In just a few short days, news of the feud between Xinquan and the Blood Cleansing Fleet—and what Ji Jue had done—spread like wildfire across the entire wilderness, reaching nearly every settlement.
Although the notion of a pirate with a price on his head issuing a bounty on someone else sounded hilarious, the Wild Gathering was willing to take the contract so long as advance payment and paying capacity were verified. And beneath a bounty sum staggering enough to make anyone exercise their wits and deeply contemplate their life, their future, and their deeds, nearly everyone began to wonder: was this the only chance they would ever get in this lifetime?
Should they seize the moment and pull off one damn big score?!
Those with the guts to take the bounty sharpened their blades in secret and rubbed their palms eagerly. As for those who simply lacked the skill and caliber, they had to think long and hard about whether they truly wanted to sit on this visibly sinking ship and wait for death.
All sorts of wild rumors tore through the streets in the blink of an eye, fueled by people stoking the flames behind the scenes—from Ji Jue obstinately gambling with the lives of everyone in Xinquan, to the displeasure voiced by certain big shots in the Thousand Islands, down to the ruthless threats broadcast by water ghosts of unknown origin...
Claims that Ji Jue was digging his own grave, that every pirate on the seas had set their sights on Xinquan, that Ji Jue had offended everyone under the sun, that the Wild Gathering had issued an underworld kill order, that the Akatsuki had accepted the contract, that all ten Espada of Hueco Mundo had mobilized, and that the Four Emperors of the New World were on their way to slaughter them!
And when Ji Jue failed to show his face for several days, the rumors morphed again—alleging that the bastard had already abandoned Quancheng and fled in secret, that Ji Jue had knelt outside the Governor's Mansion begging for help while Xu Chaoxian wouldn't even spare him a glance, that the Tong family had severed all ties and disassociated themselves from him, and so forth...
There was even a rumor that sounded all the more plausible: Ji Jue never wanted to manage Xinquan's mess in the first place; everything he had done was just a sinister scheme to sacrifice the people of Xinquan alongside every marauding pirate, undergo evil metamorphosis, and defect to the Evil Transmutation Cult...
The details were painted with such shape and substance that even Ji Jue, upon hearing them, thought they sounded remarkably feasible and very much like something he might pull off.
And so, amid the brewing turmoil, panic and restlessness gripped people's hearts.
Before anyone had even glimpsed a single hair of a pirate, some were already itching to flee.
Even more stirred up trouble with loud talk inside Xinquan, inciting riots and even calling on the masses to take up arms: "You showed no mercy, so don't blame us for turning ruthless! You fired the first shot! Everyone follow me—blades in hand, kill the Ji dog!"
One didn't need to think to know where the rumors came from and whose handiwork this was.
When encountering the weak, swarm them, loot everything, and burn it to the ground. When encountering the strong, bribe spies, sow internal chaos, and strike from both inside and out.
This had been the standard playbook and procedure of those water ghosts from the Thousand Islands for years; they hadn't changed it once.
Yet it worked wonders.
To the point where, before the Blood Cleansing Fleet and various pirate armadas had even sailed out of port, Xinquan already appeared tottering in the tempest.
Countless people fled, and those who remained harbored timid, trembling hearts. Some even tried to incite acquaintances on the management team to pry open the storehouses and loot supplies: "Let's rob the vault and bolt..."
There were simply too many idiots.
The sparks flying from Lu Feng's stun baton couldn't even keep them down.
As for those who wished to leave, Ji Jue had never cared. Xinquan wasn't some demon's den; people were free to come and go. But toward those who had signed labor contracts and indentures, he wasn't nearly so hospitable.
You've reaped the benefits, enjoyed the perks, and now you want to wipe your mouth like wiping your damn ass and slip away? What were you thinking?
Among those agitating and stirring up riots these past days, plenty were of this sort; some had even caused widespread destruction directly on the assembly lines.
To this, Ji Jue simply gently unlocked the heavy doors of the underground workshop.
Consider it recruiting talent.
In any case, as long as they weren't dead, the money could always be earned back.
By now, less than half the people remained in Xinquan. And those who stayed were either bound by contract and unable to flee, or had nowhere else to go and resigned themselves to lying flat, enjoying a few more days before waiting to die.
Those who genuinely hoped Ji Jue would win didn't even amount to a tenth.
Ji Jue didn't mind this at all, nor did he feel the slightest bit hurt—he was merely hiring workers, not training suicidal retainers. The good treatment he provided was just done in passing to put himself in a better mood; expecting that sort of thing to buy loyalty would be laughably naive.
In any case, as long as there were workhorses to labor for him, that was enough.
The rest, he didn't care about.
At the very least, when it came to truly taking up blades and clashing in a bloodbath with those sea-dwelling water ghosts, those workers were far out of their depth.
Fortunately, the specialists had already arrived at his doorstep.
Two rumbling heavy trucks rolled into Xinquan, caked in mud. Having trudged all this way through arduous trials, they finally ground to an uneven halt. Then, a troupe of burly giants, each standing over two meters tall, leapt down from the beds.
Lining up in formation, they nearly choked the entire street.
Unlike the typical skin tone of Federation citizens, their complexions were pale, their irises jade-green, yet their hair was jet-black with natural, wavy curls.
A faint crimson tinge leaked from each man's dispersing spiritus. Blended together, the fluctuations produced by so many men's spiritus resembled an unbroken sea of scarlet flame.
At the very front, a man resting his hand against a waist sabre parted the crowd and marched straight toward Ji Jue.
Then, bowing at the waist, he offered a respectful salute.
Pledging loyalty to his employer.
"Mr. Ji Jue, Knight Commander Slan of the Knights of Homecoming, at your service!"
Yes, indeed. Ji Jue had simply poached this squad of Homecoming Knights straight from the Lou family. These tool-men hardly minded moonlighting during lulls in their long-term contracts to earn some extra cash on the side anyway.
Besides, they had crossed paths countless times before—in every sense of the phrase—and by now worked together with practiced ease.
Only, unlike before, these Swarm knights were virtually empty-handed; aside from firearms and ammunition, they carried no weapons at all.
There were only pairs of eyes brimming with anticipation and longing, gazing at Ji Jue, yearning for another free handout.
On their flattering, grinning faces, they were practically begging for someone to write with a pen: "Dad, drop me a sniper rifle!"
There was no helping it; Ji Jue's perks were just too sweet.
Anyone who used them knew it—and the same went for those being used...
Aside from that, if there was any other change, it was the armor on their bodies.
Unlike their past attire of using whatever was on hand, every single man who arrived here was clad in full armor. Across the grayish-black iron breastplates, dried bloodstains and dark crimson hues had seeped deep into the metal, impossible to scrub away. One could tell at a glance that these had seen countless years and spanned many generations.
Among the Knights of Homecoming, hereditary succession from father to son was no empty phrase; a suit of armor like this might have been passed down from founding ancestors to sons and grandsons, regarded as nothing short of a sacred relic. Even when traveling out to earn foreign currency, it could not be brought along without special authorization.
What was more, etched onto the chest of every suit of armor was a bizarre insignia—a totem radiating outward in four directions, resembling raindrops, yet upon closer inspection, creeping silently like some manner of mold or fungus...
The Mark of the Mycelium!
Only lineages bound to the Sacrificial Lord Mycelium possessed the right to don such armor, and only then could they receive the blessing of the Mycelium Lord during the knight commander's succession rite.
War was like fungal mycelium, unceasing and sprawling; wherever blood fell, the fungi of death and struggle would sprout!
The so-called "Mycelium" was among the most prominent of the myriad Sacrificial Lords of the Swarm. Unlike the "Shrike," which delighted in mass slaughter, it leaned toward conferring boons and blessings upon the collective.
Though they harbored the intention of freeloading whatever they could get for free, the fact that Slan had brought out this full set of gear showed he had brought their family heirlooms to back Ji Jue up.
Seeing Slan approach, Ji Jue took the initiative to step forward and shake his hand. "You arrived so early. Much appreciated."
Unexpectedly, beside Slan stood a rather elderly middle-aged man, neither armored nor armed. Gaunt and hunched, he wore traditional Mid-Continent attire, garish and colorful.
Stepping forward behind Slan, he extended a hand. "Mr. Ji Jue, a pleasure to meet you."
Ji Jue hesitated a moment before shaking his hand, asking curiously, "And this is?"
Slan immediately bowed his head, respectfully preparing to answer, but the middle-aged man cut in, answering first, "The accountant! I am the accountant of the knighthood, responsible for auditing accounts and transactions. This time, because the sum on the contract is somewhat substantial, I was specially dispatched to liaise with Mr. Ji Jue."
"Ah, yes, yes, yes! The accountant, the accountant!" Slan nodded right behind him without hesitation.
The accountant?
Ji Jue cast a dubious glance at the newcomer, though he didn't press the matter further.
If you say you're the accountant, then you're the accountant.
The internal affairs of the Knights of Homecoming were none of Ji Jue's business. As long as they could draw their blades and charge into battle at the critical moment, he wouldn't care if they brought an accountant, let alone camp followers.
Exhausted from the long trek, Ji Jue first led them to the quarters prepared well in advance, then treated everyone to a hearty meal in the cafeteria of Haian Industries before leading Slan and the accountant into his office.
Then, the accountant nonchalantly took a seat in the only chair opposite the desk.
Slan stood behind him.
As if it were the most natural thing in the world.
"If I cause any offense, please forgive me," the accountant said, cutting straight to the chase. "Regarding the terms of the contract, our side actually has a few additional thoughts..."
"Oh?" Ji Jue glanced at Slan, then turned his gaze to the accountant, shifting into work mode. "Certainly. If there are any objections, laying them out beforehand is far better than having disagreements and unpleasantness arise after the fact. Please, speak freely."
Seeing him so frank, the accountant seemed taken aback. After a brief hesitation, he sighed, took off his turban, and revealed dry, thinning hair.
"To tell you the truth, regarding the employment fee, we hope for some upward room."
"Reasonable enough," Ji Jue nodded without a second thought. "How much of an increase do you feel is appropriate?"
Though disappointed and displeased inwardly, there was no need to display it on his face. Buying high and selling low was standard commercial practice. These men were here to risk their lives; in critical moments, they would be locked in life-and-death struggle. Wanting to raise the price when trouble loomed was only natural.
Still, the terms had already been settled beforehand. To arrive in Xinquan and demand more right when the contract was about to be signed was pushing it—failing to see who held the cards, and throwing hospitality back in his face.
"You may have misunderstood," the accountant said with a genial smile. "To avoid any misinterpretation, please allow me to lay out our thoughts in full. Regarding the price, we wish for a twenty-percent markup. No, please wait a moment. As for the method of payment, we do not intend to use gold or precious metals. Nor will Federation currency be necessary. Direct settlement in products from your side will suffice."
At those words, Ji Jue fell silent.
He shot a puzzled glance at Slan.
Slan stood rock-solid and unmoving, looking utterly mindless as he stood behind the accountant, voicing not the slightest objection.
Which meant he had known about this all along—and even concurred with it. Furthermore, this accountant's actual status was ridiculously high.
Yet the loaded implications in the man's words gave Ji Jue a faint glimmer of understanding.
After a brief silence, Ji Jue tapped the desk. Spiritus circuits spread out, covering and sealing off the entire office. Then, a sheet of electric sparks surfaced from the void, conducting a brutal scan that jammed and shut down all equipment and surveillance devices.
Finally, under Isis's watchful monitoring, the room became a completely sealed chamber.
"I imagine your esteemed side isn't interested in hydroelectric or wind turbines, are you?" Ji Jue asked with a faint smile.
"On the contrary," the accountant shook his head, replying decisively. "We are actually quite interested in those as well.
"The Red States are windy. Your wind turbines are cheap to manufacture and easy to maintain. Before coming here, we had already decided on a trial procurement plan.
"That includes Haian's tricycles, your newly announced large grain-processing equipment, and a batch of armored off-road vehicles..."
The accountant said slowly, "Slan told me that outside matters involving the Homeland, Mr. Ji Jue is an agreeable and reasonable man. He advised me not to beat around the bush or test the waters, but to state our needs directly.
"I think there is no need for me to be coy either.
"You must be well aware of what the Knights of Homecoming's primary mission abroad truly is."
Ji Jue asked, "Foreign currency?"
"Not just foreign currency, but supplies."
The accountant gave a self-deprecating chuckle. "Our arrangement with the Lou family is settled via products and contract manufacturing from the Lou clan's spiritus industry.
"Aside from the phlogiston in the ground that doesn't belong to us, the Red States are poor in resources. Our citizens lead hard lives; even the grain we consume every year is purchased with the blood and lives of knights fighting abroad. Even so, many still starve to death.
"Not to mention frequent disasters and perpetual warfare.
"Yet in truth, we also wish to maintain stability. But alas..."
He stopped there, saying no more.
Peace was a road one could not touch, with the Empire looming overhead from the start.
The proxy war between the Empire and the Federation had raged in the Mid-Continent for so many years without ever damn well stopping. Not to mention the terrorist organizations and assorted messes spawned by the turmoil.
With things said so plainly, Ji Jue naturally didn't feign ignorance. He asked directly:
"What is it that you want?"
The accountant smiled and turned to look out the window.
Out in the industrial park, a squad of fully armed security guards was patrolling past, their boots clanking with powerful resonance, the grinding of metal continuous to the ear.
Standing over three meters tall, the medium exoskeletons marched through the fine drizzle, clutching various knockoff armored weaponry, their iron visages ferocious!
Ji Jue fell silent for a long moment, then shook his head.
"...I believe you may be mistaken. That is not power armor."
Though exoskeletons and power armor looked similar on the surface, they were fundamentally different—like the difference between a Huanggua mini-trike and a genuine armored off-road vehicle.
No matter how one praised it, at best it was merely a force-feedback power system encased in an iron shell.
To this, the accountant nodded, speaking candidly, "If it were genuine power armor, we wouldn't dare ask for it."
The Red States buying a horde of power armor suits back home?
Were they out of their minds?!
If they truly did that, before Ji Jue's cargo even finished loading onto the ships, he and that side's King of Martyrs would probably be dissolved in acid water together...
This sort of heavy exoskeleton was precisely the most suitable option.
Vastly inferior to what lay above, yet more than enough to crush what lay below.
The Federation and the Empire could look at it and feel at ease, while their compatriots and adversaries would look at it and break into cold sweat. It was just damn well perfect!
"No, what I mean is..." Ji Jue paused, his voice dropping low: "...it can become one. At least, with a little more effort."
Now it was the accountant's turn to be struck dumb.
Staring at Ji Jue wide-eyed, he found it hard to believe his ears.
Part of him wondered if he had misheard, while another part suspected: You dog, aren't you trying to sell us out to the Federation Security Bureau?!
Ji Jue didn't bother wasting words. Rummaging through a drawer, he fished out a sheet of paper and slid it across. "Take this configuration sheet and show it to your superiors."
Power unit upgrades, chassis upgrades, outer plating upgrades, modular weapon system upgrades, optional phlogiston jetpack engine, optional alchemical components...
Piece by piece, item by item combined on paper, relying in the end on crude, brute-force stacking of materials, an unholy configuration, and a manufacturing cost multiplied several times over, it actually looked... damn well miraculous!
Although in terms of overall performance, it fell short by miles; in terms of power, it could only be described as barely passable; flight control was entirely absent, relying solely on a jetpack for long-distance leaps; in terms of mobility, it was as sluggish as a tortoise compared to current fourth-generation armor; and in weaponry, it couldn't hold a candle to orthodox armor, excessively makeshift from every angle.
Yet with a little more effort and ambition, it was nearly on par with the first-generation armor that had long since been universally phased out!
And this price!
The crux was the price! Though marked up several times with sheer black-hearted ruthlessness, it cost only half—or even less than half—of comparable Empire products!
What's more, it came with after-sales service, repairs, training, and a complete satisfaction guarantee—
A one-time transaction! Take it back and enjoy yourself, you old bastard!
Though it still wasn't genuine armor, yet... yet...
The accountant's aged hands trembled uncontrollably. After a long while, he let out a deep breath and asked solemnly, "Th-the specifications on this..."
"Accurate to the decimal point. Guaranteed genuine, ten-to-one refund if fake. What's more, right now I can offer you a buy-ten-get-one-free deal: buy ten frames, and we'll throw in spare parts for one more. And any spare parts needed for maintenance will be sold at a friends-and-family discount."
Ji Jue smiled. "If you think I'm just blowing hot air, you can observe its performance firsthand during this upcoming battle. After all, talk is cheap compared to seeing it with your own eyes, isn't it?"
The accountant said nothing more.
Lowering his head, he scrutinized the component spec sheet and exact data over and over. Taking a deep breath, he exhaled slowly.
Forget being accurate to the decimal point—if the practical results had even eighty percent of what was on paper, it would be enough to make the Mycelium Lord wake up laughing from his dreams!
"This matter is of grave importance and must be reported immediately. Please permit my departure."
Folding up the component sheet, the accountant slowly rose, bowed to Ji Jue, and finally patted Slan on the shoulder. "The Spore Council will arrive tomorrow. Remember your duty, Slan. On no account fail your mission!"
He didn't say yes, nor did he say no.
He simply left.
Ji Jue was slightly taken aback.
In the quiet office, he looked at Slan, whose expression was deeply conflicted, unable to comprehend: "What... does that mean?"
"It means regardless of consequences, and at all costs."
Slan shot him a resentful look, sighed, and steeled his resolve.
"...Every man can die, but we must win."
Chapter 414