Failure Is Rebellion

Two hours earlier, at the outermost edge of Seven Cities—the remote Ya Men Islands, on a godforsaken, uninhabited island—Minkler arrived at the base of his utterly disloyal Allied Defense Fleet.

The whole way had been completely unobstructed.

Ji Jue had not even needed to use the interference measures he had prepared.

There had simply been no need.

Their military readiness was so lax that even when the Prosperity reached their doorstep, there was still not even a bit of activity. The necessary posts stood empty, and the radar alarm had not even gone off.

Well, because it had been powered down.

Powered. Down.

Ji Jue felt awful. Instead, he began to grow suspicious. Damn it, could this be someone's scheme to lure us deeper in?

"Be at ease. This is just how our Allied Defense Fleet is."

Minkler waved a hand with the calm ease of someone returning home. "If security were actually tight, that would be the real problem."

It was not until the battered Prosperity was nearly docked at its berth that someone finally noticed. Lazily chewing on a cigarette, he ambled over, squinting at the wreck of a ship and considering how much of a bribe he could squeeze out of it—only to see an unexpected figure come down the folding gangway and raise a hand to slap some sense into him.

Then came a backhanded slap to wake up his brain.

After two resounding slaps, the newcomer's gaze finally cleared a little. His watery eyes widened in disbelief. "M-Major General? You... you're back?!"

"Bullshit. If I didn't come back, you bunch of bastards would've turned the place upside down!"

Minkler kicked him flat on his face and strode inside. Ji Jue followed behind, clicking his tongue in amazement. Skipping out on sentry duty was one thing,