Dust swirled over the White Nation beneath the blazing sun. Ragged farmers and shepherds stared numbly from afar toward the approaching roar of engines.
At the end of the bumpy dirt road, an imposing convoy of trucks covered in rust and weld scars rumbled slowly forward. The lead truck pulled up before a checkpoint manned by masked soldiers and presented credentials.
Amid the static of a radio, crude chevaux-de-frise were cleared away. Pity, though, that no world-weary chant drifted on the wind to set the mood.
After passing the checkpoint and the valley, what lay beyond the tunnel was not the arid wind and sand of the outside world, but a lake as placid as a gemstone, surrounded by a cluster of newly built, crude dwellings bustling with clamor and activity.
The convoy rolled straight in and came to a halt beside the village. The young man in the lead truck pushed open the door, leapt down lightly, and took off his sunglasses.
Paying no mind to the men stepping forward to search him, he looked around. "Which one of you is Mr. Inayat?"
"That would be me."
The bearded man who had been waiting waved off the searchers and took the initiative to offer his hand. The youth smiled, shook it, and pulled an ID badge from his pocket. "I'm Yan Fei. Here are my credentials from Mr. Ji."
"No need. I've seen you before."
Inayat waved, leading the way and gesturing for him to follow.
Among the many old houses still clad in scaffolding, they entered one that seemed to have barely escaped being condemned. Under the brazen sunlight outside the window, it was far from dim.
A wisp of incense lingered in the air, seemingly lit to drive away the smell of mold, and a few varieties of fruit were set out on the table.
"Pardon our slapdash operation. Everything is still a mess, so forgive the poor hospitality." Inayat picked up an earthenware pot and poured into a bowl. "It's so remote out here that we don't have any local specialties—except the water's pretty good. Drink up."
Yan Fei didn't mind in the slightest. He lifted the bowl, chugged it down, and glanced out the window, sighing softly. "It's already quite nice—miles better than before. Do you need generators around here? I can make another run and deliver some later."
"That would be a massive help. We're still lighting candles at night."
Inayat sighed with self-deprecation. "A thousand loose ends, a complete tangle. Once you're running the show, every bit of food, fuel, and daily necessities turns into a headache. If it weren't for the Wo—*cough*, Mr. Ji, how could we ever have reached this point?"
"If there's anything else you need, don't be shy. Just say the word."
Yan Fei grinned and pulled out a manifest. "This trip, I mainly brought some flour and miscellaneous supplies. Mr. Ji said the profits from the Mid-Continent branch will prioritize meeting your needs here."
"You've already helped immensely." Relieved, Inayat smiled and looked down at the manifest in his hands. Then, the smile froze on his face.
"Huh?"
*Thud!*
Outside the window, an unloading worker's hands slipped. A massive crate hit the ground and cracked open. Paper-wrapped square boxes spilled all over the dirt, and from behind torn wrapping paper gleamed a brilliant golden sheen.
Bullets, bullets, bullets, bullets—nothing but bullets!
And it wasn't just bullets.
Inside crates pried open with crowbars, nestled amid cushions of straw at the bottom, the pungent tang of gun oil hit the air as blued, quenched gun barrels emerged. Another crate was opened, revealing rows of blackened, grid-patterned "pineapples"—
"Boss, Boss, look at this!"
A bearded man raised his hands high, holding up a folded drone. There was no telling how many more such crates were packed inside the giant trucks.
As for the crates marked "Handle with Care, Explosive Hazard," opening them revealed shoulder-fired rockets and mortar shells—
Yet what was truly precious were the long, slender cases stacked like a mountain on the truck Yan Fei had driven.
Bizarre blades and swords.
Across jet-black or iron-gray edges ran crimson veins like living blood vessels, pulsing in silent flow.
Combined with the conventional arsenal before, there was enough to fully equip an army of thousands, alongside over a hundred Celestial Chosen.
"Two hundred and eleven standard alchemical creations, ninety-one blessed weapons. Most belong to the Swarm and White Stag paths, crafted using blood-sacrifice techniques. You won't have to worry about maintenance—if the edge gets chipped, cutting down a couple of enemies will repair it on its own."
Yan Fei casually drew a blood-colored blade. Gripping the hilt, he channeled a sliver of power. Instantly, a viscous wave of blood-red flames surged forth, swirling around his body and face.
Fierce, savage, craving human flesh!
Then the blood flames vanished, and everything returned to normal. Yan Fei tossed the weapon back into the case and turned with a grin toward Inayat. "Mr. Ji said they're just shoddy scraps he threw together on a whim, so do with them as you see fit. There'll be more deliveries later. If you have leftovers, feel free to dump them at the Wild Gathering for sale—just whatever you do, don't put his name on them..."
Inayat's expression twitched. He drew a scimitar and examined it closely. The ravenous blade hummed. Raising his arm, he slashed toward the distant lake.
With a crisp whistling sound that tore the air, a straight fissure cleaved across the lake's surface, extending forward. Wherever it passed, even the water could not knit back together, churning and boiling ceaselessly.
Roars of thunderous cheering instantly erupted around them.
Inayat, however, was dumbfounded. He scrutinized the scimitar in his grip—its balance, dimensions, spirituality, and ergonomics were immaculate, unbelievably smooth.
And that was just from a casual swing...
As expected of the Wolf Lord!
To pull off something so outrageous with such effortless ease!
He gave a silent smile, sheathed the blade, and asked solemnly, "...Does Mr. Ji have any other instructions?"
"No special orders. He only said you should do whatever you wish to do. If you insist on offering something in return, you might keep an eye out for that 'talent recruitment' plan he mentioned earlier."
Yan Fei smiled faintly and held out his hand. "For the coming period, I'll be staying behind as an apprentice intern to support your needs. If you have any equipment or alchemical issues, feel free to ask me. I can also do masonry, pour concrete, and plaster walls—provided you don't mind that I don't have an artisan license."
"You are more than welcome!"
Inayat laughed heartily, grasping his hand and giving it a vigorous shake.
Once the unloading was complete, he led Yan Fei toward the deepest recesses of the village, through heavy security along the way.
"Is the merchandise ready, Elder Dabit?" Inayat asked, looking at the drowsy old man reclined on a deckchair.
"All in the dungeon. Wasted so much of our food. They eat like pigs, shit like horses, and don't put on an ounce of meat—we can barely afford to keep them." The grim, stern old man pushed himself up, hunching his back as he led the way.
Pushing open a battered wooden door, a foul stench drifted up from the underground passage. When a sliver of firelight flared, the figures shackled behind iron bars seemed to startle awake.
A relentless clamor of curses and snarls rang out, mingled with pleas and desperate promises.
Among them were even Celestial Chosen whose matrices and spiritus had been locked down, pinned to the ground with savage grimaces, their eyes filled with murderous intent and hunger.
Yet the moment they caught sight of the old man, their pupils instinctively contracted.
They could not hide their terror.
"See? Full of fight at first, but after a few days locked up, they behave. No matter how stubborn their mouths are, they shed just as many tears as anyone else. When they realize they're about to die, their performances get even better.
"Still, that's all they amount to.
"Lapdogs of the Federation and the Empire, warlords' killing tools, junkies, trash, overbearing noble lords, and pretentious Celestial Chosen—once they end up here, there's no difference between any of them."
The grim, hunched elder let out a raspy cackle. Glancing at the dramatic spectacle inside the dungeon, he asked as if offhandedly, "Truth be told, I don't quite understand. What does 'that lord' want with this trash? Surely not just to kill them for fun?"
"To help them turn over a new leaf and make something of themselves, of course."
Yan Fei glanced at him and replied nonchalantly, "Trash doesn't throw itself into the garbage bin. It takes a little effort to make these useless mouths to feed face reality. We're finding them a place where they can truly shine, where they can make a modest contribution to this world to offset and atone for their past misdeeds."
"Heh..."
The old man seemed to catch on and chuckled softly. "Truly full of mercy, isn't he?"
"Who could say otherwise?"
Yan Fei looked down, gazing at the fine, unpolished gems before him with eager anticipation.
The joy of a scrapper lay in turning trash into treasure.
Scavenge a bit from the east, rummage a bit in the west. Pair a scrapped motherboard with a dead power supply, slap in two junk graphics cards—everyone was garbage, gathered together, so nobody looked down on anyone else. With a little tinkering, the rig would somehow fire up and post new records!
Burn yourself to spark a miracle!
Thinking of it like that, it actually felt rather rousing—
Perhaps that was the bond between a scrapper and his scrap.
Meanwhile, Ji Jue had become obsessed with creating junk.
He indulged in it tirelessly.
In fact, he was displeased whenever he failed to make junk.
"—Another fucking success! Seriously? Even this worked?"
Frowning deeply, Ji Jue reached into the furnace and fished out a glowing-red blade. Cracks webbed across its surface, yet as spiritual radiance coursed through them, it seemed utterly organic and unified, its faint hum rising into a mournful wail like weeping.
With a casual flick, flames flowed from the blade, lingering in the air long after the swing.
Sparks flickered in and out of the fissures, rising and falling like breaths.
Though bizarre in design, it was undoubtedly a fine specimen among alchemical creations—it even possessed the potential to advance further once infused with a blessing.
"Log A917—Success. Reason: harmony among the four phases, mutually complementary. Ascension and Integration phases were overly complete; the conflict between Transmutation and Purification was insufficient to disrupt the balance."
With a flick of his wrist, Ji Jue tossed the piece onto the mountainous heap of finished products beside him.
For over ten days straight, he had buried himself in the workshop, exploring and experimenting almost without sleep. His successes were countless, while his failures were practically nonexistent.
On the left, finished products piled high as a mountain; on the right, failed attempts numbered only a handful.
Never in his wildest dreams had he imagined that one day he would get a headache from having too high of a success rate...
*Get lost, you damn talent and genius!*
*Let my hard work and sweat have their turn!*
Chapter 672