The ground was still trembling, and no one knew if it was about to give way again. Jing Shu couldn't believe these people were still standing guard by the exit instead of running for their lives.
Xiao Hei raised both hands. "Hey, guys, easy there. Let's all put the guns down and talk this out."
The dark muzzles lowered, and a familiar face stepped out—George, the man who'd taken that zombie hippo a few days ago. He clapped his hands with a grin. "Congratulations, lucky Asian folks. You're the A-tier mercenary team that survived this disaster, so you'll be promoted to S-tier. From now on, you'll fight for the black market, and every victory will earn you a fortune in black market coins."
From somewhere in the distance came an old man's voice. "Quit wasting time, the new government's people are almost here!"
That's when Jing Shu finally realized what the underground nobles were plotting. They were in a hurry to pick the strongest team from the survivors to fight against the city's forces. Whoever won would decide the power structure and how resources were divided.
Both sides were desperate. The nobles in the black market, and the luxurious upper crust of Sacramento, were about to face an all-out war. The new regime was sending in U.S. troops to reclaim control, while the Mexican army was pressing north, ready to invade. Sacramento was about to explode into chaos, and if these resource-rich fat sheep didn't flee soon, they'd be bled dry.
So the two forces had decided to cooperate temporarily, escape together, and seek shelter under the powerful Austin overlord. But that brought a new problem—how would they divide their assets? What if they disagreed mid-escape? The black market had over a hundred middle-class nobles hoarding supplies, while Sacramento was ruled by a single tyrant under a slave system. In the end, both sides decided to let mercenary strength settle the score.
The entire underground market had collapsed, and Jing Shu had no idea how many people made it out alive. Not many, for sure. But when another A-tier team emerged, George simply grouped them with Jing Shu's squad and two teams trained by the nobles, then led everyone to the battlefield.
The rumor was that this match would determine how the two sides split resources. The losers would have to hand over their mines and assets as "protection tribute." The new government had already declared its intent to wipe out both of these "cancers," so it was no wonder everyone was running scared.
"So what's Old Goat's deal with making us S-tier mercs for the black market?" Tank muttered, counting on his fingers like he was trying to make sense of it. "Wait a sec, if we're fighting for one side and they're fighting for the other, doesn't that mean we'll end up killing each other?"
Xiao Hei sat in the corner, shivering. "Can I back out? I don't wanna fight in some damn tournament, I just wanna go back to the slums and live."
But before anyone could answer, a deep rumble echoed through the air again. The slums had started to collapse too. Xiao Hei swallowed hard. He was doomed. "Shit, my five thousand black market coins... I didn't even get to spend them. I didn't bring my luggage either," he wailed.
Jing Shu was starting to piece together what Yang Yang was planning. One thing was clear: whether it was the black market's goods or Sacramento's, he wanted it all for himself.
"I've gotta hurry and practice with the Rubik's Cube, or I'll miss out on all this loot," Jing Shu muttered, pulling out her Cube Space. She forced herself to keep using illusions, pushing to her limit over and over. Through trial and error, she could feel herself getting close to a breakthrough—just a little more!
Word was, the new government had already crushed nearby cities and was almost at Sacramento's gates. When Jing Shu passed by the canal, she saw workers loading massive amounts of supplies into shipping containers, getting ready to flee the city that very night.
The match was set to take place right there at the dock, under the glare of floodlights. Both sides gathered their fighters and built two arenas. Each merc team could only occupy one. The word was, each platform represented a seat of authority.
The rules were simple: kill the mercenaries on the platform and take their place.
George briefed them on the way. "Listen, we've gotta win at least one arena. Each victory's worth fifty thousand black market coins, and you'll come with us to Austin. If we can't take even one, we'll have no choice but to stay here and surrender to the new government. Better to be eaten by them than bled dry by these so-called nobles."
Jing Shu understood now. If they didn't split teams, they'd only get resources from the city side, not the black market. So this was all about balance, huh? Still, she figured Sacramento's city side would have better conditions.
But holy hell, she hadn't expected this kind of luxury.
Yang Yang, who she hadn't seen in a while, looked like a walking gold mine. Gold chain, gemstone rings on both hands, sunglasses, cigar, and a glass of red wine.
Beside him, the so-called "lucky monk" Hao Yunlai had a Black woman in his left arm and a blonde, blue-eyed beauty in his right. Someone was even massaging his shoulders while he sat there with his eyes half-closed, completely blissed out.
And that monk who'd been kicked out of Shaolin? He was hugging a giant bucket filled with white rice and curry beef stew, eating like there was no tomorrow.
What the hell kind of life had these idiots been living in the city?!
The only one who looked halfway normal was Zhen Nantian. He still had that cold, detached face, standing quietly by the wall like he didn't belong in this world.
Meanwhile, look at Jing Shu's team. She didn't even wanna talk about it. They'd just come out of that underground tournament still in their filthy striped uniforms, the match had collapsed before it even started, they'd crawled up through a trash chute, and before they could even wash up, they were dragged here for another fight. Everyone stank. The contrast couldn't have been sharper—heaven and hell.
Yang Yang subtly shook his head, signaling both sides to act like they didn't know each other. The Snake Spirit muttered complaints to Ling Ling in a whisper.
Representing the powerful Sacramento side were Yang Yang, Zhen Nantian, the monk, and Hao Yunlai. They stepped onto one of the platforms first. The black market's surviving A-tier team went up to challenge them, convinced they'd already pocketed fifty thousand black market coins.
After all, a team was usually six people, and the Chinese side only had four. They looked weak, easy to bully. Piece of cake, right?
Wrong. So, so wrong.
The crowd burst into laughter—mocking, gleeful laughter. Those who'd already suffered losses to these "four weaklings" knew exactly how terrifying they were.
The match began. Yang Yang sipped his wine calmly, Zhen Nantian leaned against the wall like a statue, Hao Yunlai stayed half-asleep, still enjoying himself. Only the ascetic monk stepped forward, gripping a metal staff as he entered the arena.