Chapter Six: The Profit Algorithm

Most so-called “demons” possess remarkably tough skin. I have never seen a real rhinoceros, but demon hide must be at least as resilient. Unless a bullet strikes a vital spot, it is difficult to injure them.

Yet the divine sword rounds Lamia claimed to use could easily pierce their hide and kill a demon. Her unfailing marksmanship played a part, of course, but those rounds were no ordinary ammunition.

I set out again to lure the demon at twelve o’clock—a larger creature, over two meters tall, and white-skinned. I had only ever encountered white and red demons; it seemed the red ones were the masters of the white, the monsters spoken of in horror films, whom scavengers feared above all. Few had ever escaped a red demon’s grasp alive.

I drew the white demon toward Lamia’s position, but as I rounded the partition wall, two more demons appeared at three o’clock, not far away.

I ran faster than any hound.

I was about three hundred meters from the tree where Lamia was concealed, but this cursed terrain was not entirely hopeless; several trees grew along the road, their branches outstretched, forming a small grove. I could not see Lamia, nor could she see us.

One demon accelerated, sprinting close enough that I could hear its ragged breath at my back. It reached for me; fortunately, its upper limbs were shorter than a human’s, so it failed to grasp me, but its claws raked my skin. I heard myself scream, lost my balance, and as I fell, I drank the “Water of Amon.” I rolled away, stumbling, and within seconds, the three demons had me surrounded—but I was already half-transparent.

The white demons were not clever. They hesitated a moment longer, until I faded completely from view. I coated my knife with serpent venom, lengthened my arm, and blinded one demon. As it roared, the remaining two twisted their heads, issuing threatening cries. I took careful aim and blinded a second. The third shook its head like a rattle; twice I missed, its wild claws scraping my skin, but the third strike found its mark. Within minutes, all three succumbed to the poison.

I quickly thrust my fingers down my throat and vomited the remaining potion. My sweating ceased; a daily dose of the Water of Amon was too much for me to bear. My heart might have stopped—any that I could expel was a blessing.

Footsteps approached; Lamia appeared, rifle in hand. She surveyed the carnage and asked, “Was this your doing?”

I forced myself to appear nonchalant. “Very… very simple. A piece of cake.”

She laughed. “You surprise me more every day.”

Sensing the threat had vanished, Faga and Old Wei soon arrived. Old Wei said, “Ah, brother, you are a valiant warrior,” clapping his hands.

I wanted to reply, but sometimes silence inspires greater awe.

Lamia knelt, examining the wounds on the demons’ eyes. “How did you do it?”

I said, “The wounds are poisoned.”

Lamia nodded. “I see.”

Before me lay two paths: I could conceal the effects of the Water of Amon, keeping my trump card hidden—a wise deterrent. Or I could reveal all my potions to her, earning her trust, since she knew neither their recipes nor could withstand their toxicity.

I secretly resolved to toss a found coin: heads, I tell the truth; tails, I conceal. I flipped the coin—it landed tails.

But after some thought, coin-tossing seemed pointless. I chose honesty.

I opened my pack and displayed my treasured potions to her: this one for stimulation, that one for strength… this for invisibility, that for poison. Old Wei remarked, “Why does this sound like the spiel of a crooked merchant?”

I pointed to the three dead demons. “A crooked merchant? Could a merchant manage this?”

Old Wei sighed. “In these times, anything is possible.”

Lamia was silent for a while. “They’re indeed useful. Put them away for now.”

We approached the facility. Lamia inspected the garrison corpses. “A horde of demons attacked. They nearly held them off, but the final line collapsed.”

Lamia said to me, “Luckily no scavenger passed through. Gather their weapons—we’ll all get ready to board.”

Page 1 of 3

“I… have no strength left,” I protested.

Lamia replied sternly, “That’s an order.”

What could I do? If you depend on others, you must bow your head. One day, though, I’ll rise above everyone, and Lamia herself will do the heavy lifting for me.

I picked up six intact rifles, each with a full magazine. Lamia pointed to a special magazine. “That’s a divine sword round—its full name is ‘Ether Penetrator.’ Use it carefully. These rounds are strictly regulated; we get restocked only once a month. In my squad, every missed divine sword round you fire, if I see it, you’ll pay a fine out of pocket.”

I said, “Then I might as well not use it.”

She smiled. “Is your life worth more than your money?”

A difficult question—I hadn’t an answer.

“I’ll keep one rifle,” I said. “The rest I’ll toss; they’re all the same model and use the same ammo.”

Lamia answered, “We’re short on guns. We need to bring them back—Quartermaster will compensate.”

“Do Rangers account for everything so precisely?” I asked.

“We officers and governors work in a half-contract, half-official manner. Sometimes we bear our own losses. Right now, you’re under me. Don’t let me lose money.”

Faga found the garage’s control console. Her hand looked like a metallic eagle’s claw, with only three fingers. One finger transformed into a plug matching the console. She inserted it, and the screen flickered to life, text streaming across.

The gate rumbled upward, like a giant with a severe cough.

And then I saw Yune.

It was twenty-five meters long, eleven wide, ten high, covered in silver and black—a colossal titan. Every component seemed like a muscle, forged and sculpted, radiating the beauty of steel, masculine strength, rough yet lovely. Its surface was lined with corridors and pipes, and a vast cargo hold, seemingly able to open and close. I guessed its steel armor was at least twenty centimeters thick; not even a demon’s horn could scratch its paint.

Old Wei laughed and whistled. “That’s it, the legendary King of Trucks! If only we had whiskey, we’d toast it!”

Lamia said, “Faga, open the door. We’re going in.”

I realized the noise might attract demons.

Faga issued the command. Lamia scooped up Faga, hoisted Old Wei, and shouted, “Charge!”

She leapt from the console window, three meters high, landing smoothly. I followed, carrying the rifles, nearly breaking my legs. Limping, I just managed to slip through before the doors closed. I saw demons rushing at the gate, but they were too late.

I said, “Commander, you nearly locked me outside.”

Lamia answered, “You could have thrown the guns. You must learn to adapt.”

“If I threw the guns, would you fine me?”

Her clear, innocent eyes widened. “How did you know?”

I was speechless.

Old Wei gazed at Yune, tears streaming down his face. He was like a priest who had served God all his life, receiving permission to indulge just before death, determined to spend his days in joy and madness. He hugged Yune, kissed it, and cried, “Ah, this scent of motor oil! The finest Bessie oil, my angel, my darling!”

Everyone has their dreams. When that dream comes true, who could resist losing themselves in joy?

Page 2 of 3

I knew I would cry when I entered a skyscraper, and nothing could stop me.

We took a closer look at the garage. Apart from Yune and its maintenance gear, it was empty. But I noticed a door in the inner wall left open, leading to a corridor that seemed to descend.

Did this garage lead underground?

Lamia spotted the hazard, too. “Forget the rest. Old Wei, get up and start Yune!”

We climbed to the cockpit. Through the small glass window, I saw it was spacious—like one of those old campers, with enough room for me to claim a seat and stretch out. For now, though, the door was shut tight.

Lamia tugged the handle, but nothing budged. “The key!”

Old Wei said, “I’ve read the manual. It can be opened remotely.”

Lamia called, “Faga!”

All-powerful Faga’s mechanical eye glowed red, her eyeball whirling like a vortex, as if sending some signal. With a click, the door opened. Old Wei, suddenly young again, darted inside. I doubted he’d ever been so vigorous, not even on his wedding night.

We closed the door. Old Wei shouted, “Let’s rock!”

His hands moved with impossible speed across the star-chart complexity of buttons. Yune lit up. I heard engines revving in layered crescendo, accelerating my heartbeat like a countdown to explosion.

The lights dimmed. The sound faded. Nothing happened.

Lamia cried out, “What now? Did you break it?”

Old Wei stood dumbfounded, like a groom discovering his bride is a man. He’d wandered down the wrong path, lost beyond measure.

Faga said, “First-time activation requires a high-current charge.”

Lamia: “What? Isn’t it almost perpetual motion?”

Faga: “It hasn’t been charged in a hundred years. It needs a first charge.”

It made sense. A fusion of solar and nuclear power, but after so long without sunlight or use, it was like a person abstaining for decades—needing great stimulation to revive. We needed a thunderbolt, a wake-up call.

“How do we do it?” Lamia asked.

“In the basement is a current reactor,” Faga replied. “It provides the power needed for initial start-up, but must be activated manually.”

“How do we activate it? Is it you?”

Faga: “Just flip the circuit breaker.”

Lamia looked at me.

Page 3 of 3