Inside the cavernous Sword-Forging Hall of Green-Jade Valley, the roaring mountain waterfall outside turned a thirty-foot iron waterwheel that drove twelve massive trip-hammers: CLANG! CLANG! CLANG!
In the old days under Branch Elder Huo, this hall had been used by sweating handyman slaves to hammer out one flying sword every two weeks for the rich inner-sect disciples.
Tonight, however, Pei Xuan stood in front of the central workbench surrounded by General Tie Zhan, Abacus Su, Master Blacksmith Zhang, and fifty curious Vocational College students led by Little Stone Xiao.
Spread out on the workbench were ten standard army crossbows, a stack of Elder Huo’s Entry-Level Fireball Talisman copper printing plates, twenty thick black-iron water pipes, and a crate of low-grade Spirit Stones from the looted branch treasury.
“General Tie,” Pei Xuan said, tapping one of the army crossbows with his finger. “Right now, our Night School and Vocational College are training workers as fast as they can. Within a month, we’ll have thousands of new Furnace-Blood cultivators. However, the drought in Great Yan is getting worse every day, and tens of thousands of starving refugees are pouring across our border every week. How long does it take to train a brand-new mortal farmer to cast a Fireball spell by hand?”
“Even with the talking comic-strip primers and Chef Guo’s meat soup, it takes a mortal farmer at least seven to ten days to build up enough blood-heat to punch out a fireball ten yards,” General Tie Zhan answered honestly. “And if we run into enemy cultivators flying three hundred yards away, an ordinary farmer’s hand-punched fireball can’t reach that far.”
“Exactly,” Pei Xuan nodded. “Hand-casting spells is like weaving cloth by hand—every person’s Qi is different, the range is short, and it takes days of practice. What Dry-Well City needs is standardized industrial firepower! If a farmer who arrived in our city ten minutes ago can pick up an iron tube, point it at an Immortal three hundred yards away, and pull a lever with one finger to shoot a Rank 4 fireball... who in this kingdom will dare bully our citizens?”
General Tie Zhan’s eyes widened until they were as round as copper bells. “My Lord! You mean... a crossbow that shoots Rank 4 Immortal Fireballs without the shooter needing any Qi at all?!”
“Watch closely,” Pei Xuan smiled and opened the glowing blue [Fusion Cube] in his vision.
[ Spend 500,000 LP? -> CONFIRMED! ]
[ Remaining Balance: 3,650,000 LP ]
HUMMMMMM—CLANG-CLANG-ZAAAAAP!
A massive wave of golden-blue fusion light swept across the entire Sword-Forging Hall!
The old stone anvils rearranged themselves into a hundred-yard-long moving iron conveyor belt powered by the roaring waterfall outside! Precision stamping presses, barrel-rifling drills, and rune-etching rollers locked into place along the belt with crisp metallic clicks.
At the same time, on the workbench in front of Pei Xuan, ten sleek, dark-blued steel rifles with polished desert-walnut wooden stocks materialized out of the golden light!
Each Type-1 Dry-Well Spirit-Rifle had a long, rifled black-iron barrel, adjustable V-notch iron sights on top, a smooth curved trigger, and a rectangular brass magazine box underneath where a single low-grade Spirit Stone sat glowing behind a thick glass window showing a neat red gauge: [ AMMO: 50 / 50 ].
Pei Xuan picked up the first Type-1 Spirit-Rifle, tossed it to fourteen-year-old student Little Stone Xiao—who was still only a Rank 2 Martial novice with an unopened dantian—and pointed out the open double doors of the forge hall toward a ten-foot granite boulder sitting on the target hill three hundred yards away.
“Little Xiao,” Pei Xuan said gently. “Put the wooden stock against your right shoulder, line up the little iron notch on top with that big rock three hundred yards out, flip the side thumb-switch from [ SAFE ] to [ SINGLE SHOT ], and squeeze the trigger.”
Little Stone Xiao swallowed nervously, his hands trembling slightly as he raised the sleek steel rifle to his shoulder.
Surprisingly, the rifle wasn’t heavy at all—it weighed less than eight pounds, and the wooden stock fit his shoulder like a pillow. He squinted one eye, lined up the front iron post with the granite boulder three hundred yards away across the valley, flipped the brass switch with his thumb—CLICK!—and pulled the trigger!
THWUMP—PEW!
Inside the brass magazine box, the low-grade Spirit Stone flashed once (AMMO: 49 / 50).
Without Little Stone Xiao using a single drop of his own energy, the internal rune-chamber sucked a fiftieth of the stone’s Qi, compressed it into a dense, fist-sized core of crimson fire, wrapped it in a high-speed spinning wind-shell down the rifled barrel, and shot it out the muzzle like a laser beam!
A bright red streak tore three hundred yards across the mountain valley in less than a second!
KABOOOOOOM!
Three hundred yards away on the target hill, the ten-foot granite boulder exploded into a shower of burning red gravel and white dust!
Little Stone Xiao blinked.
He looked down at his own right index finger. Then he looked at the smoking crater three hundred yards away where a giant boulder had been sitting half a second ago.
“I... I didn’t even feel any recoil!” Little Stone Xiao gasped, his voice shaking with sheer excitement. “And that fireball flew three hundred yards straight as a string and blew up a rock bigger than a house! Back when Senior Brother Zhao cast a fireball by hand, it only flew fifty yards and wobbled in the wind!”
Beside him, General Tie Zhan snatched up a second Type-1 Spirit-Rifle from the table, flipped the selector switch all the way down to the third notch—[ COOKOUT (3-Round Burst) ]—aimed at a row of three dead pine trees on the ridge, and pulled the trigger once!
PEW-PEW-PEW! BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!
Three spinning red-gold fireballs shot out of the barrel in half a second, blasting all three pine trees into flying toothpicks before their trunks could even catch fire!
“Mother of—” General Tie Zhan hugged the warm steel rifle to his armored chest and laughed like a kid on New Year’s Eve. “With five thousand of these Type-1 Spirit-Rifles in the hands of our peasant militia, even if an army of Qi Gathering cultivators flies at us, we can shoot them out of the sky like clay pigeons from three hundred yards away! And when the Spirit Stone clip runs out after fifty shots, you just pop another stone in!”
“Even better,” Abacus Su chimed in, his spectacles gleaming as he inspected the ejected Spirit Stone clip. “Look at the stone inside—because the rifle leaves five percent of the Qi core intact, the stone doesn’t crumble into powder! We can take the empty clips back to the Grand Bathhouse, let Old Dragon Ao Ming’s thermal array recharge them overnight for free, and use the same Spirit Stones forever!”
“Reusable ammunition?!” Pei Xuan grinned. “Now let’s start up the assembly line! Bring in the night-shift forge crew!”
Five minutes later, the thirty newly captured Crimson Cloud outer disciples (Debtors #007 through #036, freshly scrubbed clean of black taffy with warm vinegar water) were marched into the Sword-Forging Hall in their crisp yellow Debtor Vests and assigned to the rune-stamping presses along the conveyor belt.
And at Station #1—right in front of the thirty-foot Master Smelting Furnace that melted raw Blood-Iron Ore into liquid rifle steel—stood a huge iron bellows lever that required Rank 4 Peak fire-Qi to run at double speed.
Chained to the bellows lever in his triple-XL yellow Debtor Vest #037 was none other than Branch Elder Huo Tianba!
At first, when Elder Huo was brought to the furnace after only drinking half a bowl of cold cabbage-root water for supper, his face was dark and sullen.
“I am the Branch Master of Green-Jade Valley, a Stage 9 Peak Qi Gathering master!” Elder Huo grumbled, leaning lazily against the iron bellows handle and blowing out a tiny, pathetic puff of fire-Qi no bigger than a candle flame. “My back hurts, my head aches from that bathhouse pickle jar, and I have low blood sugar! I can only pump this bellows ten times an hour!”
Right across from the furnace, Pei Xuan nodded to Old Guo.
Old Guo casually rolled a small brass stove cart up to a painted white line ten feet in front of Elder Huo’s nose. On top of the stove sat a sizzling cast-iron skillet holding a two-pound slab of Honey-Glazed Five-Spice Braised Pork Belly, trembling like red ruby jelly alongside four golden fried eggs and a pitcher of ice-cold Sweet-Spring plum juice!
SIIIIZZZZLE!
Old Guo poured a ladle of rich, boiling star-anise meat gravy over the pork belly, and the heavenly aroma hit Elder Huo square in the face like a physical punch!
GUUUUURGLE!
Elder Huo’s fat belly let out a roar so loud it drowned out the trip-hammers. He hadn’t eaten since noon, had lost twenty percent of his Qi, and had just smelled the cold cabbage-root bucket for two hours.
“Debtor #037 Huo Tianba,” Abacus Su said calmly, holding up a sheet of shiny Red Star Stickers next to the sizzling skillet of braised pork. “According to our Assembly Line Piece-Work Policy, pumping the Master Furnace Bellows at candle-speed earns zero stickers and qualifies only for the cold cabbage bucket. However, for every five hundred rifle barrels smelted at full Rank 4 Peak Crimson-Fire temperature, you earn one Red Star Sticker—which can be redeemed immediately on the spot for one half-pound slab of Chef Guo’s Honey-Glazed Pork Belly and two fried eggs!”
Elder Huo stared at the trembling, glossy red pork skin in the skillet. Then he looked at the cold cabbage-root bucket by his foot.
His pride lasted for exactly half a second.
“OUT OF MY WAY! NOBODY TOUCH MY BELLOWS!”
Elder Huo spat on both palms, grabbed the heavy iron bellows levers with a ferocious roar, and erupted with every ounce of his Rank 4 Peak Crimson-Cloud Fire Qi!
PUFF-ROOOOOOAR! PUFF-ROOOOOOAR! PUFF-ROOOOOOAR!
Elder Huo’s fat arms pumped up and down like twin steam-locomotive pistons! Streams of blazing purple-red Rank 4 Peak flame blasted out of his palms and straight into the smelting furnace, turning two tons of raw Blood-Iron Ore into glowing white-hot liquid steel in thirty seconds flat!
“Look at the thermometer, Director Su! Three thousand degrees!” Elder Huo bellowed, sweat pouring down his fat cheeks as his yellow Debtor Vest flapped in the hot wind. “That’s the first hundred barrels poured! Hurry up at Station Two, you lazy brats—if you stamp the runes too slowly and delay my pork belly, I’ll spank you myself!”
Down the conveyor belt: At Station #2, Sword Genius Ye Guhan stood with his arms crossed, casually flicking his iron sword once every ten seconds—SHING!—slicing batches of fifty steel tubes to exact forty-two-inch barrel lengths without a millimeter of error! At Station #3, the thirty outer-sect disciples in yellow vests and five hundred paid Vocational College students worked the water-powered stamping presses at top speed: CLACK-STAMP! CLACK-STAMP!
Every thirty seconds, ten brand-new, gleaming Type-1 Dry-Well Spirit-Rifles rolled off the end of the assembly line into padded wooden crates!
When the five-hundredth rifle barrel came out of the furnace ten minutes later, Old Guo kept his word and shoved a huge, steaming bowl of Honey-Glazed Pork Belly and white rice into Elder Huo’s hands.
Elder Huo wolfed down the tender, melt-in-your-mouth spirit-pork in three bites—and gasped in shock as the rich medicinal energy of the Meat-Potato-fed pork and Sweet-Spring water rushed straight into his dantian, instantly soothing his soul-headache and restoring five percent of his lost Qi!
“This pork... it actually heals soul-backlash?!” Elder Huo’s eyes turned bright green with greed as he licked the gravy off his fingers and grabbed the bellows levers again with twice the enthusiasm! “Chef Guo! Put another slab of pork on the grill! I’m going to smelt five thousand rifles before dawn!”
***
Three days later, on the wide valley parade ground outside Green-Jade College, five thousand newly recruited peasant militia soldiers stood in ten neat square formations.
Every single soldier wore a steel wok-helmet, a blue Dry-Well uniform, and carried a gleaming Type-1 Dry-Well Spirit-Rifle across their chest!
When General Tie Zhan raised his saber and shouted “First Rank—Kneel! Second Rank—Stand! Three-Hundred-Yard Hill Target—COOKOUT BURST—FIRE!”, five thousand mortal farmers who didn’t even have Spirit Roots pulled their triggers together!
PEW-PEW-PEW-PEW-PEW!
Fifteen thousand spinning Rank 4 fireballs tore across the valley sky in a solid sheet of red-gold lightning!
KABOOOOOOOOOOOM!
Three hundred yards away, the entire rocky hilltop was blasted ten feet shorter in a single second, turning solid stone into glowing red glass!
Watching from the forge doorway with a pork bun in his mouth, Branch Elder Huo trembled from head to toe, his floating Loyalty bar jumping straight from 25 to 64/100!
“Did... did you see that, Zhao Kuang?!” Elder Huo grabbed Senior Brother Zhao by the collar of his yellow Debtor Vest, his fat fingers shaking so hard he dropped half his pork bun onto his shoe. “Those five thousand soldiers in blue coats—three days ago, I saw them pushing wheelbarrows at the refugee camp! Not a single one of them has a Spirit Root! Not a single one of them has opened their dantian! Yet with one pull of their fingers, they just unleashed a spell volley equivalent to fifteen thousand Qi Gathering cultivators attacking at the exact same instant!”
“Master, calm down—you dropped your pork bun!” Senior Brother Zhao quickly picked up the half-bun, blew the dust off it, and popped it into his own mouth. “That’s why I told you not to fight Lord Pei! Do you know what they’re making at Assembly Line #2 next week? Master Sun and Chef Guo are designing a shoulder-mounted tube that shoots Exploding Garlic-Chili Stew Shells half a mile! Compared to Dry-Well City’s factories, our Crimson Cloud Sect’s hand-carved talismans look like cavemen rubbing sticks together!”
Elder Huo gulped, turned around, and hugged the heavy iron handle of his smelting furnace bellows like it was his own mother.
“Nobody is taking this bellows away from me!” Elder Huo declared solemnly, wiping the sweat off his brow. “Even if the Sect Master of the Crimson Cloud Sect sends an elder to rescue me, I am hiding inside the coal bin! Only a lunatic would stand on the opposite side of five thousand Type-1 Spirit-Rifles!”
Down on the parade ground, the five thousand peasant riflemen cheered at the top of their lungs, polishing the dark-blued steel barrels of their rifles with their sleeves like priceless family heirlooms. For the first time in the history of the continent, ordinary mortal farmers no longer had to look up at flying cultivators in fear—with a Type-1 Dry-Well Spirit-Rifle on their shoulder and a Spirit Stone clip in their pocket, any farmer could guard their own home and potato field!
Pei Xuan lowered his brass binoculars, smiled at the smoking hilltop, and turned to Abacus Su, who had just come running up the valley road waving an urgent resource ledger.
“Lord Pei!” Abacus Su called out, catching his breath. “Another sixty thousand refugees just crossed into our territory—our population has hit 350,000! Have we run out of grain?”
“Not grain, My Lord!” Abacus Su pointed east on his map toward a wide, winding blue river. “We have plenty of food, but we are completely out of heavy timber, raw iron ore, and cloth—because Guild Master Qian of the Southern Canal Guild just blockaded the Silver River!”