(An extra chapter for "Huo Zheng Ting Hao," 17/20)
The past of Shuke Flywheel was a mystery. Even Madam Shani, the only "master of intelligence" Murphy knew, didn't know much about the half-elf engineer who wandered the Dark Mountains alone.
His past in Chardo Port seemed to have been erased, too. One thing was certain, though: this scarred half-elf was a businessman.
At least, he acted like one.
When he heard Murphy ask for all of his stored calculation orbs in one go, Shuke Flywheel's usually gloomy face lit up with the brilliant smile befitting a half-elf.
The little man tossed aside the coil gun in his hand—the one that could paralyze vampires—then pulled a dust-covered notebook from a large drawer behind him. He opened it, checked the figures, and glanced at Murphy, who was rubbing his neck to get the feeling back.
He said:
"I've got thirty-six thousand seven hundred standard cracked calculation orbs on hand."
"That many?"
Murphy was taken aback. He asked:
"I can understand making guns and cannons for profit, but making tens of thousands of these things, which hardly any race besides half-elves uses, is hard to understand."
"Hard to understand? Wrong! Completely wrong! It's an investment! Get it? Smart businessmen know investing in the present is foolish. You make big money by betting on the future!"
Perhaps years of solitude, combined with the terrible experience of being cuckolded by his brother, had left old Flywheel a little neurotic. People like that often had their own peculiar logic for seeing the world.
Hearing Murphy's question, this brilliant, shrewd, and utterly shamelessly mercenary fellow glared at him and scolded:
"Why do you think I sold those three thousand orbs to Marshal Loren at a low price? His Pioneer Legion can't upgrade its military technology without calculation