[HOST INTEGRITY: 27%]

[LOCATION: THE LAST STOP FACTORY – EXECUTIVE OFFICE]

[TIME: 9:00 AM (THE NEXT DAY)]

The sun didn’t rise in the Underworld. The sky just shifted from “Void Black” to “Bruised Purple.”

Ren Wu stood by the reinforced glass window, looking down at the factory gates.

A crowd had gathered.

It wasn’t an angry mob. It was worse. It was a desperate one.

Hundreds of ghosts—some missing limbs, some translucent with hunger—were pressing against the chain-link fence. They weren’t moaning for food. They were chanting one name.

“Black Label… Black Label…”

Ren sipped his tea. It was cheap spirit-tea, bitter and watery, but it tasted like victory.

“In the 12th year of my reign,” Ren murmured to the empty room, “I banned the importation of foreign poppy. Not because it destroyed families—though it did—but because it made the people loyal to the dealer, not the Emperor.”

He looked at the thrashing crowd below.

“Human nature is disappointingly consistent. Give them six minutes of relief, and they will sell you their eternity.”

Lian drifted through the wall, looking exhausted. Her spectral form was flickering.

“Boss, the crowd is getting bigger. We sold out the daily allocation in forty seconds. The price on the street has hit 300 coins.”

Ren nodded. “Good. Raise our direct price to 280. Close the gap.”

“But Boss,” Lian hesitated. “The Enforcers are getting nervous. And the other gangs… they’re watching.”

“Let them watch,” Ren said coldly. “In business, if you aren’t being sued or threatened, you aren’t making enough money.”

The Competitor

The intercom buzzed.

It was Red Dog. His voice was a low growl, distorted by static.

“Boss. We got a problem at the North Gate. A ‘Guest’ from the Iron Fist Gang.”

Ren adjusted his cuffs. “Send him in.”

Moments later, the heavy iron door creaked open.

Red Dog stepped in, looking tense. Behind him walked a spirit who looked less like a ghost and more like a slab of concrete.

He was an Ogre-Class Spirit. Massive, green-skinned, wearing a cheap suit that was bursting at the seams. He carried a spiked baseball bat made of black iron.

He didn’t bow. He didn’t knock. He walked to Ren’s desk and slammed the bat down on the papers.

CRACK.

“You’re the Crow,” the Ogre grunted. Spit flew from his tusks.

Ren didn’t flinch. He slowly reached out and moved the bat an inch to the left, revealing his ledger.

“And you are ruining my mahogany finish,” Ren said calmly. “State your business, barbarian.”

The Ogre sneered. “I’m ‘The Crusher.’ I speak for Boss Iron. You’re selling smoke on our turf. Sector 9 belongs to the Iron Fist.”

“Sector 9 belongs to Nether-Core,” Ren corrected. “We are all just tenants. I’m just the tenant with the better product.”

The Crusher leaned in. The smell of rotting meat and cheap alcohol wafted off him.

“Boss Iron is generous. He says you can keep selling your little black sticks. But we want 60% of the profit. Protection fee.”

Ren laughed.

It wasn’t a nervous laugh. It was the dry, rasping chuckle of an old man watching a child try to lift a heavy sword.

“60%,” Ren repeated. “In my time, when a vassal state demanded tribute from the Capital, I would send them the severed heads of their ambassadors. It was a clear form of communication.”

The Crusher’s eyes narrowed. He raised the bat. “You think this is a joke, little man? We have three hundred soldiers. We have the streets. You have… a factory.”

The Audit

Ren raised a hand. “Wait.”

He activated [Contract Sight].

His vision shifted. The world turned into a grid of green code and legal text. He looked at The Crusher.

[ENTITY: THE CRUSHER (IRON FIST ENFORCER)]

[LEVEL: 12]

[SALARY: 50 COINS/WEEK]

[LOYALTY: FEAR-BASED]

[CURRENT CONTRACT: INDENTURED SERVITUDE TO BOSS IRON]

[HIDDEN CLAUSE: HIS WIFE IS HELD AS COLLATERAL]

Ren’s eyes flashed. Information was weaponized.

“Your boss pays you fifty coins a week,” Ren stated.

The Crusher froze. The bat hovered in mid-air. “How do you…”

“I pay my janitors sixty,” Ren lied smoothly. “And I don’t hold their wives in a cage in the basement.”

The Ogre’s face went pale. The green skin turned a sickly shade of grey.

“Who are you?” he whispered.

“I am the man who is going to buy your boss,” Ren said. He opened his drawer and pulled out a single stick of Black Label.

He slid it across the desk.

“A gift. For the walk home.”

The Crusher stared at the black stick. The craving in his eyes was undeniable.

He lowered the bat. He snatched the incense.

“Boss Iron isn’t going to like your answer,” the Ogre grunted, backing away.

“Tell Boss Iron,” Ren said, his voice dropping to a whisper, “that winter is coming. He should check his supply lines.”

The Strategy

As the Ogre left, Red Dog exhaled. “You provoked him, Boss. They’ll attack tonight. Let me gather the boys. We can hold the gate.”

“No,” Ren said, standing up. He walked to the map of Sector 9 on the wall.

“Red Dog, you are a warrior. You see a wall, you try to smash it. I am a Minister. I see a wall, I cut off the water supply to the city behind it.”

Ren pointed to a location on the map—a large scrapyard near the Rust Wastes.

“The Iron Fist Gang makes cheap weapons, right? Spiked bats, chains, amateur shields.”

“Yeah,” Red Dog nodded. “They supply half the thugs in the sector.”

“And where do they get the Spirit Iron?” Ren asked.

Red Dog pointed to the scrapyard. “Old Man Gu. He runs the Scrapyard. He’s the only supplier of raw iron in Sector 9.”

Ren smiled behind his mask.

“Exactly.”

He tapped the map.

“If the Iron Fist Gang has no iron… they have no fist.”

Ren turned to Lian.

“Lian, how much cash do we have on hand?”

Lian checked the [Factory Interface].

“After the Black Label sales… about 12,000 coins. Boss, that’s a fortune.”

“It’s not a fortune,” Ren said, grabbing his coat. “It’s ammunition.”

He walked to the door.

“Red Dog, stay here. Guard the factory. If they attack, hold the line. Don’t counter-attack. Just defend.”

“Where are you going?” Red Dog asked.

Ren adjusted his tie.

“I’m going shopping.”

The Setup

Ren walked out into the smog-choked courtyard.

The air smelled of profit and impending violence.

[SYSTEM ALERT]

[QUEST TRIGGERED: THE HOSTILE TAKEOVER]

[OBJECTIVE: ACQUIRE THE IRON FIST GANG]

[METHOD: ECONOMIC DOMINATION]

[REWARD: SECTOR 9 MONOPOLY + TIER 1 AUTHORITY UNLOCK]

Ren looked at the quest.

“Acquire,” he muttered. “Such a polite word for starvation.”

He stepped into the waiting sedan.

“To the Scrapyard,” he ordered the driver.

As the car pulled away, Ren looked back at his factory. The black smoke was still rising, a beacon calling to the desperate.

The Iron Fist Gang thought this was a turf war. They thought they could win with bats and numbers.

They didn’t realize that Ren Wu didn’t play by the rules of the street.

He played by the rules of the Audit.

And the first rule of the Audit was simple:

If you can’t pay your debts, you don’t own your soul.

[END OF CHAPTER 33]

[Author Note:]

[SYSTEM NOTIFICATION]

Ren Wu: “Violence is expensive. Bankruptcy is free.”

The Iron Fist Gang: Confused screaming.

Next Chapter: The Cartel.

The Iron Fist Gang strikes back. Ren sits in a scrapyard drinking tea while his enemies realize their weapons are made of… wait, why do they have no weapons?

Power Stones to fund the Hostile Takeover! 📉💼

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep