Black Market

The burly bearded man was Ma Gaoqiang, the second-in-command of the Logistics Department and Zhao Tianxiong's die-hard loyalist.

He stepped closer to Lin Feng, his finger nearly poking Lin Feng's nose.

"Kid, Adjutant Zhao is dead. Where the hell were you last night?"

Lin Feng looked down at the overturned lunchbox on the floor, the rice still steaming.

What a waste.

He got another serving of food.

When he walked back with the lunchbox, Ma Gaoqiang was still rooted in place, with five people from the Logistics Department behind him, all glaring fiercely.

"I'm talking to you! Deaf?"

Ma Gaoqiang grabbed Lin Feng's shoulder.

Lin Feng raised his hand.

The entire lunchbox, rice and soup and all, smeared across Ma Gaoqiang's face.

Scalding broth dripped down his neck. Ma Gaoqiang screamed, stumbled back two steps, and wiped at the rice grains on his face.

"Ah!!! You son of a—"

Before he could finish cursing, Lin Feng's fist had already slammed into his chest.

Bam!

Ma Gaoqiang flew three meters back, his back crashing into a canteen pillar, spraying a mouthful of bloody foam mixed with rice grains—a ridiculous sight.

He was a Martial Disciple Rank 8.

Lin Feng was a Martial Artist Rank 2.

With that punch, at least three of Ma Gaoqiang's ribs were cracked.

The five behind him charged forward at once.

Lin Feng didn't even draw his blade.

With his left hand, he blocked the first man's fist; with his right elbow, he smashed into the second man's temple. That one's eyes rolled back, and he went limp.

The third man kicked from the side. Lin Feng lifted his foot to meet it.

Crack!

The sound of a shinbone snapping echoed through the entire canteen.

The fourth man was smarter—he pulled out a dagger.

Lin Feng stepped forward, grabbed that man by the throat with one hand, and pinned him directly onto the table.

The fifth man was about to move.

Lin Feng turned his head and glanced at him.

That man's feet were nailed to the spot; he couldn't take a single step forward.

Four seconds total.

All five were down.

Dozens of people in the canteen had their chopsticks frozen mid-air, their food forgotten in their mouths.

Lin Feng let go and patted his palms.

Ma Gaoqiang leaned against the pillar, clutching his chest, blood still seeping from his mouth.

"You're finished. Adjutant Zhao has people above him."

"Zhao Tianxiong is already dead."

Lin Feng's voice wasn't loud, but the canteen was so quiet that everyone heard every word clearly.

"He's been embezzling military supplies for three years. I've already handed the account books to Instructor Chen. Transfer records, buyer lists—every single one is in there."

Ma Gaoqiang's face changed instantly.

Not anger—fear.

"Last November, that batch of Healing Pills—three hundred of them. He sold them for two million four hundred thousand." Lin Feng crouched down to meet Ma Gaoqiang's eyes.

"Nineteen people on the front lines had no medicine and died. You know that, right?"

Ma Gaoqiang's mouth opened and closed, but no sound came out.

"The orders you handled—they have your signature on them."

Those words hit like a hammer, and Ma Gaoqiang's body visibly began to tremble.

A few of the Logistics Department people nearby had their legs give out on the spot, dropping to their knees.

"Brother Lin, it's got nothing to do with me. I'm just an errand boy."

"Me too. I've never even seen what the account books look like."

Lin Feng stood up and swept his gaze across the room.

"Before today ends, hand over all that junk Zhao Tianxiong left with you. Anyone who does, I won't pursue it further. Anyone who hides it away..."

He looked down at the dagger on the table.

No need to finish the sentence. The meaning was clear.

At the Canteen entrance, Chen Lie had arrived at some point, leaning against the doorframe, his single arm crossed over his chest, his face expressionless.

He looked at the five people lying on the ground, then at the two kneeling, and finally settled his gaze on Lin Feng.

"You went a bit heavy-handed here."

"I just came to eat breakfast."

The corner of Chen Lie's mouth twitched, but he didn't manage a smile.

"Fine. Finish eating and head back. The people from above arrive at noon."

Lin Feng got another serving of food. This time, no one dared touch his lunchbox.

He sat down and ate in peace.

When he returned to the Barracks, Wang Tie was waiting at the door.

"I heard you beat up Ma Gaoqiang at the Canteen?"

"He flipped my lunchbox first."

"Then he deserved it." Wang Tie rubbed his hands together and lowered his voice. "Instructor Chen came looking for me just now, asked about Zhao Tianxiong. I told him everything I knew. He said someone from above will come to handle it and told us not to stir up trouble these next couple of days."

Lin Feng entered the Barracks and pulled a cloth bundle out from under his bed.

Inside were the Magic Cores he'd gathered over the past few days—nearly a hundred, big and small—along with Zhao Tianxiong's pitch-black short blade and the remaining nine Body Tempering Pills.

"Old Wang, is there a Black Market in the Northern Territory?"

Wang Tie blinked.

"You looking to move goods?"

"Having these things on hand is too hot. The Body Tempering Pills' origin can't see the light, and stockpiling too many Magic Cores draws attention. While the Base Camp is in chaos, I need to offload them fast."

Wang Tie leaned in, glanced at the contents of the bundle, and sucked in a sharp breath.

"Nine Body Tempering Pills? That many left?"

"Yeah."

"If this whole batch sells, it's worth at least over a million."

Wang Tie swallowed hard, his eyes darting around.

"There's a Black Market, about twelve kilometers northwest of the Base Camp, in an Abandoned Mine. It opens every three days. Today's the market day."

"Let's go."

"Hold on." Wang Tie grabbed him. "That Black Market's a mixed bag—all kinds of people. Taking stuff there isn't the hard part; getting out alive with the money is."

"Last time, an old soldier took an E-rank Magic Core to sell. He went in fine, but when he came out, all that was left was one shoe."

Lin Feng slung the bundle over his shoulder.

"Then we'll see who's tougher."

Wang Tie sighed, turned around, and pulled a worn-out cloak from under his bed, tossing it to Lin Feng.

"Wear this. Black Market rule—no showing your face inside."

The two changed into different gear and, taking advantage of the Base Camp's chaos, slipped over the west wall.

Li Ming chased them to the gate, but Wang Tie shoved him back.

"You stay. If anyone asks, say we went out on patrol duty."

Li Ming nodded, hesitating as if he wanted to speak.

"Brother Lin, be careful."

Lin Feng waved a hand without looking back.

Once outside the camp, the two moved quickly along the edge of the Wilderness.

After about an hour of walking, a massive Abandoned Mine came into view.

The mine was at least several hundred meters in diameter and over ten meters deep.

The bottom was brightly lit.

Wang Tie stopped, pulled two iron tokens from his pocket, and handed one to Lin Feng.

"Entry pass. I got them through an old contact—one each. Once we're inside, keep quiet. When you trade, don't haggle too hard; those people have short tempers."

Lin Feng took the token and examined it.

On the iron plate was a crooked symbol, like some kind of code.

The two descended the steps along the mine wall.

The lower they went, the more people there were.

Figures in various cloaks moved through the caves, some carrying cloth bags, others hauling boxes, and occasionally a few Martial Artist realm auras swept past.

The open ground at the pit bottom was packed with stalls.

Magic Cores, pills, weapons, spirit materials—some people were even selling information.

Wang Tie expertly turned into a side alley and stopped before an inconspicuous cave.

"Old Qian, you in?"

A hoarse voice came from inside the cave.

"Who is it?"

"Your Grandpa Wang Tie."

A clattering sound rang out.

A scrawny old man poked his head out of the cave, gave Wang Tie a once-over, then glanced at Lin Feng.

"Brought a stranger?"

"He's my own brother."

Old Qian hesitated for a moment, then stepped aside to let them in.

The cave was much roomier inside than it looked from outside. The walls were hung with all kinds of weapons and material samples, and in the center sat a stone table with a precision scale and an appraisal detector.

Lin Feng placed the cloth bundle on the table and untied it.

Old Qian leaned in, and his eyes locked onto the nine Body Tempering Pills first.

His hand reached out, then pulled back, twice in a row.

"Body Tempering Pills? Where'd you get these?"

"Mind your own business?" Wang Tie propped his leg up on the stone table.

Old Qian then picked up the pitch-black short blade.

He turned it over, flicked the blade with his fingernail, and listened to the sound.

"Good stuff. Made from Black Iron Bone, an E-Grade Short Sword. Market price, three hundred thousand."

He set the blade down and began checking the Magic Cores one by one.

After finishing the inspection, Old Qian fell silent for over ten seconds.

"Nine Body Tempering Pills, market price nine hundred thousand. I'll give you seven hundred thousand. One Black Iron Bone short blade, two hundred fifty thousand. Ninety-eight Magic Cores, varying sizes, I'll round it up to one hundred eighty thousand."

"Total: one million one hundred thirty thousand."

Lin Feng spoke up.

"One million two hundred thousand."

Old Qian looked up at him, frowning.

"Little brother, this is already a very fair price..."

Lin Feng pushed his cloak hood back a little, revealing half his face.

"One million two hundred thousand, cash settlement."

Old Qian stared at his startlingly young face, then sensed his aura.

Martial Artist, second stage?

He tapped his fingers on the table a few times.

"Deal."