Do You Even Know How to Eat Ant-Ox Canned Food?

The vision twisted, the gray metal walls of the Warhammer World fading away to the familiar ceiling of a rented apartment.

Fu Haoran opened his eyes and saw his familiar apartment.

"I was gone for a year, my family must be worried..."

Fu Haoran glanced at his phone.

"Huh? Wait, isn't this the date before I transmigrated away?!"

Just as Fu Haoran was wondering, he caught sight of the system countdown ticking down.

No time to think about it—Fu Haoran grabbed his car keys and headed out.

Open the car door, turn the key, step on the gas—one fluid motion.

Before the transmigration, as a new hire, Fu Haoran had been sent abroad by his company to the Eagle Nation, taking over maintenance of the automated sorting system at a Costco warehouse store.

Because of that, his rented apartment was only a few hundred meters from that Costco, and driving took less than three minutes.

Fu Haoran pushed a shopping cart, frantically sweeping through the canned goods aisle.

Braised beef, fermented black bean fish, luncheon meat, yellow peaches, corn kernels... no matter the flavor, ignoring the prices, he swept entire rows into the cart.

Nearby foreigners occasionally shot him strange looks.

Finally, a passerby couldn't help asking, "Hey, buddy, what are you doing? Is the apocalypse coming or something?"

"Company team-building." Fu Haoran tossed out the line, pushing two carts piled like small mountains toward the checkout.

When Fu Haoran pushed a third cart piled like a small mountain toward the checkout, the young cashier's face turned green.

The auntie waiting in line behind him wasn't happy: "What's this all about? If you want canned goods, go to the wholesale market!"

Fu Haoran didn't look back: "Can't wait, aliens are about to attack!"

The auntie rolled her eyes.

In a sense, Fu Haoran wasn't lying.

Finally, just as Fu Haoran drove up to his rental apartment building, the system prompt rang out again:

[The Tax Collector Flagship has entered planetary orbit. Reincarnator, return to the Governor's Office immediately.]

Fu Haoran didn't dare delay and immediately mentally commanded the system to store everything.

Strictly speaking, in the Warhammer Universe, tax collectors weren't handled by Inquisitors—they were only responsible for oversight.

Because Inquisitors held immense power, with life-and-death authority; if displeased, they could brand a planet a traitor and execute it without a second thought.

Fu Haoran had no idea if the canned goods he bought would suit the other party's taste; he could only gamble.

Gamble that these cheap 2K Era canned goods could pry open the door to negotiation.

After all, in a world where everyone gnawed on Corpse Starch, a mouthful of hot Braised Beef was enough to tempt any Imperial bureaucrat.

When he opened his eyes again, Fu Haoran was back in the Governor's Office.

Sunlight streamed through the scratched porthole, illuminating the mountain of canned goods boxes, their metal surfaces gleaming coldly.

Fu Haoran looked at these industrial products, averaging less than twenty bucks at the supermarket, now his only bargaining chip at the negotiation table—it felt like betting a planet's fate with a plastic toy gun.

Fu Haoran straightened his ill-fitting governor's uniform and ordered into the communicator: "Prepare reception at the highest standard. Send these cans and water to the banquet hall, heat a few up, open them, and plate them."

Fu Haoran pulled up the orbital surveillance feed. A warship was tearing through the veil of realspace, slowly entering planetary orbit.

Five kilometers long, the hull black as a coffin.

A massive emblem was painted on its side, a twin-linked macro cannon array mounted at the bow, and dense laser cannon turrets lining the flanks like a porcupine's spines.

The bridge rose high, its antenna array flickering with the faint light of data streams.

A Lunar-class Cruiser.

One of the Imperial Navy's mainline warships.

A single ship of this class had enough firepower to erase the upper structures of a Hive City from the map.

Fu Haoran leaned back in his chair, watching the colossal vessel descending like Judgment Day on the screen, and suddenly let out a low laugh.

"Starting off with three hundred years of debt to pay off... no wonder it's an SSS-rank mission, pushing you to the brink from the start."

"All or nothing now."

A Thunderhawk Gunship tore through the clouds above the Hive City and slammed down onto the Governor's Office plaza.

The hatch opened, and Inquisitor Makarov stepped out.

Six Stormtroopers flanked him like iron towers, their Bolters aimed low but fingers resting on the trigger guards.

Fu Haoran stepped forward to meet him, behind him a hundred veterans from the Guard Regiment forming an honor guard—all the face his adjutant Wade could scrape together.

But compared to the bloody aura from the star sea that followed Makarov, they instantly looked like a bunch of local militia.

Makarov swept his gaze over them, making no effort to hide his sneer.

"Welcome." Fu Haoran extended his hand.

Makarov ignored the hand, taking the Data Pad directly from his adjutant and handing it to Fu Haoran.

[Si-Se IV Arrears Overview: 300 Standard Years]

A cascade of astronomical figures scrolled by, finally settling on a blood-red total.

"I am Arbitrator Makarov, dispatched to collect the overdue Tithe. You have two choices: pay in full, or... per Chapter Four of the Imperial Sacred Tax Code, be executed for treason."

Fu Haoran's heart clenched, but his face remained impassive.

He turned, gesturing toward several dozen standard cargo containers covered with tarps on one side of the plaza: "What I can gather is already prepared. You may inspect it first, sir. As for the specifics... shall we discuss it inside?"

Makarov stared at him for two seconds, his gaze like that of a man looking at a dead dog.

Finally, he gave a slight nod.

The banquet hall.

The long table was bare, with only two chairs set out.

A servant brought water.

After taking a sip, Makarov was somewhat surprised.

No strange taste?!

No metallic tang from the recycled water system, no faint lingering scent of humus and radioactive dust that could never be fully removed from Hive City purified water.

Makarov set down the cup, his scrutiny deepening: "Governor, you surprise me."

"Before coming here, the reports I reviewed indicated that Si-Se IV's water purification system was crippled in the battle three years ago."

"It seems your capabilities far exceed what the files record."

Fu Haoran smiled but didn't respond.

Then, the food arrived.

No complex cooking—just simple heating.

Makarov instinctively drew his combat knife, on guard in case some can spat out a grown Ant-Ox.

In Makarov's not-so-long career, he'd had several experiences wrestling with Ant-Ox cans, and every year there were fools who forgot the iron rule: you had to stab a can at least seven times with a combat knife before opening it for consumption.

However, Makarov noticed that no one present was carrying a bayonet-fitted Lasgun, flamethrower, or any of the heavy weaponry the guard soldiers usually sported. This displeased him greatly.

No preparations at all, and they dared to eat canned food!

Makarov had no choice but to pull his Bolter out from under the table.

To this, the host Fu Haoran was completely oblivious. He fumbled a bit as he opened the can.

Click!

That wasn't the sound of a can opening—it was the sound of Makarov chambering a round in his Bolter.

The atmosphere grew subtly tense.

Fu Haoran wondered: was the Inquisitor about to execute him just for opening a can?

Makarov, on the other hand, relaxed slightly when he realized it wasn't an Ant-Ox can.

Fortunately, this awkward situation was alleviated as the rich, pure aroma of Braised Beef wafted out from the can.

Makarov's Adam's apple rolled almost imperceptibly. His grip on the Bolter loosened, and though his tone remained cold, the killing intent had faded: "Governor, how long do you intend to keep me waiting?"

Fu Haoran's heart, which had been suspended for half the day, finally settled. Forcing calm, he pushed the can over: "Please, sir. Just heated."

Fu Haoran feigned composure, but inside his heart was pounding.

"It all comes down to this one bite."