Chapter Fifty: Aftermath

As it turns out, pain is always the most effective method of interrogation.

“How fascinating…”

Ferren lifted his head, gazing at the strange badge in his hand. On the surface, it looked little different from an ordinary ornament, but once opened, it revealed a hidden world within. Its interior resembled the design of pre-cataclysm electronics, with circuit boards and various electronic components arranged in a certain order. What most caught Ferren’s attention, however, was the jewel-like object embedded at the center of the board.

“So this is the Seed of Power?”

“Mmm… mmm…”

Michael could no longer answer Ferren’s question. The burly man lay sprawled on the ground, his eyes vacant and staring at nothing. Most of the skin on his face and upper body had been completely stripped away, leaving only bloody muscle. Yet even so, Michael could not express his rage or dissatisfaction—his movements stolen by the scalpel plunged into his spine. Now, he could only suffer endlessly, as if he were a broken shell, unable to resist the pain that consumed him.

“Devil… devil…”

Under the torment, Michael’s mind had utterly collapsed. He babbled like a fool, unable to do anything but mutter to himself. Ferren paid him no mind—he had already obtained all the intelligence he needed during the “treatment.”

According to Michael, his abilities originated from the pendant. This was one of the Federation’s research achievements—the Seed of Power, a mysterious device capable of bestowing abilities upon ordinary people. As to how such a thing was developed, Michael was uncertain. But from his account, whenever the Federation expanded its territory, they would take away all captured ability users—including their corpses. That alone revealed much.

For now, it seemed the Federation’s technology was far from mature, at least not enough for mass production. Otherwise, Michael wouldn’t be the only one in the entire Federation army wielding such a device. Moreover, the power Ferren sensed from the Seed of Power was no greater than level three. Michael admitted that the ability users they’d encountered so far were mostly low-ranking. That explained why the Federation chose to send a force of ordinary soldiers to trouble District Nine—they evidently didn’t hold ability users in high regard. Despite their extraordinary powers, the Federation believed that, with enough soldiers and weaponry, victory would be effortless.

It was understandable. In these wilds, District Nine was the largest settlement. The smaller communities and wanderers only had a handful of low-level ability users. Powerful ability users were rare—they either stayed in major settlements like Ferren and his companions, or formed their own factions to enjoy power and status. In the eastern wilds, District Nine and the Seven Titans dominated the land, leaving no room for other major forces. Anyone with real strength had long fled elsewhere. This was why the Federation army had never encountered serious resistance before.

Their plan was thorough, but the Federation failed to realize that the difference between high-level and low-level ability users was as vast as the heavens and the earth.

It was like a group of players raiding a map, thinking themselves fully geared, breezing through the minor monsters, preparing for the next dungeon… Wait a minute, let me set the difficulty to epic first…

The difference between high-permission ability users and their lesser counterparts was like the gap between field mobs and a twenty-five-man epic raid boss. Take the Seven Titans for instance—even fighting solo, without their own forces, they could wipe out the Federation army with little trouble; it would only cost them some extra time. Facing ordinary people was as effortless as a game master dealing with regular players—however they fought, victory was inevitable.

“What do you make of this, Delin?”

Ferren chuckled, glancing at the cat-eared maid quietly standing by his side. Delin merely shook her head.

“I don’t know, master. But I smell blood on it… and the scent of death.”

“It seems these people have grand ambitions. Too bad everything they’ve done is meaningless.”

As he spoke, Ferren tossed the pendant to the floor, then stamped it underfoot. With a crisp snap, the intricately crafted ornament shattered into fragments, and the so-called Seed of Power released a swirl of red smoke, slowly dissipating in the air. Michael’s eyes widened at the scene. He opened his mouth, wanting to speak, but all that escaped was a long sigh. His eyes rolled back, and with that, he fell silent forever.

“All done.”

Ferren cast a glance at the pile of ruined flesh, then turned away, restoring his wide-brimmed hat and straightening his somewhat disheveled clothing.

“Mission accomplished. We can call it a day.”

The battle between District Nine and the Federation army ended at dawn. After hearing from Ferren that the command post had been utterly destroyed, the Seven Titans—who had been playing cat and mouse with the invading Federation troops—launched a fierce counterattack.

Exhausted from urban skirmishes and hide-and-seek, the Federation forces were thrown into chaos by the sudden onslaught. When they tried to contact command and received no response, the front-line troops fell into complete disorder. Though they called themselves an army, they were hardly regular soldiers. They used to rely on tanks, armored vehicles, and sheer numbers to bully others. But now, all their advantages were useless against District Nine. When the Seven Titans destroyed their precious tanks, the Federation soldiers broke—most surrendered, the stubborn few were killed outright, and District Nine claimed final victory.

“Well done. I knew I could count on you.”

The “Emperor” laughed heartily, clapping Ferren’s shoulder with a broad grin. His delight was obvious. No wonder—though the Blackstone Group profited most, they’d also lost many men. With the surrendering Federation troops as reinforcements, losses could be quickly made up. Plus, the armored carriers and the armed helicopter—whose pilot Ferren had eliminated before it could be deployed—meant they’d not only avoided a loss, but scored a huge windfall. The old man’s excitement was understandable.

District Nine’s region had no real military infrastructure. Most of its weapons came from police armories or gun shop stockpiles. Only the “Butcher” commanded a mechanized combat unit equipped like special forces; the rest couldn’t compare to genuine military gear. The Federation troops, however, brought proper army vehicles, vastly superior to the home-modified ones.

The only disappointment was that the Federation units originally surrounding District Nine escaped at the first sign of trouble. The Butcher, who had rushed back, could only curse their retreating backs. This was the curse of the network age—if you couldn’t eliminate the enemy quickly, one group chat was all it took for everyone to flee.

But the Emperor was not content with merely defeating the Federation army.

“This is our golden opportunity, everyone!”

Standing atop a concrete platform, the Emperor showed no sign of fatigue; on the contrary, he was radiant, as if he’d eaten a feast and couldn’t stop.

“From the intelligence we got out of those so-called ‘Federation’ people, their base is near the Maken District—not far from us. I think this is our chance. We can send a team to attack their nest, gather more population and slaves!”

“Where did those war vehicles and tanks come from?”

The “Queen” licked her lips, curiosity lighting her eyes. The other Titans looked equally intrigued. The Emperor shrugged and quickly replied.

“They said there’s a military base there—the Federation’s headquarters. This is our chance. We lost many people exploring city ruins. If we can take the Federation, it will greatly strengthen us.”

He clapped his hands.

“All right, who wants to deal with those idiots? The price is negotiable—whatever you bring back, the Blackstone Group will buy at full value. Weapons, vehicles, slaves—each and every one. You know us—we’re always generous!”

“I plan to take a look.”

The “Butcher” grinned and spoke first.

“I hear there’s some good stuff there. Maybe I’ll find something useful. I took heavy losses this time—I need to make up for it.”

“I’ll go too.”

The “Queen” was quick to follow, biting her lip, a fierce gleam in her eyes.

“Those bastards damaged my beloved car—they owe me a hundredfold! Count me in, I want to see what this Federation is made of. How dare they run wild in our territory!”

She turned, looking at Ferren, who lounged lazily on the sofa.

“‘Doctor,’ what about you? Interested in joining the fun?”

“I’ll pass.”

Ferren lifted his wide-brimmed hat, glanced at the Queen, and waved a hand.

“I have no interest in such matters…”

“Young and already as gloomy as the old man. I’d say half your body’s in the grave already.”

The Queen pouted, dissatisfied, but said no more. In fact, the others visibly relaxed at Ferren’s answer, and the Emperor clapped his hands.

“Since the ‘Doctor’ declines, you can sort it out among yourselves. Same rule as always—those who can, do, and the more you do, the more you gain.”

He paused, then looked at Ferren.

“You did well, ‘Doctor.’ The old man keeps his word—the item you wanted is ready. They’re making final adjustments; you can pick it up when you return to District Nine…”

“Oh?”

Ferren looked up, intrigued.

“I didn’t expect you to act so quickly…”

“Of course. There are plenty of things you wouldn’t expect.”

The Emperor winked at Ferren, full of smug satisfaction.

“I guarantee, you’ll be pleasantly surprised.”