before winter, shivering in tattered animal skins, and worry about the snow crushing the kiln pits and burying themselves alive.

Max recalled the past while subconsciously stamping his feet to shake off the mud on his shiny leather boots. Fortunately, he was wearing official leather boots, otherwise he would suffer a lot just from the daily routine patrol mission.

In the winter, people in Pioneer Territory clean up the snow on the streets every day, sweeping them to both sides of the street with big brooms made of branches and wooden poles. This is a long-term temporary job issued by the municipal center, with daily salary. Even elderly people with slightly more flexible hands and feet can barely cope with it and get a hot meal.

The closer to the municipal district and the factory area, the more pedestrians there are on the street. Most of them are wearing thick cotton or leather clothes, rushing to their jobs.

Max likes this lively scene very much, and even his patrol steps are much lighter. He quickly completes the first round of daily patrols according to the established route.

Next, he needs to go to the refugee shelter set up by the city hall at the north gate of the territory wall to assist the municipal staff who stay there every day to maintain basic order at the city gate.

When Max arrived at the north gate, more than a hundred people had gathered at the city gate. Under the shouts of armed soldiers, they lined up in several long lines and slowly approached the refugee shelter with wooden sheds to conduct the first round of identity inspection and information registration.

"Report! Police trainee, Max Anton is here to assist."

A young officer who was shouting with a tin horn and his throat hoarse waved at him, and pointed to the shelter closest to the city gate, signaling him to help quickly.

"You are responsible for maintaining order in the team, and then help the doctors in the medical hospital to distribute anti-epidemic drugs to them one by one. You must watch them drink it in person, and never neglect it..." The official in charge of registering the refugees' information was also busy and hurriedly called Max, a fresh force, to join his work group.

"Got it!"

Max felt that this job sounded not difficult at all, just like when he first came to the territory, the soldiers held guns and directed them to line up to receive oatmeal porridge.

He walked to the checkpoint and started shouting loudly like the officer, while pulling out the baton from his waist and waving it. Trainee police officers were not allowed to carry guns, so they only had this wooden baton in their hands that was polished very smoothly and was their only weapon.

Max felt that its power might not be as strong as his own light kick, and the damage it caused would be greater.

"Name? Where are you from? Do you have any survival skills?"

Every refugee in the queue would be asked by the staff of the municipal center and then recorded, but they would basically not ask whether they could read unless the other party took the initiative to ask, because the illiteracy rate of the wasteland people was infinitely close to 100%.

Max had even seen half-orcs who couldn't even count.

This was only the first round of shelter review. After they entered the temporary refugee shelter area near the city wall, there would be further review and verification. It was said that there was a team with rich interrogation experience among the soldiers of the defense army, who were responsible for this work.

"My name is Hook, a deserter, uh... I'm good at... good at farming, and I can't read."

The official in charge of registering information was stunned for a moment, raised his head and repeated, "Farming?" After seeing the other party nod, he quickly drew a circle on the form, "Okay, you passed, go over there to gather and wait..."

Max happened to be standing aside and heard this brief conversation. He couldn't help but look at the man wearing an animal skin cloak and found that his animal skin cloak looked very new, without mold and holes.

It looked like it was just bought from the ready-made clothing store in the convenience market...

"Wait!" He spoke subconsciously and stopped the man who was about to leave.

"What... what's wrong?"

Max stared at the other party's slightly flickering eyes and asked in a deep voice: "Wastelander? Can you farm? Which evil orc tribe are you a serf under?"

The municipal official in charge of registration raised his head in confusion, "Don't ask about these in the review process, right? As long as you know how to farm, no matter which tribe he is..."

Max shook his head and continued to ask regardless of the matter: "After spring, in what month should the stems of cassava be sown into the soil? How long will it take to grow before harvesting?"

There is no mistake, one, one, one, one, one, one, one, one 619, one book, one, one, one, one, one, one, a book!

The other party hesitated for a moment, but still did not answer.

Max had pulled out his baton and approached his body. "A farmer from the wasteland can wear a reindeer-skin cloak of such a good texture. You don't seem to be guilty of long journeys."

He grabbed the other person's hand and pinched his wrist joint hard, forcing him to release his fist and display his palm.

"The people in the wasteland don't have frostbite. We have been digging food on snowy land all year round, and we have long adapted to this temperature!"

Now the city officials also heard something was wrong and shouted to the soldiers not far away, and cooperated with Max to press the man to the ground.

However, the other party gritted his teeth and pulled his hand back, turned his head and shouted at several people behind the team, "Run quickly!"

Max swung his baton and slammed him heavily on the other party's back, knocking him down with a bang, then lifting his mechanical prosthetic leg and stepping on it. No matter how hard the other party struggled, it was useless.

Seeing this, the four or five refugees at the end of the team immediately ran towards the city gate without looking back. Several soldiers raised their guns and ordered them to stop, turning a deaf ear.

Then the soldiers had no choice but to shoot, hit their legs, and quickly put several people to the ground. The magic gun was too powerful, and all of them were directly broken, with broken limbs and blood. It splashed all over the ground, scaring the refugees nearby burst into screams.

The scene suddenly became chaotic.