[HOST INTEGRITY: 20%]

[LOCATION: NORTHWOOD HIGH – ROOM 304]

[TIME: 8:15 AM]

The war for Sector 9 didn’t end with a bang. It ended with a vibration in Ren Wu’s pocket.

BZZZT.

Ren sat in the back row of Mr. Henderson’s homeroom, staring blankly at a worksheet titled “The Industrial Revolution: Cause and Effect.” He tapped his phone under the desk.

[MESSAGE FROM: RED DOG]

: Boss. They’re here. 300 of them. But they ain’t got no iron. They’re holding table legs and hubcaps. It’s sad to look at. Boss Iron is crying. He wants to talk terms.

Ren didn’t smile. He simply typed a reply with one thumb.

[TO: RED DOG]

:No talk. Unconditional Surrender. Tell him I’m buying his gang for 1 Coin. He keeps his life. I keep his territory.

BZZZT.

[FROM: RED DOG]

:He says he’s a Warrior of the Ox Lineage and he’d rather die than sell for 1 Coin.

Ren sighed, loud enough that Jian glanced over nervously. Ren typed again.

[TO: RED DOG]

:Tell him if he sells, I’ll give him a dental plan and 2% stock options in the shell company. If he refuses, tell him Old Man Gu is bringing the shredder truck in 10 minutes.

A long pause. The classroom clock ticked loudly. Mr. Henderson droned on. “The shift from agrarian labor to factory lines created a new class of…”

BZZZT.

[FROM: RED DOG]

:He took the deal. We own the Iron Fist. We are now the biggest gang in Sector 9. Hail the King.

[SYSTEM ALERT]

[QUEST COMPLETE: THE HOSTILE TAKEOVER]

[ASSET ACQUIRED: IRON FIST GANG (300 UNITS)]

[SECTOR 9 CONTROL: 65%]

[REWARD: TIER 1 AUTHORITY UNLOCKED (THE MAGISTRATE)]

Ren slid the phone into his pocket. “The Industrial Revolution,” Ren whispered to himself, picking up his pencil. “Indeed.”

The Transfer

The peace lasted exactly twelve minutes.

At 8:30 AM, the air pressure in the classroom dropped. It wasn’t the cold vacuum of a ghost. It was the heavy, suffocating weight of raw power. The windows rattled in their frames. The fluorescent lights buzzed angrily.

Ren looked up. Ye Lingshan, sitting two desks away, froze. Her hand drifted instantly to the sword case leaning against her chair. She felt it too.

[SPIRIT SIGHT: ACTIVE]

Ren scanned the hallway. He didn’t see spirits. He saw Gold. A blinding, radiant aura of golden energy was moving down the corridor. It wasn’t subtle. It was arrogant. It screamed, I am better than you.

The classroom door was kicked open. Not opened. Kicked.

Mr. Henderson dropped his dry-erase marker. “Excuse me! You can’t just—”

A boy walked in. He looked to be about eighteen, wearing a Northwood High uniform that had been tailored to look like a runway suit. He wore sunglasses indoors. Behind him walked two men in black suits—not Bodyguards, Ren noted. Disciples. They carried wooden boxes wrapped in yellow silk.

The boy lowered his sunglasses. His eyes weren’t brown. They were Amber, with vertical slit pupils. Dragon Bloodline.

[ENTITY: WANG BO (THE YOUNG MASTER)]

[AFFILIATION: WANG CLAN OF THE SOUTHERN PEAKS]

[RANK: CULTIVATOR (CORE FORMATION STAGE)] [THREAT: HIGH (ENTITLED)]

The class stared. This guy looked like he had walked out of a K-Drama about billionaires. Wang Bo ignored the teacher. He ignored the students. He scanned the room until his eyes landed on Ye Lingshan.

“Found you,” Wang Bo sneered. His voice was loud, booming with unnecessary qi projection. “Ye Lingshan. My father told me you were hiding in this peasant school.”

Ye Lingshan stood up slowly. Her face was ice. “Wang Bo. This is a mortal zone. Lower your voice.”

“Mortal zone?” Wang Bo laughed. He kicked a desk aside. The heavy steel desk flew across the room and smashed into the wall, crumpling like tin foil. The students screamed. Mr. Henderson fainted.

Ren watched from the back row, his eyes narrowing. The Wang Family. He remembered them. Not the modern clan, but their ancestors. In the Third Dynasty, the Wangs were bandits who claimed they were descended from Dragons to avoid paying taxes. Two thousand years later, and they are still breaking furniture they didn’t pay for.

Ren looked at the crumpled desk. That desk cost the district $200. Wasteful. Disorderly. If he worked for me, I would dock his pay.

Wang Bo stepped forward, his golden aura flaring. He looked at Ye Lingshan with a hungry, possessive glint in his amber eyes.

“You look cold, Lingshan,” Wang Bo purred, stepping closer. “The Ye Family is failing. Your ice arts are brittle.” He reached out, as if to touch her face. “Submit to me. Become my concubine, and I might let you keep your sword. The Southern Peaks can keep you warm.”

Ye Lingshan gripped her case. The air around her turned to frost. A fight was about to start. A cultivation battle in a high school classroom. People would die. And worse, it would be loud.

Ren sighed. He hated Cultivators. They were so… messy. He tapped Jian on the shoulder. “Jian,” Ren whispered. “Give me your phone.”

“Why?” Jian whispered back, hiding under his desk. “I need to make a noise complaint.”

Ren took the phone. He didn’t call the police. He opened the [Factory Interface]. He routed a connection to Red Dog, who was currently celebrating his victory three miles away.

[TO: RED DOG]

:We have a noise violation at the High School. Send the hearse. And bring the ‘Diplomatic Pouch’ (The Citation Book).

Ten minutes later, the standoff had moved to the parking lot. The students had evacuated (aka “Fire Drill”), leaving Ye Lingshan and Wang Bo facing off on the asphalt. Ren stood in the crowd of watching students, blending in.

Wang Bo summoned a sword made of golden energy. “I will cut this school in half just to show you the difference between us!”

VROOOOM.

A massive Black Hearse with flame decals drifted around the corner, tires screeching. It was the Red Bandana Gang’s signature vehicle—a spectral tank disguised as a funeral car. It slammed on the brakes, stopping directly between the two cultivators. The back doors flew open.

Red Dog stepped out. But he wasn’t wearing his leather vest. He was wearing a Security Guard Uniform (size XXXXXL) that was bursting at the seams. Behind him, six Iron Fist thugs (now employees) stepped out, wearing “Staff” t-shirts.

Wang Bo frowned. “What is this? Ghosts? In broad daylight?” He pointed his golden sword at Red Dog. “Be gone, vermin. I am a Wang!”

Red Dog didn’t attack. He reached into the “Diplomatic Pouch”—a leather satchel hanging from his belt—and pulled out a clipboard. “Are you Mr. Wang?” Red Dog grunted, reading phonetically.

“I am Young Master Wang!”

“Yeah, whatever,” Red Dog said. He slapped a piece of paper onto Wang Bo’s chest.

[CITATION: ILLEGAL DISCHARGE OF SPIRITUAL ENERGY]

[FINE: 500 COINS]

Wang Bo blinked. He looked at the paper. Then he looked at the massive Ogre-Demon in a security uniform. “You… you are fining me?” Wang Bo laughed. It was a sound of pure disbelief. “I am a Cultivator! I am above the law!”

“Not in Sector 9,” a voice rasped.

Ren Wu walked out of the crowd. He wasn’t wearing his mask. He was just Ren, the student with the sling. But he held his phone up. On the screen was a live stream connected to the Nether-Core Compliance Server.

The Compliance Server: The digital eye of the Underworld’s Regulatory Body. It was the direct line to the Corporate Enforcers who managed the treaties between humans and spirits.

“You’re live,” Ren said, pointing the phone at Wang Bo. “The Department of Spiritual Commerce monitors all disputes in this sector. You just confessed to being above the law on a recorded line.”

Wang Bo froze. He didn’t fear the police. But the Department? The Ancient Families had treaties with the Underworld Bureaucracy. Violating them meant sanctions. It meant his father would lose money.

“Who are you?” Wang Bo hissed, his dragon eyes narrowing at Ren. “You smell… weak. Like a sick dog.”

“I’m the Hall Monitor,” Ren lied, his face perfectly calm. “And you are trespassing on private property.”

Ren pointed to the gate. “Leave. Or I forward this video to your father. I hear the Wang Clan hates losing Face.”

Wang Bo trembled with rage. The golden sword in his hand flickered. He looked at Ye Lingshan, who was smirking. He looked at Red Dog, who was cracking his knuckles. He looked at Ren, the sickly boy holding a cell phone like a weapon.

“You will regret this,” Wang Bo spat. “The Wang Family does not forget insults.”

He turned and marched toward his limo. “We are leaving!” he screamed at his disciples.

As the limo sped away, Jian crawled out from behind a dumpster. “Ren… did you just use the ‘My Dad will sue you’ card on a guy who literally has superpowers?”

“Bureaucracy beats Chivalry, Jian,” Ren said, pocketing the phone. “Cultivators care about Honor. Bureaucrats care about Liability.”

Ren looked at Ye Lingshan. She wasn’t looking at Wang Bo. She was looking at Ren. And this time, her eyes weren’t dismissive. They were calculating.

She knows, Ren thought. She knows I called the hearse.

[SYSTEM ALERT]

[NEW RIVALRY ESTABLISHED: WANG CLAN]

[THREAT LEVEL: EXTREME]

[YE LINGSHAN SUSPICION: 80%]

“Class is over,” Ren said. “Let’s go to the factory. We have an empire to build.”

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep