Chapter 12: Paper Bullets
Time Remaining: 36 Hours.
The war room was quiet, save for the rhythmic shhh-clack of a new machine Jiang Chen had installed next to the armory.
It was an Offset Rotary Printing Press.
Old Wu picked up one of the sheets sliding out of the hopper. He stared at it, his eyes wide. It wasn't the coarse, yellowed parchment used by the Empire. It was glossy, white, high-bond paper. The ink was vibrant, chemically perfect.
"It looks... fake," Old Wu whispered. "It's too perfect."
"It's not fake," Jiang Chen said, checking the alignment of the cyan ink cartridge. "It's marketing."
The leaflet was simple. On the top half, a high-resolution photograph (printed by the System) of the Canyon Base. It showed the steel walls, the glowing electric floodlights cutting through the snow, and most importantly, the refugees sitting at long tables, eating steaming bowls of meat stew with white rice. On the bottom half, bold red text:
THE IMPERIAL INDUSTRIES IS HIRING.
Requirements: Can hold a shovel or a rifle. Payment: 3 Meals/Day. Heating. Protection.
SPECIAL BOUNTY: Bring the head of a Squad Captain: 100 Silver Coins + Citizenship. Bring the head of the City Lord: 1,000 Silver Coins + Manager Position.
Don't freeze for a Lord who feeds you husks. Come to the warmth.
"We are fighting the City Lord and the Sect," Jiang Chen said, stacking the papers. "The Sect Disciples are brainwashed fanatics; they won't turn. But the City Guards? They are just starving men with rusty spears."
He turned to Li. "Load the drone."
Beiluo City - The Walls
The sun was hidden behind a blanket of grey clouds. Beiluo City was a miserable picture of grey stone and white snow.
On the northern wall, two guards huddled around a dying brazier. Their leather armor was cracked, and their lips were blue.
"I heard the City Lord is mobilizing," one guard grumbled, rubbing his numb hands. "Says we march on the mountains tomorrow. Some 'Demon' has taken the serfs."
"Good riddance," the other spat. "Let the Demon have them. At least the serfs don't have to stand guard in this wind."
Whirrrrrrrrr.
A sound, like a giant mosquito, drifted down from the clouds.
The guards looked up. High above, a silver shape—a Cargo Drone—hovered. It wasn't flapping wings like a bird or a beast. It just hung there, defying gravity with four spinning rotors.
"What is that? A Spirit Beast?"
CLICK.
The bottom of the drone opened.
Thousands of white rectangles rained down. The wind caught them, swirling them like snow, scattering them across the walls, the market square, and the slums.
One landed right in the brazier, curling but not burning immediately due to the high-quality coating. The guard snatched it out.
He looked at the picture. He saw the meat. He saw the rice. He saw the refugees—people he recognized, neighbors who had vanished days ago—looking fat and happy.
"Hey..." the guard whispered. "Is that... Old Man Liu? He's eating... is that pork?"
"Read the words!" the other guard urged. "You know letters!"
The guard squinted. "Imperial Industries... Hiring... Bounty..."
He stopped. He looked at the bold red text about the Squad Captain. Then he looked down from the wall to the courtyard below, where their Captain—a fat man who whipped them for sleeping—was shouting orders.
"100 Silver Coins," the guard muttered. That was ten years of wages.
Across the city, the scene repeated. Villagers snatched papers from the air. Guards hid them in their breastplates. Whispers spread like wildfire. The "Demon" wasn't eating people. He was feeding them.
The City Lord's Mansion
City Lord Fatong smashed a porcelain vase against the wall.
"Lies! Heresy!"
He held one of the glossy leaflets in his trembling, ring-adorned hand. "Who allowed this?! Where are the archers? Shoot that metal bird down!"
"It... it is too high, My Lord," the Captain of the Guard stammered. He looked nervous. He kept glancing at the other guards in the room. They weren't looking at the Lord. They were looking at his neck.
"Mobilize the army NOW!" Fatong shrieked. "If we wait, the morale will rot! We march tonight! I don't care about the snow! Tell the White Cloud Elder we move immediately!"
He pointed a shaking finger at the Captain. "And confiscate these papers! If I see a single peasant reading this, cut off their hands!"
The Captain hesitated. His hand drifted toward the hilt of his sword. For a second, the tension in the room was thick enough to choke on.
Then, the Captain bowed. "As... as you command, My Lord."
He turned and marched out. But as he walked down the hall, he didn't order the guards to confiscate the papers. He whispered to his lieutenant.
"Pack your bags. And don't throw that paper away. It might be our ticket in."
Shattered Jaw Canyon
Jiang Chen watched the drone feed on his monitor. He saw the guards pocketing the leaflets. He saw the hesitation.
"The seed is planted," Jiang Chen said.
"System," he called up the Defense Grid. "They will march tonight. Panic makes men rash."
[Time Remaining until Contact: 6 Hours (Revised).]
"Prepare the welcoming committee."
Jiang Chen walked to the Fabricator. It was time for the final piece of the puzzle. The propaganda would break the mortals. But he still needed something to break the Cultivators.
"Unlock Tier 1 Heavy Weapons: The Browning M2 .50 Caliber Machine Gun."
[Blueprint Unlocked. Cost: 500 EU.]
"Print four of them. And mount them on the blast doors."