bookbashuk Chapter 93 Account Alchemy
Chapter 93 Account Alchemy
Chapter 93 The Alchemy of Accounts (Bonus Chapter)
Just then, the Chimera 1, which had been quietly parked to the side, suddenly started up and rushed toward a pile of boxes in the corner of the warehouse.
"boom!"
The impact was deafening; the heavy supply crate was sent flying by the tremendous force, revealing a trembling figure behind it.
A thin man in tattered overalls is trying to crawl into a ventilation duct.
Under the stark white beam of the searchlight, the raised chitinous bone plates on his forehead were clearly visible.
This is a mutation resulting from long-term consumption of high-energy military rations.
Hidden in his sleeve, his deformed third arm was clutching half a block of concentrated starch that he hadn't finished eating.
This is a hybrid that has been hiding here, stealing military rations.
The abnormal readings on the bird's scale were caused by the pure Tyren genes within its body, which triggered the gluttonous wall's appetite.
Before he could even scream...
The whiskers on the front of the chimera had already shot out, pinning him to the wall like skewered meat.
Blood splattered on the labels of "Grade A rations".
Luo Wei didn't even glance at the dying alien; he simply took back the signed form and added a line below it:
[Note: Severe rodent infestation and biological contamination were found in the warehouse. Immediate and thorough extermination and cleaning are recommended.]
Luo Wei tightened the cap of the pen, making a crisp "click" sound.
He closed his notebook and said calmly, "Stop daydreaming, Buck. Tell Old John to send a convoy; we need to prepare to clear out the garbage."
Luo Wei gently tapped the brand-new military ration box beside him.
"Remember, from now on, what's being loaded onto the trucks will no longer be Grade A military rations, but rather Category IV biomass fertilizer registered on the 'Materials Disposal Form.'"
"Also, tell the guys to be careful when moving it, and not to damage the packaging. After all, although it's nominally fertilizer, I don't want the nutrients inside to get damp."
Buck suddenly understood something.
This is not just moving things; it is an exquisite alchemy of accounts.
Under the Ministry of the Interior's strict laws, if these grains are indeed "grain," then they are of paramount importance; anyone who touches them will be executed.
But as long as Luo Wei lightly swung his pen and defined them as "low-grade fertilizer," they became as light as a feather and transformed into production raw materials that were legally procured by the eastern grain depot.
This is the highest level of falsifying accounts:
It's not about covering up the truth, but about redefining the truth.
What the actual object is is not important.
It is what the imperial documents say it is.
In order for his brothers to survive, Lowe had to first legally allow the food to "rot."
"Did you understand?" Luo Wei asked.
Buck's Adam's apple bobbed.
He straightened his back and gave a standard military salute to this superior who could call a deer a horse and dance in the cracks of the imperial iron law.
"Yes, sir! The fertilizer recycling mission will be completed!"
With Rowe helping Butcher Bill eliminate the hybrids within his ranks, the subsequent conversations between the two sides became much smoother.
But this is, after all, a cooperation and alliance based on interests, and trust is still very fragile.
To solidify the alliance, Bill did something that surprised Rowe after returning to his office.
Back in the top-floor manager's office, Bill dismissed all the guards and personally locked the airtight door.
Then he went to the liquor cabinet, poured two glasses of cloudy amasec, and pushed one glass toward Rowe.
"Advisor Lowe, let's be frank. Your weapon is heretical technology."
This is not a question, but a statement.
Bill pointed to his mechanical eye.
"I don't understand the convoluted binary doctrines of the Martian Mechanics, but this eye of mine once contained the Imperial Guard's identification module."
"When it was scanning your car just now, it gave an error red light that was flashing like crazy: Your car definitely does not meet STC standards."
"To be honest, its smell reminded me of some of the blasphemous creatures I've seen in the bottom hive. Its craving for flesh and blood doesn't feel like that of a machine; it feels more like that of a living being."
Lo Wei didn't touch his glass of wine; he just listened calmly.
There was neither denial nor explanation.
Seeing that Rowe didn't defend himself, Bill breathed a sigh of relief.
He took a big gulp of strong liquor, and as if to bolster his courage, he patted his chest, which was covered by an exoskeleton.
"Don't worry, I'll keep this to myself. After all, without this heretical war machine," I'd be eaten alive by that bastard Valken by now.
Bill put down his glass and walked to the wall at the back of the office where the oil paintings hung.
"Since we're already in this together, there are some things you should see. To be fair, I'll tell you the truth."
He fumbled behind an oil painting for a while.
"Click."
With the sound of gears meshing, the wall slowly caved inward and then slid to one side.
Luo Wei raised an eyebrow.
He had expected to see mountains of licenses, gold, and perhaps contraband hedonistic products.
For a greedy warlord, all of this is normal.
But he was wrong.
This is a privately established small-scale biochemical workshop.
Under the dim light, a dozen glass tanks were arranged in a row, operating at low frequency.
Intricate brass pipes connect these jars, inside which murky, viscous liquid circulates, emitting an eerie green glow.
In the medicinal liquid, there were pale biological tissues that looked like sarcomas floating on the surface.
"Gland extractor".
Lovi immediately recognized these devices, which were explicitly prohibited by imperial law.
This stuff usually only exists on the most insane apothecaries and on the operating tables of the Dark Eldar.
Bill stood before the jars, and a morbidly blissful expression appeared on his originally fierce face.
"This is my retirement fund, Rowe."
He stretched out his thick fingers and gently tapped the glass wall, watching the tumor inside contract as if startled.
"The tithe goes to the Emperor; the rest of the minced meat and military rations go mostly to the Governor and those vampire nobles."
"Having sat in this position for so many years, I know better than anyone that only what's inside truly belongs to me, Bill."
Lowe took a few steps closer, examined the specimens, and asked, "What are these?"
"Fear. Or you could say anger." Bill grinned, revealing his broken teeth, his smile menacing.
"People outside call me the butcher," thinking I'm just a madman who enjoys killing. But they're wrong; I'm a shrewd and calculating businessman.
"I didn't just throw all the dying laborers into the shredder. That would be too wasteful."
Bill pointed to one of the jars.
"Those physically strong guys who are about to die from workplace injuries, fights, absenteeism, or riots, I'll send them here first."
"When people are in extreme fear and despair, especially when they are strapped to the operating table and watching themselves being cut open bit by bit, the adrenaline and substances secreted by the pituitary gland are at their purest and most intense."
Bill made a grasping gesture.
"I extracted these essences while they were still hot, purified them, and created the berserk potion."
"This stuff is a harder currency than gold in the gang warfare and underground arenas of the underworld."
"Just a small tube is enough to allow a skinny drug addict to tear open the throat of a mutated hunting dog with his bare hands in a minute of pushing his life out of balance."
Lowe listened silently to Bill's presentation.
This is the ultimate form of exploitation.
The laborers were assets when alive, raw materials when dead, and even the slightest fear and pain they felt when near death were exploited by Bill to extract surplus value.
This is cruel.
Lowe's mind raced, and his auditor's instincts allowed him to quickly complete the risk assessment.
First of all, this is Bill's private property, and it has nothing to do with tithes, so it will not affect Rowe's official mission.
Secondly, these drugs flow into the black market, which is a gray area. As long as they are not caught red-handed by the court, no one will care about this game of mutual harm among the scum of the bottom.
Finally, and most importantly, Bill revealed this secret—a secret that could land him at the stake—to gain his trust.
You have a man-eating heretical war machine.
I have a clandestine workshop where I extract human oil.
Everyone is dirty, so everyone is safe.
Despite being in the Warhammer world, Rowe's face showed no disgust stemming from moral fastidiousness. He commented, "Very efficient resource reuse, Manager Bill. As long as these potions don't end up in the Eastern Granary and don't affect the stability of my workforce, then this is just a side job for you."
""
Bill's tense shoulders relaxed.
He had initially worried that a "technocrat" like Rowe might have some unnecessary sense of justice.
Now it seems that although this young man is not bloodthirsty, his absolute rationality regarding interests is even more ruthless than that of the butcher.
"Of course, I know what I'm doing." Bill chuckled, pressed a switch, and the wall slowly closed, sealing the jar of evil back into the darkness.
Lowe picked up the untouched Amasec on the table, raised his glass to Bill, and said calmly, "I didn't see anything, and I didn't smell anything."
Bill laughed and raised his glass to clink against Rowe's.
"Respect for waste materials."
"Respect for pensioners."
Having solidified trust once again, Bill was clearly in a much better mood, and his massive frame seemed a bit lighter.
He waved his hand generously and said, "Advisor Lowe, since you're here, don't be in such a hurry to leave. As your host, if I don't invite you to stay for a meal, people will say that I, Bill, don't know the rules."
Just as Lowe was about to refuse, Bill pressed the call bell on the table.
"Since you're here, try the delicacies from the northern granary. This is a pure, natural delicacy that only supervisors can enjoy; normally, even the foremen below can't get a whiff of it."
Half an hour later, several heavily modified servants pushed in a food cart.
"please."
Bill made an inviting gesture and eagerly grabbed a handful of cutlery.
Luo Wei glanced at the food on the plate in front of him.
Even with his strong mental fortitude, his stomach involuntarily twitched.
The first dish was a plate of dark, deep-fried food.
Bill enthusiastically explained, "These are the reproductive glands of a fried Grox."
"The last batch of good goods delivered before the fall of the Ninth Agricultural War Zone. It's a bit mutated, but thankfully the spirit is still there."
The fried food in front of me was drizzled with a black sauce.
According to Bill, it's a high-sugar mushroom sauce.
But in Luo Wei's view, it's more like industrial engine oil.