When the Planetary Defense Force Starts Farming

As Fu Haoran took over the ranch, trouble came one after another.

He had bought up a massive stockpile of cheap soybeans, but who could have guessed that the granary, supposedly capable of holding millions of tons, would split right down the middle, sending tons of beans cascading out in a flood.

The scene was nothing short of spectacular.

Preliminary investigation blamed structural aging—an accident.

But misfortune never travels alone.

His assistant Lola ran over to report: "Boss! Another farm just delivered three hundred head of cattle! We don't have nearly enough hands!"

"Why can't we hire anyone?" Fu Haoran asked, puzzled.

Assistant Lola fumed: "Right! The union came by again yesterday, demanding triple wages before they'd let us recruit!"

"They also want hazard pay and a cap of four hours per workday. I said no, so they're threatening to keep striking!"

Fu Haoran frowned. He was already offering the highest hourly wage around, but these rednecks still weren't satisfied.

Even if his money blew in on the wind, he couldn't burn through it like this.

"Mr. Fu, I think we need to raise slaughterhouse prices to ease the pressure," the assistant began.

Before she could finish, someone screamed: "Wild Boar!"

Dozens of black-bristled boars were bursting out of the bushes.

They were built like small calves, the biggest one nearly the size of a pickup truck.

The moment a boar rammed a pile of soybeans, dust exploded into the air.

"Run!"

Everyone panicked—a charging boar could send a person flying.

These boars were old pros at causing chaos, chasing everyone around with practiced ease.

The moment someone raised a shotgun, they scattered, but as soon as the hunter looked away, they'd launch a sneak attack.

One boar knocked over a parked forklift, grabbed a half-sack of soybeans in its mouth, and bolted with a toss of its head.

More dark shapes poured from the woods—fifty? A hundred?

A black, seething mass, impossible to count.

The cowboys nearby watched with gleeful schadenfreude.

"Hahaha, this Asian kid's got no clue. This is just a small herd. With all these soybeans spilled everywhere, more boars will come. This place'll turn into an all-you-can-eat buffet soon enough."

"That kid won't last a month!" a redneck sneered, cigarette dangling from his lips. "You can't kill all the boars, and cleanup costs more than the ranch itself. He's headed for bankruptcy!"

Someone else chimed in: "Yeah, a small-caliber rifle won't take down a boar, and you can't chase 'em in a truck. Even if you catch up, you risk getting flipped over."

"Helicopter hunting burns cash too—no matter how you slice it, it's a losing game."

Suddenly, two pickup trucks emblazoned with the EPA logo rolled across the muddy ground and stopped at the farm.

The fat official Calvin stepped out, cigarette in mouth.

Calvin flicked the butt into the mud and pulled a folder from under his arm.

"Mr. Fu." He flipped the folder open, tapping his finger on the bottom line. "I'm here to inform you."

"Your slaughterhouse hasn't been handling offal in compliance with the Montana Agricultural Waste Management Regulations. Waste storage is illegal, and these soybeans piled in the open are attracting wildlife, creating an ecological hazard."

Calvin smirked smugly. "The total fine is 2.7 million dollars."

"Now you've got two options: pay up, or shut down for rectification."

"As for the rectification process... environmental review, public hearings, construction inspections—the whole package takes at least three months."

"By then, slaughter season will be long over. Whether this ranch survives... well, that's anyone's guess."

"Of course, there's a third option: within three days, you clean up all those animal scraps piled at the slaughterhouse and deal with the boar problem yourself."

He glanced at the chaos in the slaughterhouse and the endless boar shadows darting from the woods, then let out a derisive laugh. "I'd advise you to just pay up. With your manpower shortage, there's no way you can handle it."

Assistant Lola hesitated, wanting to speak. She had always believed that buying the farm and slaughterhouse, then expanding and renovating, was a terrible investment.

Besides the slow returns, every link in the chain was a headache.

"Mr. Fu, I think we should cut our losses to minimize the damage..."

Fu Haoran cut her off: "Thank you for your advice, Ms. Lola, but I have my own plans."

Seeing Fu Haoran's insistence, Lola chose to stay silent.

No one knew that, faced with this scene, Fu Haoran wasn't annoyed at all—in fact, he felt a flicker of excitement.

He stood there, watching Calvin's pickup disappear down the road.

The townsfolk who had gathered to watch, seeing no more drama, grumbled and drove off one by one.

The ranch gate finally fell quiet.

Lola didn't give up. She pressed on: "Boss, they're gone. But what about the soybeans and the boars? And the slaughterhouse..."

"Take the workers to dinner first. We're knocking off early today, but pay's as usual." Fu Haoran cut her off, his voice calm. "Get them all out of the ranch area."

"Boss?" Lola was taken aback.

"Do as I say. Then you head back to town too. No matter what sounds you hear, don't come back before dawn." Fu Haoran's tone brooked no argument.

Seeing Fu Haoran's insistence, Lola had no choice but to comply.

Soon, the vast farm was left with only Fu Haoran and the grunting of the Wild Boars.

Fu Haoran didn't head inside. Instead, he walked deeper into the ranch.

There, a pile of rusted farming machinery sat, a place no one usually visited.

Fu Haoran looked around, confirmed no one was nearby, and summoned the system.

[System, deploy troops.]

The air a dozen meters in front of Fu Haoran began to warp silently.

No dazzling light. No sky torn apart.

Just that twisted curtain of light quietly opening a passage.

Then, the heavy clatter of tracks and the roar of engines shattered the silence.

One, two, three... armored vehicles rolled steadily out of the warped air.

The worn Double-Headed Eagle emblem marked their hulls.

The first vehicle came to a steady stop before Fu Haoran.

The hatch flipped open, and Wade jumped down, snapped to attention, and thumped his right fist against his chest.

"Sir, 3,320 personnel of the 7th Engineering Regiment, 1st Battalion, Planetary Defense Force, with 3 Chimera Armored Personnel Carriers, 1 Leman Russ Tank chassis converted engineering vehicle, 6 all-terrain transports, 12 Engineering Servo-Skulls, and 1 Leman Russ Battle Tank."

"All personnel have arrived. Awaiting orders!"

Fu Haoran nodded. "Clean this place up. Pack the grain and take it. Send a group to hunt, and another group to come work with me."

"Yes, sir!" Wade turned and made a few hand signals to the convoy.

Soon, faint sounds like high-pressure gas leaking came from the edge of the woodland.

Followed by the dull thuds of heavy bodies hitting the ground.

"Pssh... pssh pssh..."

More such sounds rang out, short and dense, accompanied by the brief, stifled death cries of the Wild Boars.

Other Wild Boars jolted awake from their dreams, but before they could figure out the source of the danger, more and denser beams of light struck.

In the blink of an eye, the massive herd of over a hundred boars lay neatly on the ground.

Each bore a bowl-sized hole, the edges of the wound carbonized, no blood spilling.

More beams lashed out. The boar herd fell like wheat scythed down, row after row.

No screams. Only the dull thuds of bodies hitting the dirt and the hiss of laser beams searing flesh.

Once the cleanup was confirmed, Wade waved his hand, and squads of soldiers loaded the carcasses onto the transports.

A young guardsman holstered his laser rifle and muttered to his comrade beside him, "I thought this was going to be some dangerous job. Turns out we're just dealing with these harmless beasts."

The veteran grinned smugly. "You fool. These beasts are all getting canned. We'll have plenty to eat later."

Meanwhile, thirty kilometers from the ranch, in the mountain forest, three Black Hawk helicopters skimmed low, their rotors roaring, tearing through the night sky.

On the ground, over a dozen military Humvees kicked up dust as they sped along.

Gray Stone stood in the command vehicle, staring at the intel on his tablet, brows furrowed. "Night Owl squad, 120 men. Lumberjack squad, 130 men. All here. The client upped the price to 120 million. We need to do the job right."

The deputy handed over a communicator. "Captain, the drone's spotted a lot of personnel activity in the ranch!"

Gray Stone sneered, patting the pistol at his waist. "Doesn't matter how many they've got. Pass it down: we move at 3 AM. Take out the other squads first, then grab the target."

"This 120 million—we're taking it all!"