Before coming here, Iron Grip had assumed that the man called "Zhang Jun" was relying on nothing more than the impenetrable defensive barrier in front of his store.
He hadn't expected the man himself to be a powerful Awakened.
"One case of canned meat. One gold bar."
Zhang Jun patted the case sitting on the counter.
"That's the price."
Iron Grip said nothing, running the numbers fast in his head.
After a long moment, he spoke again.
"We need to know exact quantities. How much can you supply?"
That was one of the reasons he'd come. To probe the depth of this store—and the man behind it.
If this was just a small shop riding on some kind of spatial ability, North Bridge Stronghold had plenty of ways to swallow both the goods and the owner whole.
"Quantities?"
Zhang Jun smiled faintly.
He snapped his fingers.
*Whoosh.*
The open floor of the Dai Jun General Store suddenly filled with a mountain of pale blue. Hundreds—maybe thousands—of sealed water bottles stacked on top of each other, taking up nearly half the store's floor space.
The sight knocked Iron Grip's mind blank for a few seconds.
From the shadows behind him came several sharp, involuntary intakes of breath.
"That enough for you?"
Zhang Jun's voice landed flat and even, but it hit Iron Grip's chest like a fist.
"If not—"
He snapped his fingers again.
Beside the water, a second mountain appeared—cardboard boxes in brown and yellow.
Hardtack rations.
Over a hundred cases.
The two piles of supplies nearly filled the store, leaving only a narrow path between them. The smell of packaging, cardboard, and sealed food hit harder than any hot meal could.
Iron Grip's throat moved.
Two abilities.
The man in front of him didn't just have Gravity Pull. He had a spatial ability too.
Iron Grip forced his eyes away from the two piles. He looked back at Zhang Jun, his voice drier than before.
"What's the price?"
"I already told you. One gold bar per case of canned meat."
Zhang Jun's tone hadn't shifted at all—as if what was stacked in front of them wasn't enough supplies to send a small stronghold into a frenzy, but just ordinary shelf stock.
"We'll take all of it."
Iron Grip drew a breath and made the call.
"But we need time to gather the gold."
After receiving the tip, North Bridge Stronghold had already raided an abandoned vault. Pulling together a few hundred gold bars wasn't impossible.
But Zhang Jun shook his head.
"No."
One word. Iron Grip's nerves, just barely steadied, snapped taut again.
"What do you mean?"
"I mean gold alone won't buy this volume."
Zhang Jun slowly guided the case of canned meat back onto the shelf with Gravity Pull. The motion was light—but it made Iron Grip's heart, and the hearts of everyone behind him, lurch in unison.
"Gold only covers individual items off the shelf."
Zhang Jun pointed at the two towering piles filling the store.
"If you want bulk orders from me, you'll need to bring something else."
Iron Grip's expression darkened.
He understood now.
From the start, the man had never intended to let North Bridge Stronghold use normal trading leverage to push the price down. He was showing them what he had—and setting the rules of the game himself.
"What do you want?" Iron Grip asked.
"Gold is the base price."
Zhang Jun looked at him.
"Deadwalker Cores are the entry fee."
Iron Grip's jaw tightened.
"Deadwalker Cores aren't something we trade away freely." His voice dropped. "They're the source of an Awakened's power. The foundation that keeps a stronghold alive."
"Is that so?"
Zhang Jun's reaction was as flat as ever.
"That's your problem. Not mine."
The moment the words left his mouth, the pile of rations beside them began to vanish—right in front of Iron Grip and his team.
No sound. No trace.
In two or three seconds, the small mountain had nearly disappeared, leaving only a handful of scattered cases on the floor.
The process was silent. But the pressure it carried was louder than any gunshot.
Cold sweat soaked through Iron Grip's back. In the shadows behind him, weapons were gripped tighter, and several breaths grew heavier.
This was the clearest warning he could have received.
If the man could pull supplies out of nowhere, he could pull them back just as easily. The leverage in this negotiation had never been anywhere but Zhang Jun's hands.
"Wait."
Iron Grip finally spoke, his voice slightly rougher than before.
Zhang Jun's hand stilled. Only a few cases of rations remained, sitting alone on the floor.
"Made up your mind?" he asked.
Iron Grip was quiet.
Inside his head, the costs and benefits were colliding hard.
Using the stronghold's strategic resources to trade for food—any way you looked at it, that was a dangerous gamble. But if they didn't, relying only on the spoiled scraps they'd scavenged themselves, how much longer could they hold out?
And beyond that, Zhang Jun's existence was already too large a variable to ignore.
If North Bridge Stronghold walked away and other factions didn't, the gap between them would widen fast.
"We need a specific exchange rate."
Iron Grip forced the words out.
He'd given up on bargaining. He just needed clear terms.
Zhang Jun finally raised his eyes, looking past Iron Grip into the darkness behind him.
"Come out. You tired of hiding back there?"
Iron Grip's body went rigid.
A ripple moved through the shadows. Then three fully armed men stepped out, one after another.
They were members of Iron Grip's squad—always positioned in the most concealed spots for backup and surveillance.
And yet their positions had just been called out, point by point.
A wave of cold ran from the soles of all four men's feet straight to the tops of their heads.
"One hundred gold bars, plus ten Deadwalker Cores."
Zhang Jun raised one finger and pointed at the pile of water bottles, barely touched.
"For the water."
"Hardtack and rations are double that."
Iron Grip's fist tightened at his side.
This wasn't just selling high.
This was extortion, done right to their faces.
Ten Deadwalker Cores was enough to let a newly Awakened consolidate their ability—or push a veteran member one small step further. That was North Bridge Stronghold's core resource.
"I can't decide this on my own."
Iron Grip drew a slow breath, keeping his voice steady.
"I have to report back to the commander."
"Fine."
Zhang Jun shrugged, unbothered.
"My door stays open. But my patience has limits."
He glanced at the small gold piece Iron Grip had set on the ground at the start.
A thought, and it was gone.
"Consider that one a consultation fee."
Iron Grip's face twitched.
He said nothing more—just gave Zhang Jun a single heavy nod, then led his three stone-faced squad members back into the dark.
They'd arrived like ghosts.
They left looking like men who'd been wrung out.
The street in front of the Dai Jun General Store went quiet again.
Zhang Jun leaned against the counter, showing no sign of being moved by the fact that he'd just pushed back a representative of a major faction.
He knew they'd be back.
Because what he'd put on the table was something they couldn't refuse.
Under the absolute pressure of survival, things like foundations and limits were thinner than people liked to believe.
After Iron Grip's group melted back into the shadows, the space in front of the Dai Jun General Store settled into silence.
Zhang Jun didn't put the two piles away.
The bottled water and rations stayed right there in front of the store, lit up clearly under the lights—a wordless announcement to every pair of eyes watching from the dark: this store had goods, this store had rules, and the person holding the power wasn't any stronghold out there.
Zhang Jun moved back behind the counter, picked up a cloth, and slowly wiped down the already-clean surface.
His movements were unhurried. Steady. He'd just used a few words and a handful of gestures to push back an elite North Bridge Stronghold fireteam, and now he looked exactly like a shopkeeper getting ready for the morning rush.
That calm was precisely what made the watching eyes out in the dark go cold.
In the shadows, a few figures began to quietly withdraw. They were scouts from other factions, and they'd just watched North Bridge Stronghold go from probing to being sent home to report. This news needed to travel fast.
The balance of power in the ruins was about to shift.
But not everyone chose to leave.
About ten minutes later, three figures stepped out from the dark side of a crumbling building across the street.
The one in front was a middle-aged man in thin-framed glasses. He wore a shirt washed so many times it had gone pale, layered under a thick bulletproof vest. The scholarly look and the survival gear sitting side by side made his whole appearance slightly out of place.
He wasn't carrying a gun. He was holding an old tablet, cradling it like it was the only shield that actually made him feel safe.
Behind him were two armed guards with rifles, eyes tight, fingers never far from the trigger.
"Hello."
The man in glasses stopped just outside the invisible boundary and worked up a measured smile.
"My name is Phan Minh Khoa. The people at the An Phu Refuge Station usually call me Dr. Khoa."
Zhang Jun set down the cloth, folded it, and placed it to one side.
He didn't respond right away. He just looked at the man.
That look made Dr. Khoa shift slightly. He pushed his glasses up his nose and kept his voice in the register of someone used to winning arguments with logic.
"We observed the exchange between you and the North Bridge Stronghold representatives."
"To be direct—the trading terms you've set have a serious stability problem. Deadwalker Cores are the core resource of the Awakened. They're the foundation that keeps strongholds combat-ready. If large quantities of Deadwalker Cores are pulled out of the current survival ecosystem, the order holding survivor groups together will collapse quickly."
He was hitting his stride now, speaking like he was in a boardroom before the Collapse rather than in front of a convenience store in the ruins.
"When strongholds weaken, their ability to gather, protect, and distribute supplies weakens with them. By that point, no matter how much stock you have, the number of people capable of trading with you will keep shrinking."
"Our An Phu Refuge Station still has an engineering team, pre-Collapse data, and a portion of our research equipment intact. If we cooperate, we can build a more stable, more sustainable system—rather than using pricing so heavy it grinds everyone down."
Zhang Jun finally reacted.
He raised a hand toward the pile of bottled water.
Dr. Khoa's voice cut off immediately.
Right in front of him, the top case of water vanished from the pile.
"Now," Zhang Jun said, perfectly calm, "the rest just got more expensive."
The smile on Dr. Khoa's face went stiff.
Every argument he'd prepared—resource balance, long-term cooperation—suddenly had nowhere to land. The man across from him hadn't engaged with his model or his projections at all. Zhang Jun had used one action to make one thing clear.
Pricing wasn't in anyone's analysis.
It was in the hands of whoever held the goods.
"Zhang Jun, I think you should consider—"
Dr. Khoa tried to continue, but his voice had lost its footing.
Zhang Jun didn't even look at him. He raised his hand again, just slightly.
A second case of water disappeared.
Cold sweat broke out on Dr. Khoa's forehead and slid down the edge of his glasses.
Just as the tension stretched to the point where his two guards were starting to grip their rifles tighter, a familiar sound of heels rang out from the corner of the street.
*Click. Click. Click.*
Hong Van stepped out of the dark, her deep red hair like a streak of fire burning through the night. She didn't look at the three people from An Phu Refuge Station. Her eyes went straight to Zhang Jun behind the counter and stayed there.
She stopped at the invisible boundary, reached into the small leather bag at her hip, and pulled out a Deadwalker Core.
The core glowed deep blue, its energy signature clearly stronger than the low-grade ones Three-Notch had brought before.
Hong Van curled a finger and flicked it.
The Deadwalker Core traced a clean arc through the air, crossed the invisible boundary, and landed precisely on the counter in front of Zhang Jun.
*Tink.*
The sound was barely there—but it hit Dr. Khoa's chest like a knock.
Hong Van didn't say a word.
But the gesture said everything.
Zhang Jun looked at the Deadwalker Core, gave it a quick assessment, and stored it in his Space Storage. Then he pulled a self-heating rice pack, a can of beef, and two bottles of water from the shelf. Carried by Gravity Pull, the items drifted quietly across the boundary and came to rest in front of Hong Van.
Hong Van took her things and turned to leave.
In fast, out clean.
A transaction completed right in front of Dr. Khoa and his two guards—so quiet it needed no explanation at all.
But that silence landed like a slap across every argument Dr. Khoa had just laid out. He'd been in the middle of proving these terms were unreasonable, and the most capable person to show up at this store had already accepted them and walked away with her goods.
Dr. Khoa's breathing grew heavier.
Was An Phu Refuge Station short on food?
Yes.
But what they were shortest on was clean water.
The old filtration unit at the station had been running past capacity for a long time. Every day, the water it produced was rationed out under rules so strict they bordered on cruel. The sick, the children, the patrol teams, the engineering section—everyone was fighting over every liter.
And right in front of him was an entire pile of sealed bottled water.
Clean. Sealed. Ready to drink.
For An Phu Refuge Station, that wasn't just merchandise. That was lives.
"One hundred gold bars, plus ten Deadwalker Cores."
Dr. Khoa's voice came out dry.
"We'll take that water."
In the end, he bent.
Or maybe he'd never had a choice to begin with.
A faint smile crossed Zhang Jun's face.
"Done."
Dr. Khoa had barely exhaled when Zhang Jun continued:
"With an addition."
Dr. Khoa's head snapped up, his expression frozen.
Zhang Jun tapped a finger lightly on the counter.
"You just wasted three minutes of my time."
He looked straight at Dr. Khoa, voice still level.
"It's fifteen Deadwalker Cores now."