Back in the modern-day 2K World, Fu Haoran contacted an oligarch from Russia. Less than an hour after receiving the news, the man had a Gulfstream land at the airport Fu Haoran had specified.
The night wind in Moscow blew into Fu Haoran's collar, making him hunch his shoulders against the cold.
A black Maybach stopped at the mouth of the alley, its headlights casting two beams of yellow light across the snow.
A sallow-faced man with sunken eyes stood beside the car. Even his luxurious custom suit couldn't hide his sickly thinness.
Clearly, he was suffering badly from his terminal illness.
Alexei Korolyov.
The moment he saw Fu Haoran, he skipped the pleasantries and strode forward, grabbing Fu Haoran by the wrist.
"The technology that cured Jobs... can it cure me?"
Fu Haoran didn't answer, but the Servo-Skull he carried with him sprang into action.
Its red light swept over Alexei from head to toe. Three seconds passed, then five.
Alexei gripped the car door handle until his knuckles turned white.
At the sixth second, the skull gave a soft chime.
[Curable. Estimated course of treatment: 2 sessions.]
"That's wonderful! I knew it could be done! I knew it..."
Alexei let go of the car door and turned away to take a breath. When he faced Fu Haoran again, his voice had already steadied.
"Mr. Fu, what kind of weapons do you need?"
Fu Haoran wasn't surprised by Alexei's loss of composure.
The man was a Russian oligarch, a tech mogul on the surface and an arms dealer in reality, responsible for secretly smuggling weapons on Russia's behalf.
He had been diagnosed with a terminal illness six months ago. When he heard Fu Haoran had access to a cure-all, he had tried to get help.
But although wealth had no borders, the wealthy did.
Jobs and the others would never allow a rich Russian to get a share of the treatment.
If Fu Haoran hadn't needed to buy weapons this time, he wouldn't have approached Alexei.
Realizing he had lost his composure, Alexei quickly collected himself and asked, "May I ask what kind of weapons you're looking to buy, Mr. Fu?"
"Weapons of mass destruction."
Alexei froze.
"I need them now. They must be delivered today." Fu Haoran glanced at his watch. Only fifteen hours remained until the planned twenty-four-hour all-out assault.
"Weapons of mass destruction? Those are tightly controlled by governments. If any of them leaked, I'd be hunted down worldwide, no matter who I am." Alexei badly wanted to say it aloud.
But his years as a man in power had taught him that Fu Haoran only wanted results and had no interest in the process.
Alexei opened his mouth, but no sound came out.
Snow continued to fall outside the window. He stared at the white landscape for a long time.
He had only two choices: die of his illness, or stay alive and spend the rest of his life on the run!
To hell with it! If I run, I still have a choice. If I refuse treatment, I won't even get the chance to fight back.
Once he had made up his mind, Alexei asked, "As long as you can save me, I'll get you whatever weapons you want!"
The two drove straight to a military base. They encountered almost no obstacles along the way.
The general in charge of the base was named Valuev. Built like a bear, he raised a hand the moment he saw Fu Haoran. Four soldiers approached with guns, their dark muzzles pointed at the two men.
"University of Tokyo? Americans?" Valuev asked, his tone unfriendly.
Alexei was used to this. He simply handed over a bank card.
"General, a little gift. This is my honored guest. Just supply the goods; money's no problem."
Valuev took the card but didn't pocket it. Instead, he handed it to the adjutant beside him.
The adjutant pulled out a POS terminal and swiped the card. After checking the balance, he nodded to the general.
Only then did Valuev break into a smile. "If Alexei is vouching for you, then we're good."
"But you have to follow the rules here. Otherwise, even I won't be able to help you."
General Valuev turned and led the way. First, he took them to the deepest part of the base and pointed proudly at a massive, pitch-black missile.
"The Sarmat ICBM, a doomsday weapon. A range of eighteen thousand kilometers, capable of carrying ten independently targetable nuclear warheads with a combined yield of 7.5 megatons. That's enough to wipe out a small or medium-sized country."
"One price: eight billion dollars, paid in full. Delivery in a week."
Fu Haoran rolled his eyes. Did Valuev really think the Russians would sell him something like that?
Of course Alexei understood his old friend's little game. He cut in, "General, my guest is in a hurry. He needs something that can be delivered today."
"You people really know how to ruin the mood," General Valuev muttered, leading them to another part of the base.
"Iskander-M missile. Range of five hundred kilometers. Two hundred million dollars apiece."
"Sarmat rockets, designed for area bombardment. One set for 120 million dollars."
Fu Haoran grew impatient and raised a hand to interrupt him. "General, deploying those weapons would take too long. I'm hoping for something simpler and more direct."
"Preferably something that can be mounted straight onto an aircraft, with enough firepower to hit hard."
General Valuev looked displeased.
Now you're being picky?
General Valuev's face darkened. He stared at Fu Haoran for three seconds, then suddenly grinned.
"Fine. You want something simple and direct, huh?"
He turned and strode to the far end of the warehouse, then kicked a gray-green metal lump. The bomb's casing gave a dull clang.
"This is a FAB-3000M-54 aerial bomb. It's been fitted with a basic guidance kit and a glide wing. You can mount it on an aircraft and drop it. It has a range of up to sixty kilometers without propulsion."
"It has just one advantage: a hefty payload. Its explosive force is equivalent to 1,400 kilograms of TNT."
"It can blast a crater eight meters deep and seventy meters wide. Nothing inside that area will be left standing. It can even punch through reinforced concrete fortifications!"
"Shrapnel can pierce standard armor within 260 meters. It's effective against troop formations and tanks. If you want them, they're a million dollars apiece, and we have as many as you need."
Even without Valuev's explanation, Fu Haoran could tell how powerful it was.
After all, how weak could a bomb nearly the size of a pickup truck be?
Valuev was only describing it because he wanted to annoy Fu Haoran.
The arms trade had always been a seller's market. You couldn't just buy whatever you wanted; it depended on whether the seller was willing to part with it.
If it weren't for Alexei and your money, you wouldn't even be allowed to see me.
You're in a hurry, aren't you? I'll make you sweat for it!
"I'll take every one you've got!"
"What?!" Valuev couldn't believe his ears.
Someone actually wanted this old junk?
"Are you sure?" Valuev had to ask.
"Yes." Fu Haoran's answer was firm.
General Valuev was instantly torn. The warehouse was stacked with tens of millions of these things, and the conversion cost less than a hundred thousand dollars apiece. He had quoted a million to scare the buyer off, but Fu Haoran had actually agreed to pay.
He opened his mouth, wanting to take it back, then swallowed his words.
Damn it, next time I should quote three million.
But Valuev couldn't go back on his word. He steeled himself and said, "We only have eighteen converted ones ready right now. You'll have to take them all."
"Fine." Fu Haoran transferred the money on the spot.
Seeing the deal go through, Alexei finally breathed a sigh of relief.
"I thought you were going to buy a weapon of mass destruction like the Sarmat. Turns out you just wanted this old relic."
"Even if Joe and his people find out, they won't be able to make anything of this."
He looked at Fu Haoran, a complicated emotion in his eyes. "I vouched for you, and you passed on the weapons of mass destruction in favor of this old junk... Still, it's probably for the best. I've kept my promise."
The eighteen FAB-3000s were quickly loaded onto trucks by forklift, without the slightest delay.
Of course, it helped that these were "ancient relics" no one cared about. That was why they could be prepared so quickly.
Back in the Warhammer World, Fu Haoran had barely stepped out of the transmission point when Wade came rushing over, drenched in sweat.
"My lord! The allied forces have advanced to within fifteen kilometers. The gang cannon fodder have already begun probing attacks on the factory perimeter."
"Why panic?" Fu Haoran said calmly, pointing to the trucks behind him. "I brought the fireworks. We can give them a proper welcome."
Fu Haoran summoned Tech-Priest Kallen and gave him an order.
"Priest Kallen, I want you to mount all these bombs on the Sky-Claw Valkyrie Gunships. As fast as you can."
The moment Priest Kallen saw the FAB-3000s, he frowned and flatly refused. "Governor, I couldn't find any matching information in the archives."
"These are likely illegal technological constructs. Forgive me, but I can't fulfill your request. Such an act would violate the tenets of the Machine Cult and desecrate the sacred Machine Spirit of the Omnissiah."
What was going on? At this critical moment, was he really going to let him down?!
Fu Haoran panicked. With the forces he had, he couldn't hold out at all. The eighteen bombs were his only hope.
If the Valkyries couldn't take off with them, everything would be pointless!
But how was he supposed to persuade a rigid, dogmatic, conservative Tech-Priest?!
Fu Haoran suddenly felt like he was trying to coax a stubborn little girl—he had no idea where to begin.
He glanced at the surveillance screen.
Fifteen kilometers away, the allied forces' vanguard had already finished assembling.
There was no time to coax him.
Before you continue