Chapter Twenty-Eight: This is Exactly What I Want

Back in the modern 2K World, Fu Haoran contacted an oligarch from Big Mao's territory. After receiving the news, less than an hour later, a Gulfstream touched down at the airport Fu Haoran had designated.

Moscow's night wind poured into his collar, cold enough to make him shrink his neck.

A black Maybach was parked at the mouth of the alley, its headlights casting two beams of yellow light across the snow.

Standing by the car door was a man with a sallow complexion and sunken eyes; even his luxurious custom-tailored suit couldn't hide his sickly gauntness.

Clearly, this man was being ravaged by a terminal illness.

Alexei Korolyov.

Seeing Fu Haoran, without any pleasantries, he stepped forward and grabbed Fu Haoran by the wrist.

"You cured Jobs... can you cure me?"

Fu Haoran didn't answer, but the Servo-Skull he carried with him began to work.

The Servo-Skull's red light swept over Alexei's entire body—three seconds, five seconds.

Alexei gripped the car door handle, his knuckles turning white.

At the sixth second, the skull let out a soft click.

[Treatable. Estimated course: 2 sessions.]

"Great, I knew it could be done! I knew it..."

Alexei released his grip on the car door, turned his back, and took a breath. When he turned back, his voice had already flattened out.

"Mr. Fu, what kind of weapon do you need?"

Fu Haoran wasn't surprised at all by Alexei's loss of composure.

The other party was an oligarch from Big Mao—on the surface a tech magnate, but in reality an arms dealer, responsible for smuggling weapons on Big Mao's behalf under the table.

Half a year ago, he'd come down with a terminal illness. After learning that Fu Haoran had a universal cure, he'd sought help.

But while wealth knows no borders, the wealthy do.

People like Jobs would never allow a Big Mao oligarch to get a piece of the pie.

If it weren't for needing to procure weapons this time, Fu Haoran wouldn't have sought him out either.

Realizing he'd lost his composure, Alexei quickly adjusted his emotions and asked, "May I ask what kind of weapon Mr. Fu wants to buy?"

"Weapons of mass destruction."

Alexei froze for a moment.

"I need them now, and delivery must be completed within today." Fu Haoran glanced at his wrist—there were only fifteen hours left until the estimated 24-hour general assault.

"Weapons of mass destruction? Those are under strict state control. If they leak, even I'll be hunted down globally." Alexei wanted to say those words out loud.

But his years as a man in power told him that the other party only cared about the result, not the process at all.

Alexei opened his mouth, but no sound came out.

Snow was still falling outside the window. He stared at that expanse of white for a long time.

Two choices lay before him: either die from the terminal illness, or keep his life and spend it on the run!

"Screw it! If I run, I still have a choice. If I don't get treated, I won't even have a chance to struggle."

Once he figured that out, Alexei spoke up and asked, "As long as you can save me, whatever weapon you want, I'll get it for you!"

The two drove straight to a military base, the roads mostly clear all the way.

The general in charge of the base was named Valuev, built like a bear. When he saw Fu Haoran, he immediately raised his hand, and four soldiers surrounded them with rifles, dark muzzles aimed at the pair.

"East Da? Pretty Nation?" Valuev's tone was hostile.

Alexei, unfazed by this, directly handed over a bank card.

"General, this is a token of goodwill. This man is my honored guest. Just deliver the goods—money is no issue."

Valuev took the card, didn't pocket it, and handed it straight to his adjutant.

The adjutant pulled out a POS machine, swiped the card, glanced at the balance, and nodded at the general.

Only then did Valuev crack a smile: "Since you, Alexei, are vouching for him, no problem."

"But the rules here must be followed, or else even I can't save you."

General Valuev turned to lead the way, first bringing them to the deepest part of the base. Pointing at a massive, pitch-black missile, he introduced it with pride:

"Sarmat ICBM, a doomsday weapon. Range: 18,000 kilometers. Can carry 10 MIRVed nuclear warheads, total yield 7.5 megatons. Enough to blow up a small-to-medium-sized country."

"Fixed price: 80 billion USD, full payment upfront, delivery in one week."

Fu Haoran rolled his eyes. As if you Russians would actually sell that.

Alexei knew his old buddy's little tricks all too well and cut in: "General, my guest is in a hurry. It has to be something deliverable today."

"You people, no sense of romance." General Valuev muttered, leading them to another part of the base.

"An Iskander-M missile, range 500 kilometers, 200 million dollars a pop."

"Sarmat rockets, cluster strike, one set costs 120 million dollars."

Fu Haoran grew irritated and raised a hand to cut him off: "General, these weapons take too long to deploy. I want something simpler and more brutal."

"Preferably something that can be mounted directly onto a fighter jet, with enough power to do the job."

General Valuev was a bit displeased.

You're getting picky now.

General Valuev's face darkened. He stared at Fu Haoran for three seconds, then suddenly curled his lips.

"Fine. You want simple and brutal, right?"

He turned, strode to the deepest part of the warehouse, and kicked a gray-green iron lump, the casing letting out a dull thud.

"This—the FAB-3000M-54 aerial bomb. Fitted with a simple guidance kit and glide wings. Hang it on a fighter and drop it. Unguided range reaches 60 kilometers."

"It's got one selling point: plenty of explosive filler. The blast yield equals 1,400 kilograms of TNT."

"It'll carve out a crater 8 meters deep and 70 meters wide. Within that radius, nothing grows—not even reinforced concrete fortifications can survive!"

"Shrapnel at 260 meters can pierce standard armor. Good for clusters, good for tanks. If you want them, 1 million dollars each. As many as you need."

Even without Valuev's explanation, Fu Haoran could tell.

After all, a bomb the size of a pickup truck—how weak could it be?

Valuev only introduced it to mess with Fu Haoran.

The arms market was always a seller's market. You didn't just buy what you wanted; it depended on whether the seller was willing to sell.

"If it weren't for Alexei and the cash, you'd never even get to see me."

"You're in a hurry? I'll make you wait until you're dead!" Valuev sneered inwardly.

"How many of these do you have? I'll take them all!"

"What?!" Valuev couldn't believe his ears.

Someone actually wanted this antique?

"Are you sure?" Valuev had to confirm.

"Yes." Fu Haoran's answer was firm.

General Valuev was instantly torn. This piece of junk had tens of millions sitting in the warehouse, with a retrofit cost under 100,000 dollars. He'd quoted a million to scare the guy off, but the other side was actually paying up.

He opened his mouth to back out, then swallowed the words.

"Damn it, next time I should quote three million."

But Valuev couldn't renege. He steeled himself and said, "Only 18 have been retrofitted so far. They have to be sold as a bundle."

"Fine." Fu Haoran transferred the money on the spot.

Alexei breathed a sigh of relief as the deal closed.

"I thought you were going for something like a Sarmat superweapon. Turns out it's just this old relic."

"Even if Joe and his crew find out, they can't make anything of it."

He looked at Fu Haoran, a complicated glint in his eyes. "With me covering for him, he passed up a superweapon for this junk... but it's fine. I've kept my promise."

The 18 FAB-3000s were loaded onto trucks one by one with forklifts, swift and without a hint of delay.

Of course, that was thanks to them being "ancient relics"—no one cared, so the stocking speed was astonishing.

Back in the Warhammer World, the moment Fu Haoran stepped out of the teleport point, Wade rushed over, drenched in sweat:

"Sir! The coalition forces have pushed to within 15 kilometers. The gang's cannon fodder has started probing the factory perimeter."

"What's the panic?" Fu Haoran's tone was calm. He pointed at the trucks behind him. "I've brought the fireworks. Just in time to welcome them."

Fu Haoran summoned Tech-Priest Kallen and instructed him:

"Priest Kallen, I hope you can mount all these bombs onto the Sky-Talon Valkyrie gunships. The sooner, the better."

Priest Kallen frowned the moment he saw the FAB-3000 and refused flatly: "Governor, I found no matching data in the archives."

"This is likely an illegal technological creation. I'm afraid I cannot fulfill your request. Such an act violates the tenets of the Machine Cult and defiles the sacred machine-spirit of the Omnissiah."

What the hell? At this critical moment, you're letting me down?!

Fu Haoran panicked on the spot. With his current forces, he couldn't hold out. Those 18 bombs were his only hope.

If the Valkyries couldn't take off with them, everything was just talk!

But how was he supposed to convince a rigid, dogmatic, conservative Tech-Priest?!

Fu Haoran suddenly felt like he was trying to coax a stubborn little girl—no angle to work with.

He glanced at the monitor screen.

15 kilometers away, the coalition's vanguard had already assembled.

No time for coaxing.