The Stepping Stone is Acquired

But soon, Fu Haoran noticed a problem. He stared at the [Universal Points +4234] on the system panel, his brow furrowing tighter and tighter.

"Thirteen Reincarnators, and that averages out to just over 300 points per person?"

He pulled up the records from his last mission. Even a random side quest back then could barely scrape into the four digits.

"Too little. It's an insult to a Reincarnator's worth."

Fu Haoran wasn't sure. This was his first time dealing with other Reincarnators.

"I need to go down and see for myself."

Just in case, he also dragged along his personal "bodyguard," Lucifer.

Even though she basically ignored his commands, if something really went wrong, ducking behind her was always a safe bet.

Call it tactical battlefield positioning, not cowardice.

The camp.

Wade was directing soldiers to clean up the battlefield. When he saw Fu Haoran approach, he snapped to attention and saluted: "Governor, the enemy has been completely annihilated. Zero casualties on our side."

Fu Haoran looked around, his gaze sweeping over the charred wreckage in the distance, then back to the undamaged heavy weapons. He was silent for three seconds.

That's it?

Lucifer seemed to see through his little thoughts and said flatly: "No hidden enemies within 50 kilometers. Only residual energy fluctuations that are about to dissipate."

Fu Haoran took a deep breath, turned to Lucifer, and said with a slightly awkward tone: "Just now on the bridge, I ran through a bunch of tactical simulations, wondering if they had an ambush set up, whether I should call in more troops..."

Lucifer said very seriously: "The simulation was brilliant. On par with my skills when I was six years old."

"...Stop talking."

Fu Haoran felt wounded. So all his caution was for nothing.

Awkward as it was, if he had to do it all over again, Fu Haoran would still choose to show as many of his cards as possible.

The Reincarnation Battlefield was a mixed bag. He had only experienced one world. By the forum's standards, he was a pure rookie. Being cautious was never wrong.

Fu Haoran glanced at the Lasgun in a soldier's hands and silently complained in his mind.

A lot of people on the forum called this thing a "flashlight," but that was only compared to the monsters in the Warhammer Universe.

Lasguns were actually pretty high-tech. Fu Haoran had tested them. A Lasgun could punch through concrete. The Hellgun used by Stormtroopers could even take down a Space Marine, let alone these Reincarnators who didn't even have top-tier protection.

Four hundred "flashlights" firing at once, plus the firepower coverage of heavy Autoguns, Las-cannons, and Wolf Spider Sentry Guns.

Fu Haoran glanced at the charred remains on the ground in the distance and silently looked away.

All he could say was, the Reincarnators didn't die unjustly. They were too careless, mistaking the Empire's black technology for native toys.

After all, laser weaponry was probably one of the few standard-issue weapons of the human Empire that hadn't been lost and was still being iterated and upgraded.

This little incident was quickly put behind them.

Fu Haoran soon arrived at the largest tent.

Inside was the most important objective of this operation: the reassembled remains of the Mark 1 Armor.

Almost at the same time, a system prompt sounded in Fu Haoran's ear:

[Acquired Key Resource: Mark 1 Armor Technical Sample (Analyzable)]

[World Line Variation Rate: 1.2%]

[Universal Points: +166]

Lucifer glanced at it, her disdain undisguised, her tone carrying the characteristic arrogance of the Necrons: "Don't tell me you went through all this trouble, mobilized all this heavy firepower, just for this primitive piece of junk?"

Fu Haoran wasn't angry. Instead, he smiled.

Yeah, in the eyes of the Necrons, this was trash.

In the Warhammer World, there were plenty of similar power armors, and even more advanced Force Feedback Power Armor.

The Force Feedback Power Armor sold by the Machine Cult was more than ten times better than the Mark 1.

But the problem was, Fu Haoran didn't have any.

And he had never valued the armor itself.

Fu Haoran looked away from the armor and said flatly: "This is a stepping stone. I don't need it, but someone else does."

Lucifer raised an eyebrow but didn't respond.

Fu Haoran looked at the sky and said, "Alright, hurry up and pack up. Our guests will be arriving soon."

The convoy sped through the deserts of Kandahar, headlights cutting through the night.

Obadiah Stane gripped his phone, veins bulging, and roared into the receiver: "Get the board to pressure Tony! He has to take back his decision to shut down the weapons division!"

"The black market weapon channels are all cut off. Those debt collectors have already seized my private estate. If I don't get the armor tech, I won't just go bankrupt—they'll throw me into the sea to feed the fish! That useless Raza ruined my best chance!"

"I don't care what means you use. Beg him, threaten him—whatever it takes. He has to change his mind!"

After hanging up, he slammed his fist against the car window.

As a senior executive at Stark Industries, he outwardly acted as Tony's mentor, but secretly supplied weapons to terrorist organizations to expand arms deals.

However, as Tony grew more mature, Obadiah found he could no longer control him.

The other party simply didn't take his words seriously, and this made Obadiah feel a sense of crisis.

He was determined to replace Tony Stark as the company's chairman.

"Raza, that useless piece of trash!" Obadiah gritted his teeth and cursed. "I personally sold you Tony's retreat route, and you still let him escape!"

"How much longer?"

"Five minutes, sir."

Obadiah closed his eyes, leaning back against the seat, rage and anxiety churning in his chest.

He had to get the armor fragments tonight, and then... silence Raza, that incompetent fool, forever.

The convoy arrived at the camp.

Obadiah pushed open the door and stepped out, the first thing his nose catching was a faint burnt smell.

The headlights swept across the ground. There were no familiar terrorists patrolling. All the tents in the camp were lit, yet it was eerily silent, leaving only the rustling sound of wind whipping against the canvas.

Obadiah frowned slightly, a hint of wariness rising in his heart.

But then he thought again—this group of terrorists had always been undisciplined. Maybe it was an internal conflict or a firefight. Wasn't it during the chaos that Tony had escaped?

Besides, hidden in his pocket was that Ultrasonic Paralyzer. No matter how many enemies there were, he could easily handle them.

With that thought, he strode confidently toward the largest and brightest tent.

He lifted the tent flap.

There was no sign of Raza.

Over a dozen soldiers in gray Plasteel Armor stood inside, all with distinctly non-Middle Eastern faces, their eyes hostile.

"Retreat!"

Obadiah had barely shouted a single syllable when a dull thud sounded behind him.

Thump! Thump! Thump!

It wasn't gunfire—it was the sound of heavy objects hitting flesh.

He turned his head and saw that four of his eight bodyguards were already down.

The entire process took less than three seconds, with almost no cries.

A hand reached in from the side, grabbing Obadiah's wrist, while another hand slipped into his suit's inner pocket, precisely pulling out the Ultrasonic Paralyzer.

Obadiah's pupils contracted.

They didn't take his phone, didn't take his custom pistol—only this?

They knew what it was?

Strangely enough, his phone and gun were left untouched.

"Who are you?"

Obadiah didn't panic. His peripheral vision caught all eight bodyguards already subdued, and he instantly understood that panic was useless.

What he needed to do now was negotiate.

"Mr. Obadiah, since you're here, let's have a talk."

Fu Haoran stood up from inside the tent. He looked to be in his early twenties, his fingertip tapping against the Iron Suit beside him—a patchwork of the prototype armor's wreckage, scorch marks still visible on the armor plates.

Obadiah's eyes lit up instantly. The other party hadn't killed him, hadn't taken his phone or gun, only taken the Ultrasonic Paralyzer—this meant they weren't here to take his life.

And that pile of armor... deliberately left there for him to see.

A faint smirk tugged at the corner of Obadiah's mouth, and he instantly regained his usual composure.

Raza was dead? No matter.

Whoever held the armor, he would negotiate with them.

As for this young man...

He glanced at Fu Haoran, a trace of barely perceptible disdain flickering in his eyes.

What he didn't know was that there was no hint of flattery in Fu Haoran's gaze.

What Fu Haoran wanted was never to cling to others, but to use Obadiah's hand to obtain what he truly sought.