[HOST INTEGRITY: 27%]
[LOCATION: SECTOR 9 – THE RUSTY GRAVE (FORMERLY: THE IRON TREE HELL)]
[TIME: 10:15 AM]
The Rusty Grave was less of a business and more of a theological scar on the face of the Underworld.
To the modern ghosts of Sector 9, it was just a junkyard where you bought spare parts for spirit-mechs.
But Ren Wu knew better.
As he stepped out of the sedan, the smell hit him. It wasn't just rust. It was the metallic tang of dried blood that had been oxidizing for a thousand years.
"Disorderly," Ren muttered, adjusting his Crow Mask. He looked at the mountains of twisted metal spikes jutting out of the ground.
"In my time, this was the Iron Tree Hell. Sinners who caused discord in their families were impaled on these branches."
He kicked a piece of rusted metal. It screamed faintly.
"Now? It's a hardware store. King Yama must be rolling in his slumber. The dignity of punishment is gone, replaced by the banality of commerce."
The driver, a nervous Triad kid named Little Liu, shivered. "Boss, Old Man Gu... he doesn't like visitors. They say he was an Executioner in the old days who got fired for enjoying it too much."
"Perfect," Ren said, buttoning his suit jacket. "Then he understands the value of a sharp blade. Wait here."
The Scrap Lich
Ren walked into the canyon of metal.
The noise was deafening. Crushers roared like dying beasts.
In the center of the yard sat a throne made of welded car engines and ancient torture racks.
Sitting on it was Old Man Gu.
He was a Scrap Lich (Level 18).
Centuries of exposure to the spirit-iron had fused with his soul. His left arm was a massive, rusted pneumatic claw. His legs were replaced by tank treads. His eyes were glowing red sensors drilled into a skull that still bore the tattoos of an Imperial Executioner.
Surrounding him were ten "Scrap Golems"—hulking brutes made of compressed trash and bound souls.
Gu looked down. Steam hissed from his neck vents.
"A Crow," Gu rasped. His voice sounded like a chainsaw cutting through wet bone. "I don't smoke, little bird. And I don't donate to charity. Get lost before I feed you to the compactor."
Ren didn't flinch. He activated [Contract Sight].
[ENTITY: OLD MAN GU (OWNER OF THE RUSTY GRAVE)]
[FORMER TITLE: JUNIOR EXECUTIONER OF THE 3RD COURT]
[ASSETS: 500 TONS OF SPIRIT IRON (RECYCLED TORTURE DEVICES)]
[LIABILITIES: OWES "LIFE DEBT" TO BOSS IRON]
[FEAR: RE-AUDIT BY KING YAMA]
Ren smiled behind his mask.
"I'm not here to sell incense, Executioner Gu. I'm here to buy the Iron Forest."
Gu froze. The pistons in his chest rattled.
"That name... no one calls it that anymore."
"I do," Ren said calmly. "Because I remember when the trees were wet with sinners, not oil."
Ren stepped forward, ignoring the growling Golems.
"I want exclusive rights to your entire output. Every screw. Every sheet. Every rusted spike. For the next three months."
Gu stared at him for a long moment, then burst into a mechanical laugh.
"You want the iron? You're a drug dealer, Crow. What do you need iron for? Making tiny spoons?"
He spat a glob of black oil on the ground.
"Besides, my iron goes to the Iron Fist Gang. Boss Iron takes 80% of my stock. We have a... friendly understanding."
"A friendly understanding," Ren repeated. "Is that what we call extortion these days?"
Ren walked up to the throne, his voice dropping to a whisper.
"Boss Iron pays you 20% below market rate. He treats a former Executioner of the Court like a common junkyard dog."
Gu's claw twitched violently. "Watch your tongue. The Iron Fist Gang has three hundred soldiers. If I stop selling to them, they will burn this place down."
"Let them try," Ren said. "But the Iron Fist is a mortal problem. You have a Spiritual Problem, don't you, Gu?"
Ren pointed a gloved finger at the lich's rusted chest.
"You are hoarding this iron because you are afraid. You think that if you build enough golems, you can hide from the Audit."
Gu's red eyes widened. "How...?"
"The 100-Year Audit is coming up," Ren lied smoothly (using his knowledge of ancient bureaucracy). "King Yama's scribes will see that you are selling torture devices to gangsters. That is a violation of the Nether-Code, Article 7. Punishment: Erasure."
Gu trembled. The massive machine-man looked suddenly small.
"I... I have no choice. Boss Iron holds my debt."
Ren pulled a checkbook from his inventory.
"I will buy the debt. And I will buy the iron. At Market Rate + 10%. Cash. Today."
Ren leaned in, his green eyes glowing.
"And as for the Audit... I used to draft the codes for the Third Court. Stick with me, and I will make sure your paperwork gets 'lost' in the archives."
The Cartel
Greed and Fear. The two pillars of the Underworld.
Gu looked at the check in Ren's hand. 12,000 Coins.
Then he looked at the Crow—a man who spoke like a Minister and spent like a King.
"If I sell to you," Gu rasped, "The Iron Fist will come for blood."
"Let them come," Ren said. "But you must cut them off immediately. Total embargo. When their trucks arrive in ten minutes, you tell them the quarry is dry."
Gu's pneumatic claw clamped down on the check.
"Deal."
[SYSTEM ALERT]
[TRANSACTION COMPLETE: 12,000 COINS DEDUCTED]
[ASSET ACQUIRED: STRATEGIC RESOURCE MONOPOLY (IRON)]
[HOST INTEGRITY: 27% → 20% (WARNING: LOW FUNDS)]
Ren felt the familiar burn in his chest as his lifeline drained away. Poverty was a physical sickness. He coughed, tasting blood.
But the deal was done.
The Realization
[LOCATION: IRON FIST GANG HQ – WEAPON DEPOT]
[TIME: 10:45 AM]
"Boss Iron" was a massive Minotaur spirit, a distant descendant of the Ox-Head guardians, stripped of divinity and turned into a thug.
He stood in his warehouse, screaming.
"What do you mean 'Empty'?" Iron bellowed. "We attack the factory in an hour! The boys need shields! They need chains!"
The Quartermaster, a trembling goblin, held up a tablet.
"I sent the trucks to the Rusty Grave, Boss. Old Man Gu turned them away. He said... he said the shipment was cancelled due to 'Imperial Requisition'."
"Imperial Requisition?" Iron smashed a crate with his fist. "There is no Empire! Who bought it?"
The goblin swallowed hard.
"A holding company. The Ministry of Commerce."
Boss Iron froze.
The Crow.
He looked out the window. His three hundred soldiers were gathering in the street. They were holding rusted pipes, cracked bats, and makeshift shields held together by duct tape.
They were a mob.
They needed that shipment of Spirit-Iron to turn into an army. Without it, they were just walking targets.
"He didn't build a fortress," Boss Iron whispered, realizing the trap too late.
"He starved us."
The Logistics God
Back in the sedan, Ren Wu popped a cheap painkiller to stabilize his Host Integrity.
His phone buzzed. A notification from the Factory Interface.
[MARKET UPDATE]
[COMMODITY PRICE ALERT: SPIRIT IRON]
[PRICE SURGE: +400%]
[REASON: ARTIFICIAL SCARCITY]
Ren smiled, closing his eyes.
"Drive back to the factory, Little Liu," Ren ordered. "And take the slow route."
"Why the slow route, Boss? Aren't they going to attack?"
"They will try," Ren murmured. "But an army without iron is just a parade."
Ren looked out the window at the bruised purple sky.
"In the War of the Five Lakes, I defeated the Barbarian King not by fighting him, but by buying all the salt in the region. His soldiers died of cramps before they even saw my walls."
He adjusted his mask.
"The Iron Fist Gang is about to learn that Logistics is the only God that matters."
[END OF CHAPTER 34]
[Author Note:]
[SYSTEM NOTIFICATION]
Ren Wu: "I bought your sword. And your shield. And the nails in your boots."
Old Man Gu: "Please don't tell King Yama."
Next Chapter: The Leveraged Buyout.
The Iron Fist Gang arrives at the factory gates. They expect a battle. Ren offers them... an internship?
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