Han Feng's eyes lit up.
This was the reward Li Tiecheng had promised him—battle-damaged equipment, Tier Three and above, retired from the front lines.
Although it was called "junk," in Han Feng's eyes, it was all treasures.
Even if it couldn't be repaired, smelting it down for materials would be a windfall.
"You guys carry on, I'm going to check out the warehouse."
Han Feng said his goodbyes to Lin Xue and the others, then headed for Warehouse No. 7, humming a little tune.
As he pushed open the warehouse doors, a smell hit him—a mixture of motor oil, scorched metal, and the old stench of blood.
Piled haphazardly across the several-hundred-square-meter open space was a huge mess of items.
There were heavy greatswords snapped in two, Power Armor riddled with holes, and some unidentifiable mechanical wreckage.
"Tsk, tsk. General Li isn't exactly living large, is he? This stuff is beaten to scrap, and he still can't bear to throw it away."
