In reality, the "Absolute Sentence squad" was merely an informal designation.
Because the moniker had spread so far and wide, over time even the Association had begun adopting it semi-officially.
Strictly speaking, however, no actual organ or department named the "Absolute Sentence squad" existed within the Association. If you asked anyone, you would find no official duties or organizational chart under that name.
Even in the archived records, there was only an entity titled the "Taboo Technology Standardization Advisory Seminar."
This was not a permanent organ of the Association.
Whenever it was decided to convene this seminar, aside from a director serving as manager, members would be selected ad hoc from among the Association's artisans according to the specific circumstances of the case, forming a temporary group.
Then they would team up and head out to deliver a full-service package of murder, silencing witnesses, and arson, sending their targets on their way—sometimes including their teachers above, their students below, and every single person in the know...
Once the job was done, they would take a bath, divvy up the loot, tally their damage output and DKP, pocket a tidy sum of Association contribution value and points, and then head home to their own lives, continuing the music and the dance.
Finally, the seminar would dissolve.
Leaving nothing behind except a single record sheet.
Precisely because of this, the Absolute Sentence squad struck sheer terror into hearts across the Association—because when they kicked down your door, you wouldn't even know if the strike team included your mentor, your colleague, or the student you trained with your own hands.
Furthermore, all records of the squad's operations were classified. Aside from the President and the eight Directors, no one had the authority to inquire into them.
All of this was designed to exert maximum deterrence and targeted suppression against artisans conducting taboo research, while preventing the squad from accumulating excessive systemic privilege within the Association, ensuring no one could abuse this power, and preserving the Association's public image to the greatest degree.
And most important of all: passing the buck!
Absolute Sentence squad?
What Absolute Sentence squad?
Don't chase shadows! We at the Ring of Taiyi have no such thing! How would I know what that noise next door was last night?
Your neighbor is dead? What the hell does that have to do with me?!
Hemmed in by checks and balances from every side, whenever this temporary, privileged violent instrument within the Association mobilized, there was usually only one reason: the abuse and study of taboo technologies.
Of course, even if members were picked ad hoc, in the eyes of the Directorate different artisans still had different priority levels. The selection process factored in many considerations:
Seniority, ability, background, and operational finesse—even personality and tightness of lips.
Consequently, even though members were not permanent and were chosen on a rolling basis, there would always be a certain pool of artisans placed in the top tier of consideration.
The exceptionally sinister, the exceptionally cautious, the exceptionally ruthless, those among the peer-bashing Embers who especially loved bashing peers—even bashing them with skill, with style, and with spectacular flair.
After all, call it whatever you like, the Absolute Sentence squad was sent out to murder and burn.
Combat prowess could not be lacking.
Purely research-oriented artisans could be ruled out immediately.
One had to understand that whether in the Association or the Profound, in the vast majority of cases, artisans were not people who waited passively for death. Even in dying, they would drag heaven and earth down with them; so long as they drew breath, they would fight tooth and nail.
What was more, artisans spent ninety-nine percent of their time hunkered down in their workshops without budging. The sheer, exaggerated difficulty of killing an artisan inside their own workshop was something a simple numbers advantage could never bridge.
Therefore, one usually needed a specialized trick or two up their sleeve.
Ye Xian had almost done this gig back in the day.
She had met every single criterion—in fact, she was top-ranked—but the catch was that she felt the work wasn't challenging enough. She could handle it solo; why bother finding teammates when she could hog all the spoils? Later on, after taking on that little side gig with Nirvana, she naturally couldn't be bothered with these piecemeal little odd jobs.
But Ji Jue wasn't picky!
The boy was in his growth spurt; no matter how much he ate, he could digest it all—the only worry was not getting enough!
Do it!
The Absolute Sentence squad was exactly what he wanted!
Hunting down fellow peers with torches held high—who wouldn't love a job like that?
So with a flick of Jiang Tongguang's hand, Ji Jue's name was placed on the list. Ji Jue hadn't dared to ask which list, but either way, he had passed the interview—go home and wait for the call!
It was part-time work, after all, so irregular hours were completely normal.
The Absolute Sentence squad couldn't clock in every day either; otherwise, no one would survive the strain.
Still, Jiang Tongguang had promised that if the lead currently on hand made progress, he would definitely prioritize putting Ji Jue in the field.
Anyone kept on the Absolute Sentence squad's radar for this long had to be a big fish!
And so, Director Jiang patted off his seat and floated away.
Leaving behind three Golden Ribbons, a slip of paper, and a freshly painted pie in the sky.
In the quiet, neither of the two spoke.
Only Ji Jue raised his teacup, drained it in one gulp, and stared at the sun slowly sinking outside the window. He couldn't help letting out a faint sigh:
"—Still not enough work. Still not ruthless enough."
Lou Feng completely lost his composure.
Still not enough?
Not fucking ruthless enough?
You almost went to war with an entire faction in the Association, and you still think that wasn't enough?
"Are you even human?!"
"Human or not, a man's got to produce results. Without big moves, where's the progress? Where do the Golden Ribbons come from?"
Ji Jue nudged the Golden Ribbons on the desk without an ounce of reverence. "If I were truly strong enough, fierce enough, formidable enough, why would I even need things like this?"
Having Golden Ribbons made him happy.
But having only two left him deeply dissatisfied.
Ji Jue had originally calculated that he could scrape together three Golden Ribbons in one go and wait for his promotion to Master. Yet after all that exertion, he was still one short.
And for the Master appraisal, three Golden Ribbons were merely the entry threshold, a hard requirement used as a baseline standard.
Well, not entirely hard.
If your feats were hardcore and abundant enough, then even without a single Golden Ribbon, you could skip straight to Master. Take Ye Xian back then: riding the breakthroughs brought by three creations in the Omen Series, she had secured her rank effortlessly without taking a single detour, leaving countless people in her dust.
But if you couldn't pull off feats of that scale and had to climb the seniority ladder and accumulate merits, you still needed a standard, right?
Ji Jue still had to build up reputation and seniority to earn a ticket to butt heads with the old fogies in the Association.
Of course, if he actually shared the stunts he had pulled in secret and told everyone the little story of Lu Changsheng, it would practically be a done deal—
A guaranteed Master appraisal in the Profound!
When that day came, he could welcome Sin with open arms, embroider the black banner by night, and look forward to a bright, promising future!
If Kanemoto could sit on the Grandmaster's seat, why couldn't he?
Alas, no matter how much of a bastard Ji Jue was, he still had some lingering attachment to the human world and his human status. Better forget it.
Weighing his options, Ji Jue decided to take his talents to the Absolute Sentence squad!
A job was a job anywhere; beating people up was beating people up no matter who they were.
Beating up fellow peers out in the open—awesome!
Before that, however—
Ji Jue whipped out a list and handed it to Lou Feng. "Vision, Mingsheng, Scale Rain, Twenty-Four Winds, Liquid Metal—fourteen in total. Now you can go 'consult' them on technologies and patents."
"Holy shit?"
Lou Feng was stunned. "Didn't you just say you were letting them off easy?"
"Didn't I?"
Ji Jue retorted, "I cancelled the inquiry hearing and spared their skins—what more do they want? Even Master Hu has to pay up. Do they think they're bigger shots than Master Hu, so they don't have to pay a cent?"
Refuse to pay?
Then die!
With an affair this big, how could nobody die?
Even if we can't get you today, we'll keep after you tomorrow!
I might not be able to ruin a Master, but you think I can't ruin you?
You'd better hope you can cozy up to a Director too!
"Treat this seriously, Old Lou!"
Ji Jue said with profound gravity, "Once we finish this group buy, we'll have new upgrades ready for next year, the year after that, and the year after that. We can squeeze the toothpaste for at least eleven or twelve years! Think about how much effort that saves!"
Just as their peers had laughed out of sheer fury upon seeing the patent barriers in the Sundial, Ji Jue had also turned red-hot with rage more than once at the mines, pits, walls, and stumbling blocks those peers had laid along their respective tracks for newcomers.
At present, its features across various domains could only be called a basic version. The moment they wanted to add unique characteristics, the people in the Association blocked them at every turn.
Either halt upgrades and wait for death, or cough up massive licensing fees and shares to buy peace.
And on top of that, these peers had dared to stage an inquiry hearing to apply pressure on him.
Well, the inquiry hearing was organized, and the pressure had been applied—just don't ask who was feeling it now.
Director Ji was petty-minded. He might not know who wasn't on that inquiry hearing petition, but he remembered every single name that was on it with crystal clarity.
And were these the only ones with ulterior motives?
The others were merely waiting to see which way the wind blew, not having had time to stick their necks out.
When a wall topples, everyone gives it a shove.
Back when Ji Jue was playing single-player, nobody cared. But once he stepped into the Association's game of thrones and showed signs of wanting to rise up, it became a full-throttle ranked match.
From the very beginning, he had never expected a peaceful resolution.
There was good reason artisans could get along with the White Stag: everything boiled down to the capable taking the lead!
Now that the club was swinging, a skull had better be in front of it. Without stepping on a few peers underfoot, you couldn't even stand straight when talking in the Association!
"Fine. I'll handle it personally."
Lou Feng picked up Ji Jue's list, thought for a moment, and settled on the first target for the chopping block.
Vision!
The workshop that had hopped the most energetically, shouted the loudest, and whose business and technology overlapped most heavily with the Sundial.
And most importantly: it was the closest.
Right in Nancheng!
With things like this, what else was there to say?
*Brother, coming in!*
That very night, Lou Feng, having used the Star Core Association's leyline teleportation to arrive right outside the entrance, knocked on the doors of Vision Workshop.
With the inquiry hearing notice gripped in his left hand and the Sword of Hanguang—specially forged for dealing with peers—held in his right, Lou Feng bared his teeth in a grin at the ashen-faced old artisan.
"Old Mister Sun, fancy a chat?"
That chat lasted until midnight.
When he walked out, the Sword of Hanguang was still held in his hand, but what filled his other hand had changed from an inquiry hearing notice into a thick stack of patent licensing agreements.
The patent barriers that Vision Workshop had spent three generations painstakingly erecting around the domain of trace spiritus analytical testing were now fully thrown open.
Glancing at the Sundial on his wrist, he didn't care what time it was. Making another call to summon a Star Core Association teleportation, he moved on to the next one.
Then the next.
And the one after that.
For three whole days, Lou Feng didn't close his eyes once, running non-stop across the Federation, the Empire, and the Thousand Islands.
Taking advantage of Hu Jian bending the knee, he pressed the attack, pursued ruthlessly, and struck hard.
Out of fourteen workshops, he personally brought twelve to heel—whether through patent licensing, technology sharing, or surrendering equity in exchange for capital injection.
As for the remaining two, one had spent a fortune kowtowing to Lou Feng's teacher, Kong Qingyan, to secure a cooperation agreement, while the other had already been on the brink of bankruptcy.
They had originally hoped to turn their fortunes around through this affair, but after losing completely and utterly, they abandoned all hope of staging a comeback—
Before Lou Feng even arrived at their doorstep, they deregistered the workshop themselves.
Bankrupt!
It proved that when an artisan chose to abandon self-improvement and completely rot away, aside from physical extermination, there truly was nothing anyone could do to them.
*Sorry, you're too late. Whatever's left in the workshop, take whatever catches your eye.*
Lou Feng was so enraged his face turned green!
Left with no alternative, after pointing at the guy's nose and cursing for two hours, he could only heave the workshop's proprietary equipment and their Crucible—passed down for eight or nine generations—onto his shoulders and leave—
"Don't let me ever see you on Tianshu Avenue again!"
Only after Ji Jue and Lou Feng finally settled down did the Association's belated announcement at last appear in an obscure corner of public notices on the official website.
*Due to insufficient evidence and unfounded allegations, the inquiry hearing is cancelled.*
*Further disputes arising from this matter are strictly prohibited!*
Following an investigation, to enforce Association regulations and uphold strict discipline, severe penalties were imposed on both parties: a whopping fine of fifty points each!
Terrifying indeed—an apprentice working in the Association for over a decade couldn't save up that much!
Once the announcement went up, the bloodthirsty peers who had been looking forward to rivers of blood were immediately crestfallen.
*How could you wimp out, Old Hu? Hit him!*
*What are you afraid of?!*
*We'll support you!*
*It's just Chaosheng! He's already completed his apprenticeship; is Ye Xian really going to beat you to death over a minor thing like this?*
Alas, after the announcement was posted, Master Hu entered complete seclusion. Having withdrawn from the vast majority of projects within the Association, he declared to the outside world that he would devote himself entirely to revising the eighth edition of the compendium of foundational theories, doing his utmost to contribute to the Association before his term ended.
And amid the wailing of workshops everywhere, Ji Jue and Lou Feng's crummy joint workshop—which didn't even have a name and was still designated [No. 1827778928]—rode the wave of publicity from their paper to proudly seize a Grade 1, Class A rating, officially entering the directory.
In a certain sense, their "Fluid lineage" faction had, from this day forward, made its official debut within the Association!
Thanks to the miserable, pitiable state of so many victims, their fellow peers lapsed into an eerie quiet, without a peep of gossip or rumor.
Instead, Master Ji's reputation for enduring personal hardship for the public good and his merciful, magnanimous heart won him stellar acclaim in the Association, earning unanimous, widespread praise.
The good news: he was more civilized than Ye Xian!
The bad news: his civilization had its limits—and he was even pettier!
Ye Xian ignored the rules, masked her face, rolled up her sleeves, and hacked people down; he, on the other hand, actually knew how to follow the Association's procedures—and then made his victims say thank you at the very end!
On the bright side, at least people were still alive.
Pity that aside from being alive, they had nothing left...
Between "dying quickly" and "living in misery," everyone was genuinely hard-pressed to tell which was worse.
Thus, amid this strange calm, Ji Jue temporarily ceased his drumbeats and settled down.
Yet settling down was one thing; vanishing offline without a trace the moment he finished his business made everyone suspect that this bastard was cooking up something massive...
And so, in the dead of night, they tossed and turned anxiously in bed.
Waiting for the other shoe upstairs to drop.
Days drifted by one after another, and Ji Jue remained vanished, neither dead nor alive to the outside world.
Only within the workshop inside the Doomsday Express, Ji Jue completely broke down.
"Why the fuck is every single attempt wrong?!"
No matter how hard he struggled to soar, he could only slam headfirst into an invisible ceiling time and time again, battered and bloody, his vision going black.
For the first time in his life, Ji Jue experienced the most agonizing and tormenting of all the artisan's occupational hazards—bar none—aside from lofty ambitions with clumsy hands, inadequate talent, shallow experience, or limited ability.
The so-called bottleneck!
Chapter 670