Loyalty Has Its Price

"The Governor wants to see you. Follow me."

Ronan froze for two seconds before realizing he was the one being called.

He followed the messenger into the vehicle, driving all the way to the control tower at the highest point of the Promethium Factory, which had been converted into a temporary command post.

"Governor, the man is here."

Fu Haoran turned around, glanced at Ronan, and picked up a folded uniform and a metal shoulder badge from the table.

"Ronan, former Grade 3 Technician at the Promethium Factory, later forcibly conscripted by the Iron Hand Gang."

"Two days ago, you surrendered with 17 men. Yesterday, you turned 31 more."

Fu Haoran read off the records on the data slate.

"Now, I appoint you as the Captain of the First Penal Company."

"In principle, the men you brought don't meet standard strength, but you're a factory technician by trade, familiar with the terrain, and capable of keeping your people in line, so I've decided to make an exception and promote you."

As he spoke, Fu Haoran handed over the uniform and shoulder badge.

Ronan took them with both hands.

"The Penal Company will be responsible for clearing the factory. Do a good job, and with enough military merit, promotion is within reach."

"Yes, sir!" Ronan gripped the uniform tightly.

Fu Haoran nodded. "Alright, Captain Ronan, you may go."

Ronan saluted and withdrew.

After he left, Yuri couldn't help but sneer. "Tsk, tsk, tsk. You just handed that out that easily?"

"Why not? He recruited his own men, and I happen to be short-handed. A batch of old gear, some food, in exchange for an ambitious subordinate—I can't think of a reason to refuse."

Fu Haoran stated it as if it were the most natural thing in the world. Yuri recalled the grievances he'd suffered under the nobles back in the day and thought that if he'd thrown in with Fu Haoran sooner, maybe he wouldn't have ended up so miserable.

"Ah, I missed my chance."

[Quartermaster Yuri Razumov Loyalty Updated: -30 → -20]

When he returned to camp, the 48 men under Ronan had already gathered.

They stared wide-eyed at Ronan's new uniform and shoulder badge.

Ronan pinned the badge to his chest and grinned. "From today on, I'm the Captain of the First Penal Company. Stick with me, and you'll all have your shot."

At lunchtime, Ronan led his men into the mess hall.

Calling it a mess hall was generous—it was really just a big tent with dozens of folding tables.

"Even the military is this stingy?" Ronan thought, disappointed.

In his imagination, military officers should be living like kings, and at least the dining hall shouldn't be this shabby.

"Was all that food just bait to get us to sign up?"

Ronan queued up with the others to get his meal. When the stainless steel tray was placed in his hands, he froze on the spot. All his earlier disappointment vanished, replaced by sheer shock.

"Guess I was just thinking too small!"

The tray was piled high. No Corpse Starch, no mystery mixtures—all natural food. There were even a few leafy greens and half a piece of fruit.

This was stuff only nobles could touch. Forget the gangs—even back when he was a technician, he'd only ever seen it from a distance during noble inspections.

One of Ronan's men, a short guy, stared at his tray, hands trembling, and asked in disbelief:

"Boss, this... this is really for us?"

"Stop yapping and eat. We've got work this afternoon." Ronan grabbed his fork and dug in first.

The group wolfed down their food.

As the short guy ate, he suddenly pulled a few Throne Coins from his pocket—the allowance they'd just been issued that morning.

He clutched them in his hand, rubbing them over and over, his eyes a little red.

"Boss," he said quietly, "back in the gang, Jack's thug slapped me across the face for half a piece of Corpse Starch."

"Now... now I can eat my fill and even get paid."

He looked up, his voice turning fierce. "From now on, even if I have to fight nobles to the death, I'm following the Governor!"

A few others nearby nodded along.

Ronan said nothing. He just chewed his food even harder.

After the meal, he led his men back inside the factory.

This time, he was going to turn more people.

Or... pull off something even bigger!

In that moment, Ronan realized that loyalty had a price tag after all.

The atmosphere inside the factory had completely shifted.

At first, no one believed what was broadcast over the speakers.

But as more and more starving people walked out of the factory and came back, everything changed.

The territory under Iron Hand Gang control shrank by the day.

Large numbers of peripheral personnel went missing. Worse still, some core gang members and leaders vanished too!

Inside the central control room, Jack Norton slammed his fist onto the monitoring console.

"Damn it! Damn it! How did this happen?!"

Jack realized he could contact fewer and fewer people. He couldn't even reach the nobles outside anymore!

Bang!

Jack smashed the communicator onto the floor. Only two trusted subordinates remained in the room, their faces deathly pale.

"Boss, what do we do now?"

Jack didn't answer.

He walked to the innermost part of the console, lifted a cover panel, and revealed a mechanical keyboard underneath.

Cam stood behind him, his eyes flickering. His peripheral vision swept across Jack's back. No one noticed the coldness in his gaze.

This was the factory's underlying control interface, connected to an old overload safety system.

In theory, if the core reactor was pushed into overload, it could blow up half the factory.

Even if it didn't, it would rupture the Promethium refining tanks, turning the place into a gas chamber.

But Jack hesitated. When it came down to actually going all in, he was afraid.

"Boss, watch out!"

Hearing the shout from behind, Jack didn't think. He rolled to the side on pure instinct.

Having reached this position, Jack had seen too many assassinations and betrayals.

So his nerves were always taut.

At the warning, Jack smoothly dodged, drew his gun, and fired.

The movements were seamless.

The trusted subordinate who had raised his gun was riddled with holes.

"Boss, you alright?" His second-in-command, Cam, rushed over to shield Jack. He was the one who had shouted the warning.

"Tch. Trying to ambush me? You're still way off!" Jack climbed up from the floor and swapped the battery pack on his Lasgun.

Pfft!

The leader of the Iron Hand Gang, a crime lord who had ruled the underworld for years, stared down in disbelief at the spring-loaded knife piercing through his own body.

"You... you dare... betray me?!"

Cam didn't turn around. Instead, he twisted the knife, his voice dripping with malice: "Don't blame me, Boss. Every man for himself, and the devil take the hindmost."

"The gang's about to fall. I don't want to be buried with you."

"Besides, the Governor just put a bounty of ten thousand Throne Coins on your head. Plus a new identity and a ship ticket. That's enough for me to disappear and start over."

"Oh, and those high-level guys who went missing recently? I turned them in for the bounty. Today, it's your turn."

Jack couldn't believe his ears. With his last strength, he gasped, "Cam... I treated you well... cough..."

"Heh. Jack, you just treated me like a dog. You threw me the meaty bones you'd gnawed clean and expected me to be grateful?"

"So you dying like this? Not unjust at all."

"Alright, enough talk. Time to hit the road."

Cam pulled the knife free and watched Jack collapse into a pool of blood, his eyes utterly flat:

"Your head is my ticket out of this Hive City."