It's Only Rebellion If You Fail

Two hours earlier, on the outermost rim of the Seven Cities, at the very edge of the sparsely populated Yamen Archipelago, on a desolate godforsaken island, Minkler arrived at the base of his entirely disloyal Joint Defense Fleet. The journey was completely unimpeded. Ji Jue had not even needed to deploy the jamming and shielding he had prepared. It simply hadn't been necessary. The base's military readiness was so lax that even when the Prosperity sailed right up to the doorstep, there was not the slightest reaction. Essential posts were completely abandoned, and not even a radar alarm had been triggered. Well, because it was turned off. Turned! Off. Completely! Ji Jue felt sick to his stomach and had begun to grow paranoid instead. Had something gone wrong? Was this some elaborate trap designed to lure them deep inside? "Relax. That's just how our Joint Defense Fleet is." Minkler waved a hand with total calm and ease, as if returning to his own home. "If security were actually tight, that's when we'd have a problem." In fact, it was only after the battered Prosperity had practically docked at the pier that someone finally noticed. A man ambled over lazily with a cigarette dangling from his lips, eyeing the beat-up vessel and calculating how much extortion money he could squeeze out of it, when an unexpected figure descended the folding ladder. The figure raised a hand and delivered a slap to perk him up. Then a backhand to clear his head. After taking two ringing smacks across the face, the sentry's glazed eyes finally cleared. Staring in disbelief with wide, watery eyes, he stammered, "M-Major General? You're... back?!" "No shit! If I didn't come back, you motherfuckers would probably think you own the place!" Minkler planted a kick right into him, sending him sprawling on all fours, then swaggered straight inside. Ji Jue trailed behind, clicking his tongue in amazement. It was one thing to desert guard posts, but these people were openly drinking, playing cards, and gambling—not even bothering to keep up appearances. The Seven Cities truly were a land of exceptional talent; every single person had something going on! Even their uselessness was refreshingly thorough. Soon enough, Ji Jue came to a conclusion: It was intentional. Tightening military discipline? Come on, was that really necessary? If Minkler had actually tried to drill this mob into shape, enforce discipline, and demand obedience, he wouldn't even have made it past day one before a mutiny kicked him out and ended his career. It wasn't that mud couldn't stick to the wall—it was that the Seven Cities had no use for this mud being useful at all. How could it be otherwise? An elite fleet operating outside the control of the seven great families, held in the palm of a single man? Who would be able to sleep at night? Useless was good. As long as it maintained an official headcount and drew breath, that was enough. If an actual crisis arose and they truly needed to muster a force, the families could easily dig into their own pockets, pool their assets, and cobble together an elite fleet anyway. The rest of the time... As long as they were alive, nobody asked for more. If anyone here showed even a shred of competence or ambition, they wouldn't survive to see tomorrow. To say nothing of the utterly chaotic equipment standards and complete lack of coordination. Messy was safe. Confusing was best. The activation keys for some of the ships weren't even in the fleet's hands. The moment a vessel cleared port, someone on the other end could press a remote button, and your vessel would power down instantly while you collapsed clutching your chest in terror. The ammunition depots were enough to make a grown man weep. Aside from a regular batch of damp, defective munitions, every spare corner was crammed with contraband and random junk. Someone was even raising chickens... As for whether the contraband was confiscated or pooled together by the garrison itself—heh, best not to ask. Asking would be impolite. No wonder nobody cared about Minkler. Honestly, anyone who even recognized his name was already giving him immense credit! Fortunately, none of this was a problem... In Ji Jue's eyes, none of it mattered in the least! Ji Jue only cared about one thing: How much real capital did they have on hand to start operations, and how many reliable men and trusted confidants did Minkler actually possess? Sure enough, just as they rounded a corner, the doors of several vans slid open. Dozens of men poured out in a dark wave—dark-skinned, burly, and sharp-eyed, with holstered pistols at their belts and bare arms riddled with scars and bullet wounds. The vehicles were familiar—the compact vans produced once again by Haian Industries, inexpensive, reliable, and bestsellers at home and abroad. The men were familiar too; most members of the Yacheng Veterans Club carried the very same aura and expression—an utter disregard for life and pure contempt for weakness. These were men who had truly crawled out of oceans of blood and mountains of corpses, who reeked of hard-fought war. Minkler wasted no breath on pleasantries, simply asking, "Where's the rest?" The lieutenant leading them answered, "Per orders, they've moved toward the armory and the communications center. As soon as the signal drops, they'll take control immediately." Minkler nodded, sweeping his gaze across the group, his expression shifting slightly. "Where's Hilmi?" The lieutenant went silent for a moment. "Dead." "...Understood." Minkler's face twitched, his expression hardening into cruelty. "Leave the rest to me. From here on, follow his orders." He pointed behind him to Ji Jue, who had been lingering like a casual bystander. "Him?" The lieutenant frowned, eyes narrowing as he scrutinized Ji Jue. Doubt and suspicion filled his gaze, bordering on disdain. The men behind him were equally unimpressed, their eyes cold and aloof. Until Minkler added, "He's Lu Feng's brother." In an instant, visible to the naked eye, the disdain vanished and the coldness evaporated. Minkler added one more line: "And he has even less humanity than that bastard Lu." Instantly, every single face bloomed with pure, warm-hearted enthusiasm! Why the hell didn't you say so earlier! "Acquaintances?" Ji Jue asked. "All old brothers who went to the battlefields in the Mid-Continent together back then. They might not be elite, but they did... well, coordinate with Lu Feng." "Coordinate"—meaning Lu Feng flew overhead while everyone below dodged bullets and artillery shells, running their asses off trying to keep up... Hey, that still counts as coordination! Ludicrous as it sounded, any ground troops capable of operating alongside an armored knight through a hail of gunfire and artillery—even if they were line-fillers—were line-fillers forged in hellfire. "Our own people. Good," Ji Jue smiled. Reaching into his pockets, he drew out handful after handful of wristwatches like a magician performing a trick and passed them around. "Put these on. Don't worry, they'll come in handy." Without a word of question, the lieutenant immediately started strapping one on. Then he watched in awe as Ji Jue hauled crate after crate out of his pockets, distributing body armor, helmets, frag grenades, flashbangs, walkie-talkies, assault rifles, and ammunition right there on the spot... "I'll leave this to you." Minkler wasted no time. He gestured to two men to follow him and charged straight toward the central building. He bulldozed his way through, smashing open doors, storming through checkpoints, completely unchecked. Anyone who dared utter a peep received a ruthless backhand across the mouth. His ferocity and arrogance were worse than ever before, silencing everyone into petrified submission. Reaching his office door, he met his confidant waiting outside, took a phone from his hands, and barked into the receiver: "Sound the alarm! Assembly!" Thus, amid the screeching blare of sirens, Minkler kicked open the doors to the command center. For the first time in as long as he could remember, he stepped up to his seat of power as a true ruler and commander... His bloodshot eyes swept across the room, taking in every stunned face. Suddenly, he grinned. *Click.* A loaded pistol was placed on the desk. He sat down and waited in silence. Soon, panicked footsteps echoed as the entire base, like a kicked hornets' nest, finally stirred from its deathly lethargy. Their response, however, was far from graceful—scarcely better than Minkler's father foaming at the mouth during a seizure. Total chaos reigned without a shred of discipline; some men were even sprinting across the yard in nothing but their boxers and boots... Most tried pulling out their phones, only to watch their signal bars plunge from full to zero in an instant. Farther away, a hand rose. Index and middle fingers extended like scissors, aimed toward the communications tower, and lightly snipped shut. With the phantom snap of shears, every outside signal was severed. [Everything Normal] "Alright, gentlemen. Let's begin." Ji Jue turned around, smiling faintly at the sea of soldiers in the underground parking lot, armed to the teeth. "Be quick about it. The list is rather long..." In that instant, through the dead silence, came a crisp, synchronized clatter. Bolts racking back. Safeties disengaging. Operation initiated! *** "G-General Minkler?" Every person rushing into the command center froze upon catching sight of the figure seated at the front, their expressions a magnificent kaleidoscope of shock—some terrified, some bewildered, others pleasantly surprised. Some instinctively took a step back to flee, only to spot the two figures flanking the doorway, their cold gazes, and the hands resting heavily on their sidearms. Frozen on the spot, they snapped out of their stupor and shuffled to their seats like walking corpses. "What is going on here! Who authorized this!" A furious roar echoed down the hallway as a corpulent figure squeezed through the doorway, bellowing in outrage, "Without an emergency or an order from the council, who dared sound the alarm—you... Minkler?!" The deputy commander stared blankly for a second, then broke into a mocking sneer. "You actually dared come ba—" *Bang!* The corpse toppled backward, staring blankly at the ceiling. Minkler lowered his pistol and turned his gaze to the room. "Insubordination and treason: death." *** "An emergency assembly? Minkler?" In the power and communications office, a man let out a cold laugh upon hearing the news, dripping with undisguised ridicule. "Who the hell does he think he is? I'm not going. That useless waste Minkler thinks he can kill me?!" The answer was yes. Before the words had even settled, someone kicked the door in. Without a single word of warning, a gun came up, the trigger was pulled, and arterial crimson splattered across the automatically humming consoles. Under the dumbfounded stares of the others in the room, the killer turned and walked away with icy detachment, kicking open the next door. Trigger pulled. *Bang!* *Bang!* *Bang!* *Bang!* Gunshots echoed across the garrison base, growing dense and frantic before steadily thinning out. Eventually, absolute silence swallowed the base once more. Not a single person was left willing or able to stand in Minkler's way. "P-Please reconsider, General!" In the command center, someone mustered the courage to wipe his cold sweat and speak up. "There's no need to take things this far. After all, everyone is..." "Are you fucking committing treason, Minkler?!" The chief logistics officer slammed the table in fury, unable to take it any longer. "What the hell do you think you're stirring up?!" Minkler yawned and cast a languid glance his way, completely indifferent. "Mind your tone," Minkler said. "Understand who you're talking to." "Who I'm talking to?" Flushed with rage, the logistics chief let out a furious laugh. "Don't you pull that posturing bullshit with me! Who the fuck do you think—th-think... th..." His voice seized in his throat. His eyes bulged, and the words died on his tongue. Because Minkler had raised his hand. Before the eyes of everyone present, he displayed the ring upon his index finger. Atop that ring shone an unmistakable, brilliant gleam—the proof of the Master of Xiangzhou. The token of supreme authority within the Seven Cities! In that instant, a chorus of screeching chairs scraped against the floor. Eyes wide with shock, everyone instinctively rose to their feet, snapped to attention, and raised their hands in salute. A salute to the proof of the family head in Minkler's grasp! "Seems I don't need to prove who the hell I am anymore," Minkler said, tapping the desk and looking around impassively. "Does anyone else have something to say?" And so, not another word was spoken. Excellent. Within fifteen minutes, every post was manned and preparations were complete. The Seven Cities Joint Defense Fleet deployed in full force! Bandit suppression! Bandit suppression! Bandit suppression!