The skirmish had erupted with the sudden, violent intensity of a summer storm, right at the crumbling threshold of Anping Town. It was a clash between the Steel Wheel and the local warlord faction known as Guns & Roses.
In the Lawless Lands, the populace is forged in a crucible of hardship. Whether they are indigenous survivors clinging to the dust or opportunists who migrated here to carve out a bloody fortune, no one is soft. Consequently, the sharp crack of gunfire and the guttural roars of combat did not send the townspeople into a chaotic stampede. Instead, the streets went quiet, eyes narrowing in the shadows as every faction within the town dispatched scouts. They needed to know who was bleeding and who was left standing.
When the scouts returned, the news rippled through Anping like a shockwave. It was Little Mustache. He and his crew—men who walked these streets like gods—had been decimated.
The shock was palpable. Little Mustache wasn't just a thug; he was a lieutenant of Guns & Roses. While the organization might not have been a top-tier power across the entirety of the vast Lawless Lands, in the region surrounding Anping, they were the absolute authority. They were the judge, jury, and executioner.
Their grip was suffocating. Every caravan, bounty hunter, herbalist team, or gold-panning expedition that dared to traverse this territory paid a toll: one gold coin per head. It was the price of breathing. Those who refused didn't just die; they were made examples of. Their bodies were strung up on the gnarled trees lining the roads, swaying in the wind as grim scarecrows to ward off defiance.
The architect of this terror was Song Jiongyang. A former Imperial Thousand-Man Commander and a Rank 9 Valiant General, Song had been dishonorably discharged for conduct unbecoming of an officer. Fueled by cynicism and a rage against the system that cast him out, he had fled to the Lawless Lands. In just a few years, he had rallied a legion of desperadoes, turning Guns & Roses into a hegemon that had choked the life out of this region for two years running.
Under Song's reign, even the proudest bounty hunters and the wealthiest merchants bowed their heads. Comfort, however, breeds complacency. Little Mustache, grown fat on easy intimidation, had seen the Imperial markings of the Steel Wheel convoy and, rather than reporting back to Song, had arrogantly attempted to extort them.
He had kicked an iron plate, and it had shattered his foot.
As the dust settled, the onlookers realized something else. This wasn't just a skirmish; it was a statement. The warriors of Steel Wheel moved with a terrifying, predatory grace. They were not here to negotiate.
In the Lawless Lands, power is the only currency that matters. The spectators burned the image of the black flag—emblazoned with the aggressive, domineering wheel of a war chariot—into their memories. Avoid them, they thought. If you see the Chariot, run.
Xiao Ke, the commander of this iron legion, stood over the broken form of Little Mustache. He had ordered his men to break the thug's right arm and right leg—a calculated brutality. Staring down at the wailing man, Xiao Ke's voice was devoid of emotion.
"Tell Song Jiongyang," Xiao Ke said, his voice carrying over the groans of the injured, "that he should not cross us again. If he does, he will not survive the regret."
With that, Xiao Ke climbed back into his armored off-road command vehicle. The convoy roared to life. They didn't flee; they didn't rush. They drove past the moaning casualties with an agonizingly slow, deliberate pace, heading straight for the gates of Anping Town.
The convoy was a beast of metal and oil. Armored jeeps, battle buses reinforced with steel plating, and heavy-duty transport trucks formed a serpentine line that looked like a mechanical dragon slithering into the heart of the settlement.
The atmosphere in Anping shifted from curiosity to dread. Street vendors, indigenous locals, bounty hunters leaning out of tavern windows, and the destitute scavengers in the gutters—everyone went silent. Large caravans were common here, sometimes numbering a hundred souls, but Xiao Ke's force was a thousand strong. They were fully armed, disciplined, and radiated the heavy, oppressive aura of the Empire.
The local factions watched with furrowed brows. This was bad for business. An Imperial warband wasn't here to trade, which meant no profit for the locals. Worse, if they were here on a purge mission, they would overturn the delicate ecosystem of the town, smashing rice bowls and getting people killed. Combined with the deep-seated hatred the Lawless Lands held for the Empire, the reception was icy.
Yet, survival often requires a smile.
A man flanked by two servants jogged up to the lead vehicle, breathless and beaming. As Xiao Ke stepped onto the dirt road, the man snapped a crisp, if slightly overly theatrical, salute.
"Greetings, My Lord! I am the Mayor of Anping. My name is Aragorn."
Xiao Ke paused, his eyes narrowing slightly. The Empire had zero jurisdiction here. The people usually spat at the mention of the Emperor. "The Lawless Lands have Mayors now?" Xiao Ke asked, his tone dry. "That is... unexpected."
Beside Xiao Ke stood his lieutenants: Ling Feng and Ye Yun, both wearing the battle robes of Ten-Thousand-Man Commanders, and Qin Bing, a Thousand-Man Commander. Behind them, elite warriors like Duan Canglong and Luo Hou disembarked, their movements synchronized and efficient.
Ye Yun leaned in, whispering into Xiao Ke's ear. "It's a charade, sir. While they hate the Empire, towns often elect a figurehead—a Mayor or City Lord—to facilitate trade and settle minor disputes. The Empire recognizes the titles, but these men have no teeth. They are empty suits."
Xiao Ke nodded, turning his gaze back to Aragorn. The Mayor looked like a mix of several ethnicities, with a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes.
"Aragorn," Xiao Ke said. "Since you are the Mayor, you will be useful. I am Xiao Ke, Commander of the Steel Wheel, a direct action unit of His Majesty. We are here on a mission. Arrange a billet for us. Immediately."
"Yes, yes, of course, Commander! Please, follow this lowly one."
Aragorn led them to a dilapidated courtyard compound. It was remote, far from the town center, but it was spacious enough to serve as a temporary barracks for a thousand men.
Once settled, Aragorn's hospitality shifted into overdrive. He was ingratiating to the point of suspicion. He ordered the local taverns to fire up their ovens, delivering steaming food and jars of wine for the entire regiment. He didn't just serve the food; he sat at the command table, breaking bread with Xiao Ke and his top officers.
Halfway through the meal, Aragorn wiped his mouth and stood up. "I must ensure the brothers outside are well-fed," he announced loudly. "The rice must be full, and the wine must flow! I will go check on supplies."
He bustled out, acting the part of the benevolent host perfectly.
At the main table, Duan Canglong watched Aragorn's retreating, chewing thoughtfully. "You know," he muttered, "this Aragorn guy isn't half bad. He's a puppet Mayor with no real power, but he knows how to treat guests. This meal cost a fortune. Unlimited wine for a thousand men? That's generous."
Xiao Ke picked up a slice of braised beef with his chopsticks, examining it in the lamplight. "When someone is preparing to send you to the grave," he said casually, popping the meat into his mouth, "they usually make sure your last meal is a good one. Even a condemned prisoner gets a full belly before the executioner arrives."
The table went silent.
Duan Canglong and Luo Hou froze, their forks hovering halfway to their mouths. At the nearby tables, the Centurions widened their eyes, exchanging glances of alarm. Only the senior command—Ling Feng, Ye Yun, and Qin Bing—continued eating without missing a beat.
Luo Hou lowered his voice, his eyes darting around. "Sir... what are you saying? Aragorn is setting us up?"
Xiao Ke smiled, a cold expression that didn't match the warmth of the room. "Aragorn is a nobody. To survive in Anping, he has to kiss Song Jiongyang's ring. To be blunt, he's Song's dog. We crippled Song's lieutenant outside the gates, yet Aragorn hasn't mentioned it once. He's pretending it didn't happen. That isn't hospitality; it's a distraction."
Duan Canglong slammed his hand on his thigh. "I knew it felt off! If he were a normal Mayor, he'd be terrifyingly worried about Song's retaliation. He'd be warning us to flee. Instead, he's stuffing us with food and wine. He's stalling."
"Exactly," Luo Hou hissed, narrowing his eyes. "He's keeping us here while he sends word to Song. And the wine... he wants us drunk. When Song arrives, we'll be slaughtering pigs, not fighting soldiers."
Luo Hou stood up abruptly. "I need to warn the men. No alcohol. We need to check the food for poison."
"Sit down," Qin Bing said, her voice cool and authoritative. "There is no need. The moment we arrived, Commander Xiao flagged Aragorn's behavior. I've already circulated the order. The men are accepting the wine, but no one is drinking. They are on high alert."
Luo Hou and Duan Canglong looked at Xiao Ke, then at the calm faces of their superiors. They realized, with a mixture of embarrassment and admiration, that they were playing chess while everyone else was playing checkers.
Aragorn, of course, was oblivious to the fact that his neck was already in the noose.
He stood in the courtyard, watching the soldiers of Steel Wheel huddled in groups, laughing and holding jars of wine. To his eyes, they looked relaxed, perhaps even a little sloppy.
He beckoned a subordinate into the shadows. "Is it done? Does Song Jiongyang know?"
"Yes, Mayor," the man whispered. "The message is delivered. Leader Song is mobilizing. He'll be here soon to wipe these Imperials out."
"I don't care about vengeance," Aragorn muttered, wiping sweat from his brow. "I just need Song to know I had no part in Little Mustache's beating. I need to be the one who served them up on a platter." He glanced back at the soldiers. "Tell the tavern keeper to send another two hundred jars. I want them stumbling drunk. When Song kills them, we can scavenge their gear. They eat the meat; we drink the soup."
"Understood, Mayor."
Soon, more wine arrived. Centurion Liu Jinquan accepted it with a grateful smile, only to pour it into the dirt the moment Aragorn looked away. The order was absolute: Feign intoxication. Prepare for combat.
Believing the trap was sprung, Aragorn returned to the main hall. He sat back down with Xiao Ke, pouring himself a drink. The hours ticked by. The sun dipped below the horizon, and darkness swallowed the town. The meal had lasted over two hours.
Aragorn was feeling the buzz of the alcohol, but Xiao Ke seemed bottomless, showing no signs of stopping. Aragorn scoffed internally. I thought this kid was a wolf, but he's just a drunkard with a fancy title. The Empire is rotting from the inside if this is their leadership.
Suddenly, a servant rushed in, panic etched on his face. He leaned down to Aragorn's ear. "Mayor! Song Jiongyang is here. He's got three thousand men just outside the town limits. They're coming in hot. We need to clear out before the shooting starts."
Aragorn nodded imperceptibly. He stood up, feigning a polite smile. "Commander Xiao, I ordered the cook to prepare a special shark fin soup. It's delicate—needs constant watching. I'm going to pop over to the kitchen to ensure it's perfect for you."
He turned to leave, his muscles coiled to run.
A hand clamped onto his wrist.
It wasn't a casual touch. It was a vice grip, immovable as granite. Aragorn froze. He looked down to see Xiao Ke smiling up at him, eyes glinting with dangerous amusement.
"Checking the soup?" Xiao Ke drawled. "Surely a man of your stature doesn't need to do kitchen work. Sit. Drink. Let your servants handle the soup."
Aragorn tried to pull away, but he was paralyzed. He was a Level 5 fighter—not weak by any standard—, but against Xiao Ke, he felt like a child wrestling a statue. Panic flared in his chest.
"I... It's a very expensive dish," Aragorn stammered. "My men are clumsy. If it's ruined, it would be a tragedy. I really should go..."
SLAM.
Duan Canglong pulled his sidearm and smashed it onto the table. The heavy metallic thud silenced the room.
"The Commander said sit down," Duan barked. "Why are you vibrating with all this nonsense? Shark fin, shark tail—who cares? If your men are incompetent, I'll send a squad of my own to the kitchen to supervise. How about that?"
Aragorn went pale. There was no soup. If Duan went to the kitchen, the game was up. "No, no need!" he squeaked. He turned to his servant, desperation in his eyes. "You go. Check the soup. Be very careful."
He shot the servant a meaningful look: Tell Song to watch his fire. Don't kill me by mistake. The servant nodded and bolted.
Outside, the silence of the night was shattered.
The deep, guttural roar of heavy engines echoed off the buildings. Headlights cut through the gloom as the convoy of Guns & Roses breached the town limits. They didn't care about stealth. They were the masters here.
The residents of Anping knew that sound. Shutters slammed closed. Lights were extinguished. The town held its breath, hiding in the dark, knowing that the Reaper had arrived to collect the debt incurred by the Imperials.
Inside the compound, Centurion Liu Jinquan entered the hall, his face grim but calm. He didn't look drunk.
"Report," he said, his voice crisp. "Hostiles inbound. Confirmed identification: Guns & Roses. It's Song Jiongyang personally. Estimated strength: two thousand men. Heavy weaponry observed. ETA: ten minutes."
Aragorn's blood ran cold. He looked at the Centurion, then at Xiao Ke. Wait. They know? Are they sober?
Xiao Ke didn't even look up from his wine glass. "Two thousand?" he mused, sounding disappointed. "Rumor had it Song commanded ten thousand. He's understrength."
"Politics," Ye Yun said, swirling his drink. "Song holds several towns. If he pulls his entire army here, his rivals will flank him and take his territory. Two thousand is the most he can risk."
Xiao Ke nodded, satisfied. He set his glass down and looked at his officers.
"Ling Feng. Ye Yun. Qin Bing."
"Sir!"
"Mobilize the men. This is the Steel Wheel's debut in the Lawless Lands. We don't just win; we dominate."
"Yes, Commander!"
The three commanders stood and exited with fluid precision.
Aragorn sat paralyzed, watching through the open window. The scene in the courtyard transformed instantly. The 'drunken' soldiers snapped to attention. Weapons were unlimbered from the transport trucks with practiced efficiency. The heavy machine guns atop the armored vehicles swiveled toward the gate, ammunition belts feeding in with a metallic clatter.
The engines of the Steel Wheel roared to life, drowning out the approaching enemy. The convoy began to move, not to flee, but to meet the charge head-on.
Aragorn's jaw hit the floor. This wasn't a slaughter; it was an ambush. And he was sitting at the table of the hunters, not the prey.
Xiao Ke leaned back in his chair, watching the color drain from the Mayor's face. He smirked, the expression of a cat toying with a mouse.
"Mayor Aragorn," Xiao Ke asked softly, "you look terribly worried. Is something on your mind?"