Chapter 233 Capital Entry and Lifetime Trading

The battle to defend the No. 17 gap in the Jianghuai defense line ended in an extremely tragic yet extremely shocking manner.

A mere one hundred mortal recruits, who had just received their first-generation pseudo-spiritual roots and were not even proficient in array operations, managed to kill nearly four thousand first-tier demonic beasts in just one hour, despite suffering more than half of their casualties!

When this battle report was placed on the table of the Alliance's highest council, the entire conference room was filled with a long and profound shock.

"Wang Mingyuan is a madman, but he's also a genius."

The Alliance's top decision-maker stared at the battle damage figures on the large screen, a cold, satisfied glint in his eyes. "The combat value of the God-Making Legion is beyond question. What has been the feedback from various regions since the military's conscription order was issued the day before yesterday?"

A military commander in charge of conscription stood up and wiped the sweat from his brow.

"Sir, the situation... is completely out of control."

The commander pulled up a red data report: "In just 48 hours since the conscription order was issued, the number of applicants in all the alliance's satellite cities and lower districts has exceeded 300 million! And this number is still increasing by tens of millions every hour!"

"Those mortals have gone mad! For that sliver of chance to become an immortal, for the rations of a second-class citizen, they even fought each other at the conscription office. Those who failed the physical exam, the elderly, and the disabled all refused to leave the gate of the military camp."

The commander took a deep breath, his tone becoming extremely troubled: "Sir, it's good that mortals aren't afraid to die. But... the alliance's military budget is about to run out. We originally only planned to recruit three million advance troops. If we were to arm all these hundreds of millions of applicants, even if the cost of a single exoskeleton was only 1,200 spirit crystals, the total would still be an astronomical figure!"

"Most of our resources must be reserved for the Star Fleet, and we simply cannot afford the costs of mobilizing the entire population to fight."

Silence fell over the meeting room.

The authorities ignited the madness in the bones of these four billion ordinary people, only to find that they simply couldn't afford so many "shells" to house that madness.

"Since the military can't accommodate so many people..."

One of the councilors from a powerful cultivation sect, who had been resting with his eyes closed, suddenly opened them. A cunning smile, like a hungry wolf smelling blood, curled at the corner of his mouth.

"Then why not let this market truly 'come alive'?"

The powerful councilor stood up, surveyed the assembled dignitaries, and presented a brutal proposal that could alter the course of human history:

"Sir, the military only selects a few million of the most elite ordinary people to join the regular army. As for the remaining hundreds of millions, or even billions, of ordinary people who are not selected, they also crave power and are equally willing to risk their lives."

"Since the alliance can't afford it, then delegate the production rights for the [Civilian-grade Pseudo-spiritual Root] and [Exploration-type Exoskeleton] to us!"

The senator's eyes gleamed with the greed unique to capital. "We can fund the production line! We'll go to the wilderness ourselves to acquire the essence of demonic beasts! Then, we'll establish civilian 'Hunter Guilds' and 'Mercenary Companies,' and 'lend' this equipment to those mortals who lost the election!"

"Note that it's a loan. Mortals don't need to put up a single penny of down payment. As long as they sign the contract, we'll perform the implantation surgery and then send them to the wilderness to hunt monsters. All the spoils they obtain in the wilderness—monster cores, pelts…our group will take 50%!"

"If they die in battle, their equipment can be recycled, the bloodstains washed off, and it can be reused by the next person."

"If they come back alive and have broken through to a higher realm, that would be even better! It would mean we've invested in a high-level fighter who can go to the deeper wilderness and bring back even higher-level resources!"

"Absurd! This is simply profiting from human suffering!"

An old general's eyes widened, his face contorted with rage. "Fifty percent?! The remaining fifty percent isn't even enough to cover the damage they suffer from the backlash of their pseudo-spiritual roots during battle! You're trying to squeeze those people dry!"

"General, you're mistaken about that."

The powerful councilors, far from feeling ashamed, retorted with righteous indignation, "The military doesn't want them. Without our capital investment, they'd just be waiting to die in the mud of the lower city! We gave them a ladder to transcend class boundaries, and we're taking 50% as a return on our venture capital investment. Is that too much to ask?"

"Furthermore, we help the Alliance clear out the wilderness monsters for free, and we even pay the Alliance a hefty tax. It's a perfect win-win-win situation!"

In the cold conference room, this theory, filled with the stench of capitalism and the cruelty of cultivation, was met with almost no further rebuttal from anyone.

The top decision-maker gave the powerful member of parliament a deep look and tapped his fingers lightly on the table a few times.

"Granted."

"Effective immediately, commercial licensing for civilian-grade pseudo-spiritual roots is open. Private capital is permitted to form hunter teams."

With this statement from the top decision-maker.

A frenzied wave sweeping the globe, pushing the lifespans and flesh of four billion mortals into a feast of capital and cultivation, has officially begun.

……

Two weeks later. Shanghai Fortress City, the most bustling intersection in the Lower District.

Those ordinary people who were rejected by the military recruitment office due to poor physical condition or old age did not despair. Because in every corner of the streets, countless "civilian hunter recruitment points" set up by major financial groups sprang up like mushrooms after rain.

The holographic screen, which originally displayed cheap nutrient solution GG, is now occupied by extremely fervent slogans.

[Wang's Heavy Industry Demon Hunting Team is now recruiting! The military doesn't want you, but we do! Zero down payment for civilian-grade pseudo-spiritual root implantation!]

Still worried about next month's rent? Join the 'Thunder Mercenary Company'! Three years of risking your life for a lifetime of wealth and luxury!

[The latest portable "Blood-Burning Injection" is now available! Just one injection can drastically increase the power of your pseudo-spiritual root within ten minutes! The perfect choice for a last-minute, desperate surge! (Note: Use may shorten your lifespan by three years; please purchase with caution.)]

The entire lower city was insane.

"Old Li, you're here to sign a contract too? Didn't you get rejected by the military? These civilian companies take a 50% cut!" A young man looked at a middle-aged man with gray hair at the front of the line.

"Even a 50% chance is better than starving to death!" Old Li gave a bitter laugh, a resolute glint in his eyes. "My son is getting married soon, and the bride's family is asking for a dowry of a thousand spirit crystals. I've lived half my life; the rest of my life isn't worth much. As long as I can go out into the wilderness and, if I'm lucky, kill a few monsters, the dowry will be enough. If I accidentally die... the compensation will be enough for my son's expenses for the rest of his life."

This is the most authentic underlying logic.

When the pressure to survive outweighs the fear of death, lifespan becomes a cheap currency that can be readily traded on a shelf.

In this extremely distorted yet incredibly prosperous "cyber cultivation" ecosystem, the underground black markets of major cities, controlled by capital, and their "underground clinics" and "illegal human modification camps," resound day and night with the agonizing screams of mortals being implanted with pseudo-spiritual roots.

In a dark and damp alley.

A thin, young man emerged from an underground clinic, a very low-quality miniature pseudo-spiritual root recently implanted in his spine. His face was deathly pale from the excruciating pain and loss of lifespan, but his eyes shone with an astonishing brightness.

He signed the harshest contract, receiving only a secondhand psionic dagger with a chipped blade and a worn-out mechanical arm. He roughly wrapped the mechanical arm around several bloodied monster tendons and attached it to his spine.

He gritted his teeth and walked step by step toward the isolation gate leading out of the city into the wilderness.

He didn't go there to cultivate immortality.

He went to save lives.

Above the city, in the floating inner city supported by the array.

Those high-ranking immortal cultivation clans and powerful figures were sitting in their heavenly palaces high in the clouds, sipping top-grade spiritual tea, watching the densely packed army of mortals below, swarming towards the wilderness like locusts.

"Did you see that?"

A powerful clan leader swirled the spirit wine in his hand, watching the ever-increasing curve of monster resource revenue on the big screen, a cruel smile curling at the corner of his mouth.

"In the past, we had to pay high prices to hire rogue cultivators to kill demonic beasts. Now, these mortals are willingly giving their lives to us, bringing back a continuous stream of spirit ore and demon cores for us."

"The class system hasn't been broken down." Another high-ranking cultivator coldly looked down. "They've simply changed from worker ants responsible for producing physical shells into a group of scavengers responsible for gathering flesh and blood resources for us in the wilderness."

"Cheers. To this prosperous cyber cultivation era."

The wine glasses clinked together, making a crisp sound.

In the reflection of this prosperous era lie the stark white bones of countless mortals, their lives and blood drained, piled up deep in the wilderness.