Purchasing Cobra-class Destroyers

[Rule Explanation: All Reincarnators are forced to participate. Killing units from the opposing faction earns points. Points can be exchanged for supplies, equipment, technology blueprints, bloodlines, etc., at the War Store.]

[Note: Lord-class Reincarnators may choose to enter solo or bring armed forces under their jurisdiction into battle at an additional point cost.]

Fu Haoran finished scanning the explanation and flipped directly to the forum section.

Sticky post: <Must-Read for Newbies! First Heavens War—Laying Low Is the Way to Win>

"Newbies, don't be reckless! Lay low and ride the faction victory—it pays more than charging in blind. Otherwise, you're just feeding kills~"

"Statistics show that 87% of newbies who choose to lay low in their first Heavens War survive, while less than 5% of those who go all-out make it. The choice is obvious."

GOOGLE SEARCH TWKAN

Replies flew by in a blur, all echoing "+1, choice beats effort," "Isn't a free win sweet? Charge and you die," "Pick the blue side, steady win for the chicken dinner."

Fu Haoran closed the post.

"Others can lay low. I can't."

He pulled up his troop roster, fingers tracing over rows of data.

The Warhammer World was a place that devoured people. To survive, you had to fight.

The Lord class had one advantage: it could bring an army into the instance.

The battle started in 24 hours. To win, he had to stake everything.

But the problem was, even if he could bring over a hundred thousand men, a ground force had limited use unless it was urban warfare.

Fu Haoran racked his brain. The only viable plan was to bring a starship!

On Si-Se IV, there was only one person who could sell starships: the Rogue Trader, Rake Vance.

Of course, this Rogue Trader wasn't one of those big shots.

Not all Rogue Traders could command the winds.

Rake wasn't authorized by the Emperor or a Primarch, nor by the High Lords Council. His was the lowest grade issued by the Imperial Ministry of Interior.

No fiefdom, just a basic trade permit, scraping by on reselling goods.

He was nowhere near the level of those top-tier Rogue Trader dynasties that could mobilize fleets.

But still, he had a merchant fleet under him. When it came to starship trading, he was the only game on this planet.

Within half an hour, Rake Vance showed up in person, decked out in a gold-trimmed trade uniform, a data-slate clutched in his hand, a shrewd smile plastered on his face.

"Governor, a rare guest." He rubbed his hands together, cutting straight to the point. "I hear you want to buy a destroyer from me? What, tired of life on the ground, yearning for the stars?"

Fu Haoran didn't take the bait. He stated his needs bluntly: "I need a tough, heavily armed destroyer. Name your price."

Rake put on a troubled expression. "Governor, I'd love to sell to you, but you know, I'm just a small-time trader."

"Heavily armed ships cost more, margins are thin. I only run safe routes, no need for that."

Bullshit.

Fu Haoran knew full well that Rogue Traders were basically the 16th-century English privateers with letters of marque, reincarnated.

A caravan like that didn't care about firepower?

Only a fool would believe that.

Without firepower for escort, they'd have been looted by pirates long ago.

Fu Haoran couldn't be bothered to call him out.

"Cut the crap. What ships do you have? Show me."

Rake handed over the data-slate.

The screen displayed a 3D model of a ship—the Cobra-class Destroyer.

Fu Haoran felt a surge of joy.

The Cobra-class was one of the Imperial Navy's smallest Warp-capable units.

High mobility, multi-role, excellent cost-performance, specializing in torpedo strikes.

Anyone who'd played World of Warships knew that destroyers were for laying smoke, spotting, and dumping torpedoes. If a torpedo hit, it was profit.

Exactly the ship Fu Haoran needed right now.

"Take me to see it."

An hour later, Fu Haoran stood in the dry dock, looking up at the steel behemoth before him.

One and a half kilometers long, a sleek hull with sharp lines.

Ten times more shocking than a holographic projection.

"Why are there no torpedo tubes?" Lucifer suddenly spoke.

Fu Haoran froze, then immediately followed her gaze.

On both sides of the hull, the launch ports that should have held heavy torpedo tubes were welded shut!

Fu Haoran's expression instantly darkened as he turned to look at Reck.

"Damn it! That meddlesome woman! There's no bluffing my way out of this now!"

Reck shot a vicious glance at Lucifer. Earlier, he'd thought she had an air of dignity and secretly considered buying her as a mistress.

But now, he just wanted to shut her up and take her back to be broken in.

Exposed, Reck wasn't flustered. He spread his hands and explained, "Governor, I'm a businessman. Torpedo bays take up space; removing them lets me carry a lot more cargo."

"The hull structure, armor, thrusters, and point-defense lasers are over 92% intact—condition is excellent."

Fu Haoran's face darkened. The Cobra Class's biggest selling point was its twin side heavy torpedo tube arrays.

Without torpedoes, what difference did this ship have from a civilian vessel?

With just those few point-defense laser cannons, it could at most defend itself.

It was like a fearsome venomous snake whose deadliest fangs had been pulled, leaving only teeth fit for scratching an itch.

"And you call this a destroyer?"

"Why not?" Reck argued confidently. "The Imperial Navy registration number is still there, the ship's papers are still valid. Who dares say it's not a destroyer?"

This explanation sounded perfectly reasonable.

But reasonable or not, it still stung.

Fu Haoran was about to lose his temper when a thought suddenly flashed through his mind.

"Warhammer's torpedo tech is terrifying, but at the end of the day, aren't they just missiles and rockets?"

"As long as I can get back to the 2K World, from anti-air to anti-ship, from cruise to ballistic, what missile wouldn't I have?"

"Maybe not as advanced as Warhammer's, but the system is complete, production capacity is terrifying, and the technical principles are already there."

"If I can't copy the Empire's torpedoes, I'll drown them in Earth's missile swarm!"

Fu Haoran suppressed his emotions and asked flatly, "How much?"

Reck smiled and held up two fingers. "20 million Throne Coins."

Fu Haoran's face really darkened.

Not an act.

The liquid cash in his account, at most, was under 12 million.

"20 million?" Lucifer spoke up again, her green eyes sweeping over Reck. "Ordering a brand-new Cobra Class from the Machine Cult, with a three-year delivery, is quoted at 15 million."

"And you dare ask that price for a destroyer that's changed hands over a dozen times?"

"Are you really taking people for fools?"

Reck's smile froze, then turned as black as a pot bottom. He hadn't expected this trophy woman to know so much, ruining his plans twice!

"Ma'am, that's not how you put it. This ship of mine..."

"Shut up." Lucifer cut him off, her tone colder. "Any shipyard can refit a Cobra Class, with a cycle no longer than five years."

"This scrap of yours is worth at most 8 million. Do you think we can't afford to wait, or that you can toy with me?"

Fu Haoran nodded at the right moment. "Since we can't reach a deal, forget it. I'll contact the Machine Cult. A couple more years won't kill me."

"Wait!" Reck gritted his teeth. "12 million! I can't go lower!"

Fu Haoran didn't stop.

"10 million!" Reck took a step after him. "That's my bottom line! Any lower, and I'd rather let this ship rot in the harbor than sell it to you!"

Despite saying that, Reck was calculating in his head. Selling this eighteen-hand scrap for 10 million would be enough to buy a better-condition secondhand merchant ship—a sure profit.

Fu Haoran paused mid-step, feigned hesitation, then nodded after a moment. "Fine, but I want the transfer and ship handover done now."

"Deal."

That night, the news reached Commodore Valerius's ears.

He slammed his fist on the table.

"Reck, are you stupid? Selling the Noose to the enemy for a few coins?"

On the other end of the communicator, Reck shrugged it off. "Commodore, what's the rush? That ship has no torpedo tubes—it's a snake without fangs."

"Fu Haoran can only use it as a transport. I sold scrap, not a weapon."

Valerius sneered. "Scrap? Are you sure he won't mount anything on it?"

"Mount what?" Reck scoffed. "Torpedo tech is military-controlled material. A grassroots governor like him can't get his hands on it."

"As for lances, they take up space, and even if he installed them, they couldn't beat your fleet. You're overthinking it."

Valerius stared at the communicator for a long moment before suppressing his anger.

"It better be that way!" He cut the call and said coldly to his adjutant, "Keep an eye on that ship. If he dares to mount any weapons on it, we'll teach him a lesson with orbital cannons."