The task is heavy and the road is long

The battle ended at 3:41 AM.

From the first helicopter being shot down to the last mercenary laying down his weapon, it totaled twenty-four minutes.

The smoothness of the battle left Wade feeling somewhat incredulous.

"Why are the enemies this time so weak? They surrendered with less than thirty percent casualties? What trash! Even nobles are tougher than them."

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Wade, accustomed to life and death, couldn't understand it and could only offer deep contempt.

But on second thought, maybe the enemy realized the weapon gap was too large and gave up.

"Each squad, report casualties."

Voices rang out in the channel one after another:

"Squad 1, no casualties."

"Squad 2, no casualties."

"Squad 3... does someone twisting their ankle count?"

Wade's mouth twitched: "No. Clean the battlefield, keep the prisoners under guard."

Upon receiving the report, Fu Haoran was somewhat surprised.

"Logically, 2K's weapons shouldn't be this pathetic. The Planetary Defense Force's Plasteel and Plastisteel are very basic, with weak defensive power. There shouldn't be no casualties."

"It should be due to insufficient intel, causing the mercenaries to misjudge the situation."

In fact, that was the case. If the fight had continued, the Planetary Defense Force would definitely have suffered casualties.

The problem was that the Leman Russ Tank's ferocious combat power quickly crushed the US military, which was only good at fighting from a position of advantage.

Getting these grunts to fight tenaciously was still very difficult.

With the pay they got, why risk their lives?

On the other side.

A few young soldiers gathered around the Sherman tank with its turret melted through, pointing and gesturing.

"How is this thing like paper? One shot went straight through from front to back? It's not even as good as our Taurus Troop Carrier."

"This world's armor is too backward. I don't know what's worth repairing by dragging it back."

An old soldier walked over and slapped each of them on the back of the head: "Stop your yapping! The Governor said to drag these vehicles back, swap in Plasteel, and they can still be used as armored cars."

Everyone finally caught on.

"Right, weld a few armor plates on, mount a Heavy Bolter, and it's a mobile heavy fire support point."

Realizing this, everyone worked with extra vigor, starting to dismantle the tanks and Humvees' armor.

On the open ground in the distance, nearly a hundred mercenaries squatted in three rows with their hands on their heads.

Many had dazed eyes, not yet recovered from the shock.

A former Navy SEAL stared at the ground, muttering softly: "Who are they... what weapons are they using?"

He looked at the crude Lasguns in the guards' hands, some even wrapped with cloth strips and "transparent tape," then glanced at his customized HK416 at his feet. He suddenly felt that the weapon he bought for 8000 USD was like a toy!

[Ding! Battle mission Ranch Defense Battle completed]

[Evaluation: S (Flawless Crush).]

[Rewards: Universal Points +5000, Soldier Morale +10,]

[Bison Armored Vehicle (Elite Edition) x5]

[Don't you feel ashamed? Is it fun bullying "elementary school kids"? If I were you, I'd go find a regular army next time. Only a well-matched opponent is worthy of respect!]

Fu Haoran ignored the system's final taunt and instead checked the new toy he'd received as a reward.

Soon, five armored vehicles with thick armor plates, four-axle tracks, and supercharged engines appeared on the open ground.

Each vehicle was equipped with different weapons.

Some had Twin-linked Autocannons on the sides and turret, some had Storm Bolters mounted on the roof, and some were equipped with Twin-linked Gatling Cannons.

Of course, a full life support system was a standard feature.

When Wade saw these big beauties, his eyes turned green.

"Good stuff, my lord."

"This improved Bison Armored Vehicle is usually only found in the Schola Progenium, standard issue for Stormtroopers. My lord, how did you get your hands on it?"

Fu Haoran didn't answer, just glanced at Wade.

Wade immediately shut up: "This subordinate spoke out of turn!"

Some things, if the commander doesn't say, it's best not to ask.

As for the real reason?

Fu Haoran looked at those vehicles and thought, "The system gave them to me. How am I supposed to explain that?"

"Alright, clean up the battlefield before dawn, and these vehicles are all yours."

"Really?!" Wade's eyes lit up.

"Obviously. Now get lost."

Wade scurried off to work.

However, as a man from the Warhammer World, Wade clearly had no concept of treating prisoners well.

"Colonel, what do we do with the bodies?" a soldier asked.

Wade shook his head in frustration. "Take all enemy corpses back and sell them to the food processing plant to make Corpse Starch."

"Critically wounded enemies don't need treatment. Kill them, take them back, and sell them to the food processing plant to make Corpse Starch."

"For lightly wounded enemies, see if they can work. If not, kill them, take them back, and sell them to the food processing plant to make Corpse Starch."

"Uninjured enemies get taken back to work. When they die, sell them to the food processing plant to make Corpse Starch."

The soldiers took this in stride.

You ask if eating Corpse Starch made from human remains would cause psychological burden?

Easy fix. If you're short on cash, sell it to the Under-hivers.

If you're not short on cash, store it in the warehouse. If food runs out someday, you can eat it. When you're hungry enough, you won't care.

After Wade left, Fu Haoran pulled up the ranch surveillance feed.

With the guard soldiers laying down their weapons and picking up tools, the farm finally began operating normally.

[Side Quest: King of the Hive City -- The Great Foundation (Completed)]

[Reward: Cross-world Industry Management Interface unlocked; Universal Points +1000; Storage space expanded to 5000 cubic meters.]

A new interface unfolded across his retina.

On the left side was real-time data for Blue Star Ranch:

Daily canned goods output: 12,000 standard cases

Daily meat processing: 100 tons

Vertical farm production capacity: 8 tons of vegetables per day (estimated)

"Still not enough." Fu Haoran wasn't in a good mood, because this output was far from meeting the Tithe requirements.

The next morning, in a dive bar a hundred kilometers away.

Three mercenaries who had barely escaped huddled in the corner booth, whiskey set before them, untouched.

One of them still had shaking hands.

He stared at his glass, muttering over and over, "Lasgun... one shot punched through an armored vehicle... their armor... bullets couldn't even penetrate it!"

Montana Environmental Protection Agency office.

The fat official Calvin had just hung up the phone. His hand trembled, and his coffee cup shattered on the floor.

He rushed to the file cabinet, frantically digging out every file on Grayrock Ranch—fine notices, environmental assessment reports, rectification orders.

"Destroy them! All of them!"

He shouted at his assistant.

"And tell the people below: from now on, anyone who mentions the words 'Grayrock Ranch'—whoever dares—can pack their bags and get out!"

The assistant froze. "But Director, just yesterday we said we'd go after their slaughterhouse..."

"Yesterday was yesterday, today is today! If you want to die, don't drag me down with you!"

Elsewhere, on the Underworld Forum, an anonymous post went viral: <Grayrock Ranch: No-Go Zone. 400 Elite Wiped Out. Listed as a Death Zone. Orders Prohibited.>

Hundreds of kilometers away, at Lawrence Dewinter's estate.

A tablet hit the floor, its screen shattered.

Dewinter stared at the message: [Mission failed. All personnel unreachable.] His face flushed red, then turned deathly pale, finally settling into ashen gray.

"Investigate!" He grabbed his assistant by the collar. "Find out for me! Where did that army come from? Where did the equipment come from? Who the hell is that Asian?!"

The assistant stammered, "Sir, our people just reported... Fu Haoran's side is offering to buy the life of whoever ordered the attack."

"How much?" Dewinter snarled.

Thump!

Dewinter looked down in disbelief, finding a dagger buried in his heart.

"Sir, they offered 100 million US dollars." The usually timid assistant was now eerily excited.

"Sorry, I couldn't resist. I took the job. I'm sure you'll understand, right?"

"With this money, I'll never have to kowtow to you again."

With that, the assistant grew even more excited and stabbed a few more times.

The once-dominant Lawrence Dewinter was thoroughly dead.

And above all this chaos, the Underworld simply silently raised Grayrock Ranch's file classification by three levels, then chose to wait and see.