"So many," I murmured, my eyes scanning the pile of olive-green wooden crates stacked open in the bed of the pickup truck. Inside, black weapons, still wrapped in protective plastic and coated in cosmoline oil, were lined up.
"And the condition is… new. You didn't steal them from a state armory, did you?"
"Of course not, My Lord," Belial replied with a thin, meaningful smile. "I didn't steal them from a warehouse. That's too risky and leaves traces."
I nodded, then picked up one of the rifles from the crate. The metal felt cold and heavy in my hand. An AK-12.
Unlike the older models I often saw in movies, this rifle looked much more tactical. The stock was adjustable, the handguard ergonomic, and there was a picatinny rail on top for mounting optics. This was the latest standard assault rifle of the Russian Federation Army.
"Where did you get this many weapons, Belial?" I asked, checking the fire selector. Safe, Semi, Burst, Auto. "This isn't a village-made replica. It's an authentic Kalashnikov Concern product."
"My Lord, I took them from the easiest place," Belial explained with a slight smile. "The front line."
He pointed to the pile of crates. "These were all just shipped from a logistics depot in Rostov-on-Don heading to the Donbas. The convoy trucks… had a little 'navigation accident' and ended up where I wanted them."
I raised an eyebrow. "You hijacked a Russian military convoy?"
"I prefer to call it 'asset reallocation'," he corrected smoothly.
"The soldiers escorting it…" Belial paused, a cold smile playing on his lips. "…don't need to worry about the war anymore. They died quickly."
He continued in a satisfied tone. "I ordered my subordinates to disguise themselves in Ukrainian military uniforms and attack the convoy inside Russian territory. We left pretty clear traces: NATO-standard shell casings, a few 'left behind' Ukrainian military badges, and of course, no witnesses."
Belial looked at me. "When Russia finds this destroyed, empty convoy, they won't think of weapon thieves. They'll think of daring enemy sabotage. They'll blame Ukraine, and Ukraine will deny it. Perfect chaos."
"Smart," I praised, impressed by the pragmatic cruelty of his plan. "You not only got weapons but also heated up their conflict. Two birds with one stone."
"The price?"
"Free, My Lord. Except for the gas for this truck."
I chuckled. Free is always the best price.
I put the AK-12 back and looked at the contents of another crate.
"Oh?" My eyes caught a different shape. A semi-automatic sniper rifle with a long barrel.
"SVDM," Belial said, introducing the weapon. "The modern version of the legendary Dragunov. Folding stock, thicker barrel, better accuracy."
I picked it up, feeling its solid weight. This was an effective long-range killing tool.
"You even got this too."
"There are also a few crates of RPG-30s and anti-tank missiles in the back, My Lord," he added casually.
I nodded in satisfaction. "Do you think we can manufacture this stuff?"
"My Lord, for toys like this…" Belial smiled dismissively. "Our craftsmen in Avanheim will make them for you. The quality will be equal to, if not exceeding, the original factory. Especially now, with you starting to introduce those human technology machines to Avanheim… mass production is no longer an issue."
"Hmm, you're right." I put the rifle back.
"Alright. Let's sell these weapons. And sell the phones that have been sitting idle in the warehouse for a month while we're at it."
Belial took a piece of paper from his suit pocket. "My Lord, this is a list of organizations most likely to buy these weapons. Separatist groups in Africa, drug cartels in Mexico, militias in the Middle East…"
I took the paper, glanced at the names there, then handed it back to him.
"I'm not interested in selling these weapons to them right now," I declined. "You do that later."
"Then, to whom does My Lord wish to sell them?"
A faint smile formed on my lips. "I want to sell them to someone desperate."
I looked at the pile of weapons.
"You know, Belial? The more desperate people are, the more willing they are to take extreme measures. They don't care about consequences anymore. And watching them do that… watching the chaos born of pure desperation…"
I chuckled.
"…it pleases me."
"Hoho, I see…" Belial smiled too, his eyes glinting with understanding. "Your tastes are truly unique, My Lord."
"Our destination," I said, turning my back to the truck.
"Australia."
"Australia?" Belial looked a little confused. "That country is very strict about weapons, My Lord. And relatively peaceful."
"Exactly," I replied. "Let that peaceful country… have some interesting news for the world."
I gave a signal.
I raised my hand, giving a brief signal.
The line of figures behind Belial moved. A horned Demon stepped forward, the muscles in his red arms tensing as he lifted two crates of weapons at once as if they were tissue boxes. Beside him, an Elf gracefully directed her magic staff, making stacks of iPhone boxes float neatly in the air.
Several burly Demi-humans pushed heavy ammunition crates, their trolley wheels squeaking on the concrete floor. They marched toward a dark rift gaping in the air beside Belial—the entrance to his inventory. One by one, the crates were swallowed by the darkness, vanishing without a sound.
Once everything was inside, I looked at Belial.
"Do you have the coordinates?"
"Of course, My Lord. I stopped by there once while looking for iron ore and uranium."
Belial raised his hand. A dark purple spatial distortion formed in the air, slowly swirling into a Gate portal.
"After you, My Lord," he said with a bow.
I stepped inside, leaving the cold warehouse for a continent.