[HOST INTEGRITY: 7%]

[LOCATION: LAST STOP FACTORY – WAR ROOM]

[TIME: 4:30 PM]

The holographic projection of the Lu Clan hovered above Ren’s desk.

It was a depressing file.

In 1990, the Lu Clan was valued at 500,000 Spirit Coins.

Today, their valuation was: -120,000 Coins (Debt).

“They aren’t a clan anymore,” Jian said, tapping his keyboard. “They are a subsidiary of the Smithing Guild. And the Guild isn’t nice. They treat the Lu engineers like printer ink—use them until they dry up, then throw them away.”

Ren stared at the projection.

It showed the Lu Clan’s current workspace: A basement sweatshop in the Industrial District known as “The Grid.”

“Formation Masters,” Ren murmured. “The architects of reality. Reduced to soldering circuit boards for toaster ovens.”

“It’s the debt,” Jian explained. “Ten years ago, the Lu Patriarch tried to build a ‘Perpetual Energy Array’. It blew up. It destroyed three city blocks. The Smithing Guild covered the damages, but in exchange, the Lu Clan signed a Soul-Indenture Contract.”

Jian pulled up the contract.

[TERMS: The Lu Clan must produce 5,000 Standard Formation Plates per month until the debt of 1 Million Coins is repaid.]

[INTEREST RATE: 15% Compounding.]

“They will never pay it off,” Red Dog grunted. “15% compounding? That’s loan shark math. They are slaves forever.”

“That is the point,” Ren said. He stood up, adjusting his tie. “The Smithing Guild doesn’t want the money. They want the labor. They have a monopoly on the only people in Sector 9 who can code spiritual software.”

Ren grabbed his umbrella-cane.

“Jian, print the contract. Red Dog, bring the car.”

“We going to fight the Smithing Guild?” Red Dog cracked his knuckles.

“No,” Ren smiled, his eyes cold. “We are going to do something much worse.”

He picked up the file.

“We are going to offer them a Refinancing Plan.”

The Sweatshop

[LOCATION: IRON STREET – THE GRID]

[TIME: 5:15 PM]

The Smithing Guild’s “Formation Division” reeked of scorched copper and burnt coffee.

It was a massive, windowless basement filled with rows of cramped workbenches. The air was hot, humming with the sound of electric engraving needles.

Dozens of workers—men and women with pale skin and dark circles under their eyes—were hunched over small jade plates, carving microscopic runes.

They didn’t look like cultivators. They looked like coders in the tenth year of a crunch week.

Ren walked in, flanked by Red Dog.

A security guard (a massive Golem made of bronze) stepped forward.

“Restricted Area,” the Golem boomed. “No solicitations.”

Ren held up his phone. The screen displayed the Ministry Union seal.

“Union Inspection,” Ren lied smoothly. “We received a report about ventilation violations.”

The Golem processed the seal. It recognized the “Ye Clan” signature. It stepped back, confused. Administrative authority was the one thing programmed to bypass it.

Ren walked through the rows.

He stopped at a workbench.

An old man with wild white hair and trembling hands was carving a “Heating Formation” onto a copper plate.

The runes were messy. The flow was inefficient. It was mass-produced garbage.

“You missed a stroke on the third variable,” Ren said.

The old man jumped. He looked up, his glasses thick and cracked.

“What? Who are you? I am busy. Quota is 50 plates today. If I miss it, no dinner.”

“Lu Wei?” Ren asked, looking at the name tag sewn into the man’s dirty uniform. “Former Head of the Lu Clan?”

The old man flinched. Shame flashed in his eyes.

“There is no Lu Clan,” Lu Wei muttered, turning back to his work. “Only Employee #001.”

Ren picked up the copper plate.

It was warm.

“You are trying to stabilize the heat output using a ‘Fire-Crow’ loop,” Ren critiqued. “But copper has high resistance. You are losing 40% of the energy as waste heat. That’s why your fingers are burned.”

Lu Wei froze. He looked at Ren.

“It… it’s the only way,” Lu Wei whispered. “The Smithing Guild gives us low-grade copper. They sell the high-grade silver to the Nether-Core labs. We have to make do with trash.”

“Trash in, trash out,” Ren agreed.

He dropped the plate.

CLANG.

“Stop working.”

“Are you crazy?” Lu Wei hissed. “The Overseer is watching! If we stop—”

“If you stop, you die,” Ren finished. “But if you keep working like this, you are already dead. You just haven’t filed the death certificate.”

Ren turned around.

A door at the far end of the room banged open.

The Overseer walked out.

He was a fat demon with red skin, wearing a Smithing Guild uniform that was straining against his gut. He held a whip made of lightning.

“Who stopped the line?!” the Overseer roared. “Employee #001! Back to work, or I add a week to your debt!”

Ren stepped in front of Lu Wei.

“He can’t work,” Ren said calmly. “He is currently in a Union Meeting.”

The Overseer stopped. He looked at Ren, then at the massive Red Dog standing behind him.

“Who are you? This is Guild property.”

“Ren Wu. CEO of Last Stop Factory.”

Ren pulled out a document.

“I am looking to outsource some engineering work. I want to buy your Formation Division.”

The Overseer stared. Then he laughed. A wet, ugly sound.

“Buy them? These aren’t assets, kid. They are liabilities. The Lu Clan owes us 1.2 Million Coins with interest. Unless you have a million coins in that cheap suit, get out.”

Ren didn’t blink.

“I don’t have a million coins,” Ren admitted.

“But I do have a question.”

Ren walked over to the main ventilation shaft. He tapped it with his umbrella.

“This building runs on a ‘Spirit-Vent’ system, correct?”

“So what?”

“And the Lu Clan built it?”

“Yeah. Ten years ago. Before they became incompetent.”

“Interesting,” Ren said. He looked at Lu Wei.

“Lu Wei. When you built this vent system… did you install a Kill Switch?”

Lu Wei’s eyes widened. He looked at the Overseer, then at Ren.

“I… I…”

“Clause 44 of the Imperial Architect Code,” Ren recited. “Every Creator must leave a back door.”

Ren smiled.

“Turn it off.”

“If I turn it off, the furnaces overheat,” Lu Wei stammered. “The whole building shuts down.”

“Exactly,” Ren said. “The Smithing Guild has a monopoly on your labor. But you control their infrastructure.”

The Overseer’s face went purple. “You wouldn’t dare! That’s sabotage! I’ll call the Enforcers!”

“Call them,” Ren challenged. “But while you dial, remember this: The Smithing Guild makes swords. Swords need furnaces. Furnaces need vents.”

Ren checked his watch.

“If Lu Wei shuts down the vents, your production line stops in three minutes. Every minute of downtime costs the Guild… what? 5,000 coins?”

Ren turned to the Overseer.

“I’m not here to pay their debt. I’m here to negotiate a Trade.”

“I fix your ventilation—which I am about to break—and in exchange, you lease me the Lu Clan for one week.”

The Overseer hesitated. He looked at the vents. They were humming loudly.

Lu Wei looked at Ren. For the first time in ten years, the old man’s hands weren’t shaking from fear. They were shaking with anticipation.

“Do it,” Ren commanded.

Lu Wei reached under his workbench and pulled a hidden lever.

CLUNK.

The humming stopped.

The room went silent.

Then, the heat started to rise.

[WARNING: FURNACE TEMPERATURE CRITICAL] flashed on the wall screens.

Ren smiled at the Overseer.

“Tick tock,” Ren whispered. “Negotiations are open.”

[SYSTEM ALERT]

[HOSTILE NEGOTIATION INITIATED]

[LEVERAGE ACQUIRED: INFRASTRUCTURE CONTROL]

[OBJECTIVE: SECURE THE ENGINEERS]

Author note:

Enjoying the corporate warfare? Add to Library to follow Ren’s rise.

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep