Claire's envoy arrived at noon the next day.
It wasn't a diplomat. It was a matte-black Humvee with a loudspeaker bolted to the roof and a white flag hanging limply from the antenna.
"Attention, Last Light Valley!" the voice boomed, distorted by static. "By order of the Citadel, you are harboring illegal resources. You are ordered to surrender thirty percent of your agricultural output and all unregistered tech. Compliance ensures safety. Resistance ensures... removal."
Alex looked at me, eyebrow raised. "Thirty percent? She's trying to starve us."
"She always was greedy," I muttered.
I walked to the gate. I didn't open it. I just projected my voice, amplified slightly by the System's acoustic modules.
"This is Founder Shen," I called out. "Your terms are denied. Tell Claire if she wants my tomatoes, she can come get them herself."
The Humvee idled for a moment, the engine growling like a beast.
Then the side panel opened, and three men stepped out. They didn't look like diplomats. They looked like raiders—armored in scrap metal, holding automatic weapons.
"Breaching the gate!" Alex shouted.
They slapped a crude, C4-like explosive onto the lock.
Boom.
The explosion rocked the valley. Wood splintered and smoke billowed. But the gate held. The titanium reinforcement Liang had installed just days ago was scorched, but intact.
"Open fire!" I commanded.
My vine whips shot through the gap, wrapping around the nearest raider's ankle. I yanked hard. He fell, screaming, his leg twisting at an unnatural angle.
Lily threw up a barrier to deflect their return fire. Ryan, tears in his eyes, hurled a fireball that missed the men but hit the truck's tire. It exploded, the rubber melting instantly, flipping the heavy vehicle onto its side.
The surviving raiders scrambled back, dragging their wounded.
"Go!" I shouted to Alex. "Hunt them down to the treeline. Let them run. I want the message clear."
We didn't kill them all. We let two go.
Because fear is a better messenger than death.