Munitions Empire

The pitch-black night conceals many sins.

The nights in Wolf City, though now adorned with dazzling lights, were still mostly shrouded in darkness, unlike Dragon City or Brunas.

An old-fashioned horse carriage slowly traversed the relatively clean streets, its gas lamp casting a drowsy glow.

This type of carriage was gradually being phased out, but before its disappearance, it remained the world's most important means of transport.

Two fine horses drew the carriage through the dimly lit streets and came to a halt in front of an alleyway.

A skinny man jumped down from the carriage, twisted his neck, then squinted as he surveyed his surroundings.

The night here was not lively—in fact, compared with other cities, there was nothing different about it; it was just as gloomy.

The nearest street lamp was several dozen meters away, its feeble light unable to reach the mouth of the alley.

The man looked around, then stepped aside to make way for another man to emerge from the carriage.

He, too, stepped aside and kept a vigilant watch on the surroundings. He was much more robust than the skinny man before.

The two men, standing on either side of the carriage, had a professional air about them. Then, a tall, skinny fellow climbed out from atop the vehicle.

The man's face was hidden by a hood, and most of his body was cloaked in black.

However, as one foot touched the ground, the other landed with a noticeable clunk.

One of the man's legs was a prosthetic, and the iron shoe was no substitute for his original limb, giving his gait an uneven, bobbing quality.

The three men did not linger and proceeded into the depths of the alley, while the carriage did not stay either; it circled around and stopped beside the street lamp.

Ordinary people preferred to wait in illuminated spots. Deliberately choosing a dark place to stop would only arouse suspicion among the patrolling police. Thus, the seasoned coachman wisely chose a well-lit spot, a kind of prudence only found in those who frequently operated in the shadows.

The tall, skinny man hobbled to the end of the alley and knocked three times on a familiar wooden door.

Nowadays, many doors in Brunas were clad in iron sheeting. He disliked the heavy echo that resounded from striking such doors, having been a frequent burglar.

What happened to basic trust between people? Why use iron for doors? Weren't wooden ones good? Shouldn't doors that could be kicked open be preserved?

After a while, the room's door was pushed open from the inside. The man who opened it made way, and all three entered.

The last to go in, the skinny man, peeked out once more before closing the door, ensuring no one was outside before he shut it.

Surprisingly, the room was lit with electric light, a brightness that caused some discomfort to the three visitors accustomed to the dark.

"You certainly know how to live it up," scoffed the tall skinny man cloaked almost entirely in a cape, as he used a hook to pull back his hood.

A face marred with scars and extremely ugly came into view, made all the more eerie by the strange tattoos he bore.

This was Qiumuluo, the man who, despite losing a leg and a hand, had survived through immense luck.

Once as strong as a bear, he was now diminished to a tall, thin wreck after two injuries.

"I have to maintain a semblance of status that matches my position... otherwise, what would happen if others became suspicious?" suggested the room's host, indicating for his guests to sit wherever they liked. "It wasn't an easy journey coming here, was it?"

"Indeed it wasn't easy; those people are tough... but we are tougher," replied the robust henchman with a cold laugh, settling into a comfortable sofa and eyeing the man who had received them. "Who exactly are you... and where is the original master of this room?"

He seemed certain there was something amiss about the room's host. His hand was already moving towards his waist, as if he was about to draw a handgun.

"Heh," the man chuckled, shaking his head dismissively and not even deigning to deal with the brawny man reaching for a weapon.

Qiumuluo remained silent throughout, his gaze fixed on a portrait hanging high on the wall—a portrait of Earl Ronin Fisallo.

Without turning his head, he spoke to his subordinates, "Enough! If something were amiss, there would be at least 20 of Silver Fox's men waiting for us here."

After speaking, he finally turned to look at the other man and introduced himself, "My name is Qiumuluo! And you are?"

Upon hearing the name Qiumuluo, the room's host seemed unsettled, but he quickly regained composure and did not introduce himself.

The other party stared at Qiumuluo intently and, lowering their voice, scolded, "How dare you come here! Do you know that almost everyone here wants you dead?"

"I know! I killed him." Qiumuluo grinned, having just noticed that the man's expression was a bit unnatural, which had stirred his murderous intent. However, the response that followed had no such issues, confirming that this person must indeed be the contact arranged by Shireck's side.

"You know and you still dare to come back?" the man asked angrily.

"Because... I came to kill his daughter," Qiumuluo replied with a torrent of hatred. "I will kill her, kill Tang Mo, kill everyone who turned me into this!" he cackled maliciously.

"You've got guts!" The man seemed to be intimidated by Qiumuluo and murmured with a bow of his head, "Just the few of you?"

"No! I brought 15 elites with me this time! Each one personally selected by me! To avoid any unnecessary risks, we move tomorrow night," Qiumuluo answered.

As they spoke, the skinny man somehow, without anyone noticing, managed to flip out the room owner's ID.

He walked over to Qiumuluo and handed him the ID, then sneered, "This thing is really handy, it has the name and... and that portrait, identical to the original."

"That's a photograph!" the room's owner corrected with disgust, then took the ID back from Qiumuluo, "Remember, I'm now Marvel."

"There's food in the kitchen..." Marvel said, putting away the ID, "You can rest well here."

"No need, we're leaving as soon as we get the stuff."

"Alright," Marvel nodded, then bent down and lifted his carpet. Underneath was the old floor.

He lifted several indistinguishable wooden planks to reveal a hidden box beneath them.

"It was delivered yesterday... it has a special sealant... I was not allowed to open it ahead of time, so I haven't opened it," Marvel said, gesturing for his two henchmen to come and help.

The burly henchman and the skinny one stepped forward and, using their combined strength, managed to lift out the heavy, specially concealed box.

Upon seeing the box, Qiumuluo's face broke into a cruel smile; it had been smuggled in through special channels, but previously he had personally packed the contents into this box.

He grinned broadly, meticulously inspected the sealant, and after confirming no one had opened it during transport, he finally took out his key.

Using the key, he pierced the sealant, turned the lock, and inside was a jumble of handguns. Old, they were Left-Wheel Handguns made by the Great Tang Group. Additionally, inside the box, there seemed to be more than a dozen K2 lever-action rifles.

Of course, nestled in between these guns were densely packed bullets. Qiumuluo pulled out one of the handguns and took aim with it, then passed it to Marvel.

"Thanks for your hard work! From here on, leave it to us," Qiumuluo said smugly. While he spoke, the burly man and the skinny man had each selected two handguns and were starting to load them.

Marvel took the handgun and began loading it for Qiumuluo—after all, it was quite inconvenient for Qiumuluo, with only one hand, to load a Left-Wheel Handgun.

"Only a dozen people, and you think you can break into The Earl's Mansion? Isn't that a bit presumptuous?" Marvel asked while loading.

"No problem, we have a detailed plan," Qiumuluo confidently answered, "The security troops around The Earl's Mansion are currently using handguns. We have rifles, our firepower is stronger, they can't beat us."

Though the K2 lever-action rifles couldn't compare to submachine guns, harassing opponents who only had pistols was not a problem. They had higher accuracy and a decent rate of fire, giving them a clear advantage at close quarters.

Moreover, they were prepared while their adversaries were not, which meant the latter would quickly fall into chaos, greatly increasing their chances of success.

In the past, The Earl's Mansion was difficult to attack because the soldiers and police were one and the same, and the troops stationed there were legitimate soldiers with strong firepower, naturally making it hard to assault.

But now, Northern Ridge's regular army was no longer stationed within the city; the security of The Earl's Mansion was entirely in the hands of the security troops, and their firepower had clearly diminished since they were only armed with handguns.

"Moving out tomorrow night?..." Marvel's voice spoke.

"Yes... we will disguise as delivery men... we'll make our move at the back door... setting fires while taking advantage of the chaos," Qiumuluo replied.

Then, there was the heavy sound of moving the box.

In the next room, separated by just a wall, the noise could barely be heard. Dozens of men, grim-faced and silent, stood carrying Thompson Submachine Guns.

The leader of the men was pressed against the thin, deliberately carved wall, listening intently to the conversation on the other side.

Yet, they did not take any action, even as Qiumuluo and the others carried the box away and drove off in their cart.