Rules? Let's Blow Them Up First

Inside the Space Elevator.

Brandon ended the communication, and a teasing question came from beside him: "What do you think—if we showed our hand to Fu Haoran now, would he bite us like a cornered dog?"

"Tch, how? Unless he shells us, but does he dare?" Brandon's tone was certain.

"Even an idiot knows how important the Starport is. If he's lost his mind, can he even fix it?"

"In any war, has anyone ever dared to touch the Starport?"

The noble advisor Mikhail nodded gracefully in agreement. "Exactly. If he dares to touch the Starport, before the Imperial fleet even moves, his own people will string him up on the gallows."

"So he can only sit on his throne and watch us leave with his eyes wide open."

"Then wait to be crushed to death by three hundred years' worth of tax bills."

Brandon smiled. Everything was going according to his calculations. He raised his glass and said loudly:

"A toast to that fool!"

"Cheers!"

The instant their glasses were about to clink, an explosion rang out without warning.

Not just one.

A chain of them!

Followed immediately by violent shaking!

"Look outside! What's falling?"

Someone pointed at the viewport and shouted. Everyone turned to look, only to see countless fragments raining down.

An absurd thought they couldn't believe surfaced in every mind:

"Is that man insane? Did he actually dare to shell us?!"

Fu Haoran jumped onto a Valkyrie transport and sped toward the Starport.

From the air, the Space Elevator—once like a steel spine—was now shattered, billowing thick smoke.

Though it hadn't collapsed, it was utterly unusable.

This was a textbook case of hurting the enemy by eight hundred while losing a thousand yourself.

But Fu Haoran didn't care.

"If I can't have it easy, no one else will either!"

When Fu Haoran stepped off the transport, Brandon was pinned to the metal floor by two soldiers, staring at him like he was a madman.

Beside him were Vasily, Mikhail, and seven other ringleaders.

Their families were herded into a corner, the cries of children and the sobbing of women blending into a cacophony.

Seeing Fu Haoran jump down from the transport, Brandon struggled to lift his head and cursed loudly: "You're insane... Fu Haoran, you're fucking insane! How dare you blow up the Starport!"

Fu Haoran crouched down, using his scepter to tilt Brandon's chin up, his tone carrying finality:

"Brandon, who gave you the illusion that I'm an easygoing man?"

"Since you wanted to screw me over, I don't mind killing you first. At least in hell, we'll have company."

Fu Haoran stood up, no longer looking at him.

"Done counting?"

Wade nodded: "The storage area is intact. We've seized seven shuttles and three large cargo barges."

"Also, about 100,000 tons of high-purity Promethium fuel, 1.2 million units of various lasgun batteries, 500 tons of Adamantium ingots, and..."

He paused, "a batch of unregistered precision-crafted jewelry and artwork, with a very high valuation."

Fu Haoran glanced at the total column on the Data Pad. The number left him with a bitter taste.

He looked at Brandon, whose face was ashen, and sneered: "Quite the appetite. What you were taking would've been enough for us to fight another major campaign."

Fu Haoran's gaze fell on the families. There was no pity in it: "Sell them all as slaves."

Hearing they might live, those people breathed a sigh of relief.

But Fu Haoran's next sentence sent a chill straight through them.

"Sell them to the Mechanicus Cult. I hear they're short on materials for Servitors lately."

Fu Haoran turned and walked toward the transport, and a system prompt appeared.

[Achievement Upgrade: Game Breaker (Intermediate)]

[Description: You have proven with concrete action that within the range of a Macro-cannon, all economic principles and the rules of vested interests are nonsense.]

[Reward: Universal Points +666, Charisma +6]

[Main Quest Imperial Duty: Tithe Collection Progress Update]

[Current Progress: 8%]

Fu Haoran leaned back in his seat and closed his eyes.

He tallied the chips in his hand, but no matter how he calculated, it wasn't enough.

Not even a fraction of the tithe.

"Let's check the territory situation first," Fu Haoran comforted himself.

Then, his entire body went numb.

[Delinquent Tax Correlation Analysis: S-Sai IV Planet Economic Assessment]

[Status: Systemic Collapse]

[Fiscal Condition: Severe Deficit]

[Achievement Unlocked: Messy Situation]

[Universal Points +555]

[System Note: Congratulations, you've started on Hell difficulty. But remember, the Empire never feeds idlers—especially tax-dodging ones.]

Fu Haoran's vision darkened, and he asked with a heavy heart, "System, when does the Empire come to collect taxes?"

[Imperial Ministry of Interior Tax Ship Estimated Arrival... in 60...]

"Oh, still 60 months, huh."

Fu Haoran breathed a sigh of relief. After all, in the Warhammer Universe, things were often measured in decades or centuries.

A tax ship arriving in a few months was normal.

[...60 minutes later, arrival]

Fu Haoran's brain short-circuited. He rubbed his eyes.

[Countdown: 59:47]

"Fuck!"

Fu Haoran gritted his teeth and clicked open the mission details. When he saw the tax debt amount, he nearly exploded on the spot.

Military-grade metal ingots: 900 million tons. Standard Lasgun batteries: 1.2 billion units. Corpse Starch: 4 billion tons. Conscription-age soldiers: 15 million people...

The key point was that, based on current productivity restored to pre-war levels, it would require 30 years of continuous full-capacity production!

Fu Haoran's vision darkened.

Thirty years just to pay it off?

"In other words, even if I get a chance, I have to stay in this shithole for thirty years?!"

"Wait, there's a tax offset alternative plan. There's hope!"

Fu Haoran quickly clicked it open.

[Plan One: Blood Tithe]: Surrender the planet's adult population to offset most material debts.

Risks: Population -60%, Labor Force -90%, Riot Probability +70%, Planetary Defense -60%

[Plan Two: Resource Compensation]: Surrender rare minerals (Adamantium, Promethium, etc.)/technology.

Restriction: Requires 90+ favorability with Great Nobles and the Machine Cult. Current favorability: 0

[Plan Three: Military Equipment Surrender]: Deliver Imperial-standard weapons/vehicles.

Restriction: Planetary military factories paralyzed. Only a small amount of outdated equipment remains. Tax offset ratio less than 1%.

[Plan Four: Strategic Material Compensation]: Offset with strategic logistics supplies like purified water, compressed food, canned goods, etc., subject to tax auditor approval.

Current Reserves: 0

"Blood Tithe? I'd be lucky if the lower levels don't riot and hang me from a lamppost before the tax is even paid."

"Resources? Those nobles look at me like I'm already dead."

"Military equipment is even worse. The old junk in the warehouse isn't even enough to fill a tooth gap."

Fu Haoran's gaze locked onto Plan Four.

In the Warhammer World, the population was exploding, and food shortages were horrifying.

The bottom layers of a Hive World survived solely on Corpse Starch.

This stuff was originally a byproduct of refining Promethium—industrial waste thrown into a machine, squeezed into a sticky, pasty energy paste, bitter, fishy, and radioactive.

Otherwise, why wouldn't it be called Promethium Starch?

As for natural food?

That was a luxury the Upper Hive nobles could only taste occasionally.

"Wait, if I have a large stockpile of canned goods, can I use them to offset taxes?"

Fu Haoran recalled that in the 2K era, someone had traded canned goods for planes from the Soviet Union. There was no reason it wouldn't work in Warhammer!

"System, pull up the Imperial Strategic Material Tax Offset Conversion Table! Focus on the natural food category conversion rates!"

The interface refreshed, rows of data scrolling down.

When he saw the absurd ratio—1 case of Standard Meat Canned Goods equal to 100 tons of Corpse Starch—Fu Haoran suddenly felt a wave of relief.

A loophole.

A massive loophole!

"If I have enough canned goods, maybe I can solve the Tithe problem, but where am I supposed to get that many cans? And I'd need the Ministry of Internal Affairs' approval first." A crazy plan instantly took shape in his mind.

Use cross-dimensional travel to bring back canned goods, exploit the Empire's material conversion loophole to offset the tax!

Fu Haoran wanted to plan further, but his peripheral vision caught the countdown—47 minutes, 58 seconds.

"Damn it! System, I want to cross over!"