A Hot Potato NPC

The final level was even worse—dim and damp.

Few were held here, but every single one was no pushover.

As Fu Haoran walked through, he felt like he'd entered a large predator exhibit, with himself as the prime cut of fresh meat on the move.

Those eyes scraped over Fu Haoran.

Don't get the wrong idea—they weren't thinking about throwing hands. It was a bunch of tops spotting a bottom waltzing in, practically ready to devour him alive.

Fu Haoran swore to the heavens he'd only ever seen this many tops in some region of Sichuan.

In that brief moment, a prisoner had already slipped a hand into his pocket, doing something unspeakable.

Fu Haoran didn't want to stay a second longer, but he couldn't leave just yet.

He had no choice.

"This is the last level. If I can't find anyone here, I'll have to pick the best of a bad bunch from those brutes upstairs—what a waste that'd be!"

Fu Haoran gritted his teeth, forcing himself to endure the crawling discomfort as he steeled his nerve and checked each prisoner's attribute panel one by one.

He muttered under his breath, "Just give me someone whose attributes match my requirements. Even if the other stats are trash, I'll take it!"

[Strength: 23, Intelligence: 7, Skill: Assassination Mastery]

[Strength: 15, Intelligence: 19, Skill: Stealth]

[Strength: 16, Intelligence: 19, Skill: Deception]

The numbers were noticeably higher, but still not enough to catch Fu Haoran's eye.

He was nearly at the end of the row, ready to settle for something passable, when—just a second before turning—a panel exploded before his eyes, blinding gold tinged with black, radiating an outrageous flair!

It was easy to overlook if you weren't paying close attention.

"Could this be a golden legend?"

Fu Haoran hurriedly checked the details.

[Legendary Character]

[Yuri Razumov]

[Intelligence: 55]

[Specialized Skills]

[False Accounting (Master): Can fabricate accounts that even Inquisition auditors can't detect. Tax evasion efficiency +300%.]

[Black Market Manipulation (Grandmaster): Possesses smuggling network contacts across three star systems. Black market transaction cost -60%.]

[Capital Plunder (Master): Once used financial tactics to drain the noble treasury of a small hive city.]

[Legal Loopholes (Expert): Mastery of every crack in Imperial tax law and the Planetary Management Act.]

[Traits]

[Ravenously Greedy: Demands extremely high commissions.]

[Survival Master: Finds profit gaps in any desperate situation. Efficiency +30% under pressure.]

[Noble-Hater: Harbors a bone-deep grudge against the old ruling class due to abandonment. All skill effects +50% when opposing nobles.]

[Current Status: Feared for knowing too many secrets. Sentenced to 200 years of hard labor. 11 years served.]

[Loyalty: -100]

[System Warning: Recruiting this person will immediately provoke Horn and the noble forces behind him, potentially triggering a chain of retaliation.]

Fu Haoran's heart skipped a beat.

The man inside was so thin he was nearly skeletal—shoulders narrow as bamboo poles, face etched with wrinkles, looking sickly and frail. A pair of broken glasses were barely held together on his ears with thick wire, and his prison uniform was caked in grease and grime. He looked half-dead.

Except for his eyes. Those were startlingly bright.

Hearing footsteps, the man in the cell looked up. Through the cracked lenses, he fixed Fu Haoran with a half-smiling stare. There was no trace of humility or provocation in that gaze—a world apart from the other prisoners.

When he spotted the governor's insignia on Fu Haoran's shoulder patch, he let out a scoff, his raspy voice cutting through the air:

"Oh? A new governor? Let me guess—you're here treasure-hunting in the prison?"

Fu Haoran was a bit taken aback. He hadn't expected the man to nail it in one shot.

"Tsk, looks like I hit the mark. No need to be surprised. If you knew who I was, you wouldn't be waiting for me to speak."

"Let me see... You've got that fresh-face look. An outsider?"

"I'd bet you're being choked by those noble lords' rules. You've got goods to sell but no way to move them, right?"

Fu Haoran's heart jolted slightly.

This man had seen through his predicament at a single glance.

Yuri leaned closer to the bars, lowering his voice, unhurried: "That fatso Calvin from the Energy Bureau—he won't sign the power supply agreement unless he gets a 10% kickback."

"The head of the Silverthorn Chamber of Commerce is Countess Martha's white glove. They specialize in eating outsiders like you."

"As for the black market... you won't find any advantage there either, because the black market is nothing more than a money-laundering ground for the nobles."

With every word he spoke, Fu Haoran's expression darkened one degree further.

Because every single word was the truth.

Yuri leaned against the wall, speaking lazily: "Let me out."

"Not only can I help you open up all the channels, I can also tell you... where the former governor, Lothar von Drake, hid that escape fund worth 10 billion Throne Coins."

"Of course, after we find the fund, I want a 30% commission."

10 billion?

Fu Haoran admitted he was tempted.

That was 10 billion Throne Coins, after all—Throne Coins themselves were the Empire's official hard currency.

1 billion Throne Coins could fully equip a Guard Regiment soldier with a Bolter and basic armor; 10 billion was enough to buy three Leman Russ Tanks.

50 billion could cover this planet's grain shortages and military expenses for three years.

100 billion was enough to order a frigate from the Machine Cult!

That kind of temptation—no one could resist it.

Before Fu Haoran could speak, the prison guard beside him raised his Power Hammer and slammed it against the cage bars, cursing loudly:

"Shut up, you liar! Last time you tricked me into spending a month's salary buying you booze, and I didn't get a single hair out of it!"

The guard then turned to Fu Haoran and said: "Don't believe this old man. He's a complete swindler. Every guard in here has been conned by him!"

"There's not a single truthful word in his mouth!"

Fu Haoran's mouth twitched, but inwardly he was overjoyed.

To be able to swindle drinking money out of the guards in a hellish prison like this?

If this isn't talent, what is?!

Moreover, every skill on Yuri's panel—[False Accounting], [Black Market Manipulation], [Capital Plunder]—was exactly what he desperately needed right now!

"This man," Fu Haoran pointed at the cage, "I want him."

The guard froze: "Sir, are you sure? Yuri is—"

"I'm sure."

Soon, Horn got word of it.

"What? He wants that old fox Yuri!"

"No! Anyone else is fine, but not Yuri!"

Just as his subordinate was about to leave, Horn stared at the surveillance footage showing Fu Haoran walking toward Yuri's cell, and a thought suddenly struck him.

"Wait."

Horn's eyes gleamed with amusement.

"Tell the Governor that since he insists on having this man, I can give him to him."

"But he must sign a 'Special Prisoner Custody Transfer Agreement,' in black and white, stating that all of Yuri Razumov's subsequent actions and any joint liability shall be borne entirely by the Governor's Office."

Horn calculated clearly in his mind: Yuri was a ticking time bomb who knew too many secrets. Keeping him in his own hands—if he got silenced one day—would only bring trouble.

Better to toss this hot potato to this short-lived governor.

When Yuri later "accidentally" died outside, or stirred up some mess for the governor... all the blame would fall on the short-lived governor himself, who signed the agreement to shoulder it.

Fu Haoran thought there would be some back-and-forth wrangling next.

Yet, in less than half an hour, the paperwork was done.

"This smoothness is way too abnormal."

Fu Haoran didn't believe for a second that the judge, who had been at odds with him just before, would be this accommodating.

"Looks like the first NPC I recruited is a hot potato. Whatever, I'll deal with it as it comes."

"After all, I've been in tax arrears for three hundred years—I'm already up to my neck in debt."