Extreme Cold Era: Shelter Don't Keep Waste-Chapter 902 - 130: The Real Difference

Although she had internally sentenced the Governor and the garrison Commander to death, Perfikot had to temporarily suppress this murderous intent.

At least for now, in this tense moment, she couldn't act immediately.

The aftershocks of the uprising had not yet subsided, and the forces of resistance within the city were still restlessly stirring in the shadows. Hastily replacing the Governor and garrison leadership now would only exacerbate the already turbulent situation.

These pests might be incompetent, but at least they could still barely maintain Marsel's basic order for now.

They were like a swarm of termites clinging to a decaying door frame. Although they would eventually gnaw the entire door to ruin, for now, this shaky door could still block the wind and snow outside.

More importantly, their loyalty to the Victor Empire was beyond doubt. Even though that loyalty was tainted by greed, cowardice, and stupidity, it was at least more reliable than the local Marsel natives who couldn't wait to rise in rebellion.

Perfikot's puppet squinted slightly in the cold wind, the brass joints emitting a faint friction sound.

Once everything settled, once the last rebel was hanged on the gallows, she would have all the time she needed to settle accounts with these fools.

"Regent, all the rebels have been captured!" The garrison Commander jogged over to Perfikot's puppet, his heels clicking heavily, performing an exaggerated salute. His greasy face was plastered with a sycophantic smile, resembling a tail-wagging hyena.

Perfikot examined this officer closely through the puppet's eyes.

His uniform was clearly issued a few years ago; the originally crisp wool was now worn and shiny, with evident signs of fraying on the cuffs and collar.

The most striking aspect was the row of brass buttons on his chest—each one tightly stretched, as if ready to be shot off by his bulging belly.

This realization made Perfikot sigh inwardly in exasperation.

In the harsh environment of the apocalyptic winter, ordinary citizens struggled to fill their stomachs, yet this officer could still gorge himself into corpulence.

His oily double chin and protruding waist were a silent boast of how much he had profited over the years.

The puppet's fingers tapped lightly on the cane, emitting a clear metallic sound.

Perfikot could already envision, once the situation stabilized, how much would be seized from these pests' homes when she sent people to confiscate their possessions.

But for now, she had to endure this fool's disgraceful attempts to claim credit in her presence.

"Throw them in prison, interrogate them harshly; I want to know how many accomplices they have and how many people participated in the uprising!" Perfikot gazed at a particular child among the rebels, maneuvering her substitute puppet closer: "Keep these people alive, don't kill them all, and make sure they don't escape. If you fail the task, you'll be the next to be thrown in jail."

With that, Perfikot turned her attention to the metal container in Beifa's hands: "Beifa, what's that?"

"Destructive tool carried by this rebel." Beifa tore open the metal container, revealing the potion inside.

Perfikot merely glanced at it, then scoffed: "Rubbish, unoriginal explosive potion; reacts with water to produce large amounts of oxygen, leading to an explosion. Such primitive and inefficient means.

Without sufficient water and high temperatures, it's impossible to detonate it. This thing is useless aside from overloading the Energy Tower."

Perfikot had initially expected the pharmacists capable of poisoning her to be at a higher level, but after waiting eagerly, the items they brought to destroy the Energy Tower turned out to be this?

Perfikot genuinely felt disdain. Even when she first crossed over, knowing nothing, she managed to create more useful explosives than this.

Especially since this thing had to be added to the Energy Tower's water circulation pipeline to work, explaining the presence of a small child crawling through the drainage pipe.

If not for crawling inside to add this thing to the Energy Tower's core, it couldn't function correctly. If one of her apprentices created such a worthless potion, she'd seal them inside a wall.

Clearly, the old pharmacist who created this potion couldn't accept Perfikot's evaluation.

He struggled violently, his bloodshot eyes fixed desperately on Perfikot's puppet, his hoarse voice mixed with anger and resentment: "You know nothing! This is a magnificent alchemical creation! It's the wisdom that could change the world! It's not something a pampered, decadent aristocrat like you could understand!"

"Heh." The puppet emitted a soft, contemptuous laugh, its mechanical pupils casting a ridiculing light, "Ridiculous, this kind of poorly made trash, even a mere assistant in my laboratory wouldn't make such embarrassing stuff."

Perfikot gazed down upon the elderly pharmacist from a height, her eyes lingering on the tarnished apprentice alchemist badge on his chest, shaking her head disdainfully: "To live this long and still not qualify as a formal Alchemist, if not trash, what are you? I was a master Alchemist by fourteen. I think I have the qualifications to call you trash."

"Fourteen! Master Alchemist?" The old pharmacist's wrinkled face twisted with rage, he laughed hysterically, "Hahaha... blowing things out of proportion! Do you think you're the legendary genius Alchemist of Victor?"

His clouded eyes were filled with disdain, like hearing the most laughable joke in the world.

However, Perfikot's puppet merely nodded calmly, her mechanical voice filled with irrefutable authority: "Indeed, I am Perfikot Brandelis, certified master Alchemist at fourteen, possessor of the Philosopher's Stone, creator of the Imaginary Alchemy system."

"What... What?!" The old pharmacist's expression froze instantly, he staggered a half-step back, his cracked lips trembling, "This is impossible! How could you be Brandelis Master? Such a lord could never..."

Seeing the bewildered, ludicrous appearance of the old pharmacist, Perfikot suddenly felt a mischievous urge.

The puppet's slender fingers elegantly grasped her chin, and with a crisp "click," the perfect artificial face was entirely removed, revealing the intricately operating brass gears and gleaming alchemical circuits within.

"See clearly?" The synthesised mechanical voice carried a playful delight, "This is my creation at sixteen—substitute puppet. Now, do you understand the real difference between a genius and the likes of you, mere mediocrity?"

The old pharmacist stood stupefied, staring at the exquisite mechanical structure inside the puppet, the last trace of color draining from his aged face.