The attack didn't come at night. It came at dawn, just as the smog from the lower levels was rising to obscure the sun.
TWEEEEET!
The shrill sound of a bone whistle cut through the morning silence of Sector 4.
Ren was already awake. He was sitting on a crate near the ravine, sipping a cup of hot water. He didn't flinch. He simply placed the cup down and checked his internal clock.
"On time," Ren muttered. "Predictability is a liability."
He stood up and looked across the ravine.
Through the shifting gray fog, shapes were emerging. Not five men this time.
Thirty.
The Red Jackals had emptied their barracks. They weren't sneaking. They were marching with the arrogance of a predator entering a rabbit hutch. At the front was the Centipede, his chest bandaged heavily, his face twisted in a snarl. Beside him walked a massive man wielding a two-handed iron hammer—a Lieutenant of the gang.
"There!" Centipede screamed, pointing a shaking finger at the crude fortifications Ren's men had built. "Burn the tents! Break their legs! Leave the Accountant for me!"
The thirty thugs roared and charged down the slope. It was a disorganized stampede, a wave of shouting, violence, and rusty metal.
Ren didn't draw a weapon. He turned to his own men.
Behind the low wall of scrap metal, Ironhead stood at the front of forty slaves. They were trembling. Some were hyperventilating. They held their sharpened pipe-spears with white-knuckled grips.
"Hold!" Ironhead bellowed, his voice cracking slightly.
The slaves were terrified. The Red Jackals were killers. They were fed meat and wine. The slaves were fed bone soup and hope.
"Steadiness," Ren's voice floated over them, calm and detached. "Volatility is expected. Stick to the fundamentals."
The Jackals hit the bottom of the ravine—the muddy choke point Ren had identified yesterday.
"Kill them all!" The Lieutenant with the hammer shouted, sprinting ahead of the pack. He stepped into the soft, dark mud.
Squelch.
He sank to his knees.
"What the—?" The Lieutenant yanked his leg. The mud here was deep, churned up by Ren's excavators overnight and covered with a thin layer of dry dust to hide it.
The thirty charging thugs slammed into the backs of the men in front of them. The charge stalled. They were clumped together in a ten-meter wide pit of sludge.
Ren stood on the ridge above them. His NPV Eye flashed.
[Environmental Hazard: Methane Pocket]
Gas Density: 90% (Critical).
Trigger: Spark.
Ren looked at Liu, who was perched on a heap of trash ten meters away.
"Liu," Ren said softly. "Liquidate the asset."
Liu drew his bow. The tip of the metal arrow was wrapped in an oil-soaked rag. Ironhead struck a flint, lighting the arrow.
Twang.
The burning arrow didn't hit a man. It hit the center of the mud pit.
FWOOM.
It wasn't an explosion of gunpowder; it was a rapid, violent combustion of gas. A wave of blue and orange fire rolled over the Red Jackals.
"ARGHHH!"
Thirty men screamed as the air around them ignited. It wasn't hot enough to incinerate them instantly, but it singed hair, melted leather armor, and sucked the oxygen out of the ravine.
Panic. Absolute, blind panic.
The Jackals scrambled over each other, trying to escape the fire. They dropped their weapons. They clawed at the mud.
"Now!" Ren commanded. "Hostile Takeover!"
Ironhead slammed his car-door shield against his chest. "PUSH!"
The forty slaves of Sector 4 surged forward. They didn't run like a mob. They marched.
Step. Thrust. Step. Thrust.
The phalanx slammed into the chaotic, burning mass of Jackals.
The Jackals were stronger individually, but they were blind, burning, and terrified. They swung their clubs wildly, hitting nothing but the wall of shields Ironhead's team had scavenged.
Thud. Thud. Thud.
The shields held. The bone soup had done its work; the slaves' arms didn't buckle.
Then came the spears.
From behind the shields, forty sharpened pipes thrust out in unison.
Shnk. Shnk.
The front row of the Red Jackals collapsed, bleeding from dozens of puncture wounds.
The Lieutenant with the hammer roared, burning with rage and fire. He swung his massive weapon, smashing a shield and sending a slave flying with a shattered arm.
"I'll kill you rats!" The Lieutenant screamed, raising the hammer again.
The line wavered. The slaves flinched. The fear of the 'strong cultivator' returned.
Ren sighed. "Management intervention required."
Ren didn't run down the hill. He picked up a heavy, jagged rock the size of a melon.
He activated [The Sovereign's Minting Art].
He didn't absorb the rock. He poured his heavy, metallic Golden Qi into it.
[Infusion: 10 Karma.] [Object Weight Increased by 500%.]
Ren calculated the arc.
"Downsizing," Ren muttered.
He hurled the rock. It flew through the air, heavy and unnatural, humming with gravity.
The Lieutenant was mid-swing when the rock struck him directly in the helmet.
CRANG.
The sound was like a gong. The helmet caved in. The Lieutenant's head snapped back, and he collapsed into the mud like a puppet with cut strings.
The battlefield went silent.
The fire had died down. The Jackals looked at their fallen Lieutenant. They looked at the wall of spears. They looked at Ren, standing on the ridge like a judge.
The Centipede, burned and bleeding, dropped his sword.
"We surrender!" Centipede screamed, falling to his knees. "Don't kill us! We yield!"
Ironhead looked up at Ren, breathing heavily. "Boss? Do we finish them?"
Ren walked down the slope. His boots stayed clean, stepping on dry stones while the Jackals wallowed in the mud.
He looked at the twenty surviving Red Jackals.
[Target Group: Red Jackal Gang Members]
Average Cultivation: Qi Condensation Level 1.
Health: Damaged.
Value: High (Experienced Labor).
Ren shook his head. "Finish them? Why would I destroy my new equipment?"
Ren stopped in front of the Centipede.
"You came to take my mine," Ren said. "Instead, you have entered into a binding contract."
Ren pointed to the Corpse Pit.
"Ironhead, strip them of their weapons and armor. Distribute the gear to our men."
Ren leaned in close to the Centipede's face.
"You owe me for the arrows I used. You owe me for the medical costs of my men. And you owe me for wasting my morning tea."
Ren's eyes glowed gold.
"Starting today, Sector 5 is a subsidiary of Sector 4. Get in the pit and start digging. If you miss quota... you become soup."