The first rule of turning around a failing company is simple: Stop the bleeding.
Ren stood atop the highest mound of scrap in Sector 4, looking down at his workforce. The 300 slaves—now his "employees"—were huddled in the mud, waiting for orders. They looked exhausted, malnourished, and terrified.
Beside him, Ironhead shifted uncomfortably. "Boss... Ren. The men are waiting for the whips. If you don't whip them, they don't think work has started."
Ren adjusted his sleeves. "Whips are inefficient, Ironhead. They damage the asset and reduce stamina. We aren't using whips anymore. We are using Incentives."
Ren activated his NPV Eye. He didn't look at the people; he looked at the mountain.
For years, the slaves had scavenged randomly, digging holes wherever they felt lucky. It was chaos.
Ren saw the truth. The trash mountain wasn't random. It was geological strata of waste.
Layer 1: Residential waste (Low Value).
Layer 2: Forge slag (Medium Value).
Layer 3: Alchemy byproducts (High Value / Toxic).
"Liu," Ren called out.
The archer stepped forward. He was now wearing a clean tunic Ren had looted from Ma's quarters.
"Take ten men with sharp eyes. You are no longer diggers. You are Quality Control. You scan the surface. If you see a glimmer of Spirit Iron, you mark it with a red flag. You don't dig. You just mark."
Liu nodded, though he looked confused. "Just... mark it?"
"Ironhead," Ren continued. "Take the fifty strongest men. You are Excavators. You only dig where there is a red flag. You don't sort. You just dig and pile."
"And the rest?" Ironhead asked.
"The rest are Processors," Ren pointed to the rusted river of sludge at the base of the mountain. "They will build a sluice gate. We are going to wash the slag. We stop looking for whole items. We start filtering for dust."
Ren turned to the crowd. His voice carried over the wind.
"Listen closely! The quota for today is 500 pounds of copper. If you hit 500, everyone gets a full ration. If you hit 600, I distribute 1 Spirit Stone to the team that worked the hardest."
The crowd went dead silent. A Spirit Stone? For a slave? That was a year's wages.
"Go!" Ren commanded.
Four Hours Later.
The chaos had vanished. In its place was a crude, but functioning, assembly line.
Liu's team sprinted across the mounds, planting flags. Ironhead's team smashed the earth open like a battering ram. The processors washed the dirt in the river, using simple mesh screens Ren had designed from scrap wire.
Ren sat in his chair, watching the numbers.
[Production Rate Analysis]
Previous Rate: 12 lbs/hour.
Current Rate: 45 lbs/hour.
Efficiency Increase: 375%.
Ren smiled. It was working. By specializing labor, he had removed the bottleneck of decision fatigue. The diggers didn't have to think; they just dug.
But Ren wasn't just watching. He was cultivating.
He held a piece of Spirit Iron Ore—a raw, jagged rock the size of a fist—in his hand.
"Smelt," he whispered.
[The Sovereign's Minting Art] roared to life. The furnace in his dantian spun, grinding the ore down.
Unlike normal cultivators who had to carefully extract the Qi and discard the impurities, Ren's technique consumed the concept of the ore's value.
Ore Value: 5 Karma.
Conversion Cost: 2 Karma.
Net Profit: 3 Karma worth of Cultivation Base.
The rock turned to gray dust in his hand. A golden warmth flowed into his veins, thickening his blood, reinforcing his bones.
[Progress: Qi Condensation Level 1 (85%).]
"Slow," Ren muttered. "At this rate, it will take me a week to hit Level 2. I need higher denomination currency."
"Boss!"
Liu came running up the hill, sliding on the loose gravel. He looked breathless.
"We found something. The Excavators... they hit a pocket near the boundary of Sector 5."
Ren stood up. "Spirit Stones?"
"Better," Liu whispered. "Or worse. It's a Corpse Pit."
Ren followed Liu to the edge of the sector.
The Excavators had dug deep into a ravine that separated Ren's territory from Sector 5. The smell hit them first—sweet, rotting meat and old alchemy chemicals.
Ironhead was standing by a hole, holding a handkerchief to his face.
"Look," Ironhead pointed.
Ren peered into the pit. It wasn't just trash. It was a disposal site for failed experiments. Twisted bones, glowing green slime, and broken cauldrons.
But Ren's eye didn't see horror. It saw opportunity.
[Object: Bone of a Failed Chimera]
Value: 20 Karma.
Contains: Trace amounts of Foundation Establishment Blood Essence.
[Object: Shattered Pill Furnace]
Value: 50 Karma.
Contains: Residue of Earth-Rank Medicinal Pills.
Ren's heart raced. This wasn't a trash pit. It was a gold mine. The alchemists above threw away their failures, not realizing that even a failed Earth Rank pill was worth more than a mountain of mortal copper.
"Why hasn't Sector 5 claimed this?" Ren asked. "It's right on their border."
"Because of them," Ironhead whispered, pointing to the other side of the ravine.
Ren looked up.
Standing on the ridge of Sector 5 were five men. They weren't starving slaves. They wore leather armor dyed crimson. They held spiked clubs and chains.
[Target: Sector 5 Enforcer]
Cultivation: Qi Condensation Level 2.
Affiliation: The Red Jackal Gang.
Hostility: Maximum.
The leader of the group, a man with a shaved head and a tattoo of a centipede on his face, stepped forward. He spat into the ravine.
"Oi! Mud-rats!" The centipede man yelled. "You're digging too close to the line. That pit belongs to the Jackals."
Ironhead bristled. "The line is the river! We are on our side!"
" The line is wherever I say it is," The Centipede laughed. He picked up a rock and hurled it. It struck one of Ren's excavators in the head. The slave collapsed, bleeding.
"Leave the pit," The Centipede ordered. "And leave your tools. Or we come down there and add your bones to the pile."
Ren stared at the man. He felt the anger of his subordinates. If he backed down now, morale would collapse. The efficiency gains would vanish.
But fighting a gang from a higher sector? Sector 5 was richer, stronger, and better fed.
Ren stepped forward to the edge of the pit. He looked up at the Centipede.
[Target Analysis: Centipede (Leader)]
Cultivation: Qi Condensation Level 3.
Asset Value: 450 Karma (Equipment + Bounties).
Psych Profile: Arrogant. Overextended.
Ren didn't shout. He didn't threaten.
He reached into his robe and pulled out the Black Ledger.
"Sector 5," Ren called out, his voice calm. "According to the Spire Zonal Regulations, Section 43, Subsection B... any unclaimed waste found below the 400-meter line belongs to the finder."
The Centipede blinked. Then he burst out laughing. The other thugs joined in.
"Did you hear that? The rat is quoting laws! He thinks paper protects him!"
The Centipede drew a jagged serrated sword. "I don't care about laws, boy. I care about strength. I'm coming down there to cut your tongue out."
He began to slide down the slope, his men following.
Ren sighed. "Negotiation failed. Initiating hostile defense."
He turned to Liu. "Remember the trajectory calculation?"
Liu nodded, nocking an arrow (a sharpened metal rod) into his crude bow.
"Ironhead," Ren said. "Do not engage the leader. Hold the line against the four minions. I will handle the CEO."
Ren closed his eyes for a split second. He focused on the Internal Mint.
He had 85% progress to Level 2. He needed a push.
He grabbed a shard of the Shattered Pill Furnace from the pit. It was glowing with toxic heat.
"Consume," Ren hissed.
The furnace shard dissolved in his hand. The residual medicinal energy—volatile and dangerous—rushed into his system.
[Warning: Toxicity High.] [Refining...] [Cultivation Breakthrough Imminent.]
Ren felt his veins burn. His skin turned a faint, metallic gold. The spinning coin in his dantian shuddered, then split.
Clink. Clink.
[Rank Up: Qi Condensation Level 2.]
Ren opened his eyes. The gold light in his iris was blinding.
The Centipede was ten feet away, raising his sword. "Die, trash!"
Ren didn't use the Lightning Wood. He didn't need to waste the charge.
He stepped forward, channeling all his new, heavy Golden Qi into his right fist. He visualized not a punch, but a wrecking ball.
"Your valuation," Ren said, punching the flat side of the incoming sword, "is zero."
CLANG!
The sound was like a temple bell being struck.
The Centipede's cheap iron sword didn't just break; it shattered into shrapnel. Ren's fist continued forward, driven by the weight of money, and connected with the Centipede's chest.
CRACK.
The Centipede flew backward. He didn't slide; he was launched. He slammed into the wall of the ravine, leaving a crater in the mud.
The four other thugs froze. They looked at their leader, who was coughing up blood and pieces of his own ribs.
They looked at Ren, whose hand was steaming, shimmering with gold dust.
"Take him and go," Ren said, dusting off his hands. "Tell your boss that Sector 4 is under new management. And if he wants this pit..."
Ren kicked a piece of the valuable chimera bone toward them.
"...He can buy a ticket."