Chapter 136
Forty years ago, the apocalyptic radiation mutated flora and fauna, rewriting the world’s rules.
These mutants—”Aberrants”—each possessed a core. The stronger the Aberrant, the rarer its core.
Aberrant cores had countless uses.
For example, the Eastern Base’s power grid relied on ten A-rank electric-type cores for energy cycling.
Humans weren’t exempt. Many developed abilities from the radiation.
Some gained enhanced physiques, surpassing normal limits. Others awakened sensory powers, perceiving every movement for miles. A few manipulated natural elements—wind, fire, water, lightning—for offense or defense…
Every Aberrant had a core, and so did ability users.
For mercenaries, the core was everything—it dictated their strength.
Higher-rank, energy-rich cores meant greater mastery. Like Aberrant cores, human cores could be extracted… even inherited.
Mu Dongsheng had died, but Li Zhou brought his S-rank core back, ensuring the Eastern Base retained its protection.
“Ability cores are like batteries,” Murong Miao murmured, recalling textbooks. “Using them without recharging drains them dry…”
That’s why all mercenaries needed regular rest.
Even the most resilient could only endure ten straight mission days before mandatory downtime to recharge.
Of course, shortcuts existed—just prohibitively expensive.
Like the base’s “Type-IV Core Nutrient Solution.” Five vials could fully restore a core… but at 100 credits per vial, few could afford it.
The 11th Squad had been on back-to-back missions for weeks. Many cores were on the verge of collapse.
Yet now, one bowl of porridge had repaired them all.
Even Wang Li’s near-dead core had fully rebounded!
While the younger mercenaries gaped at their cores, Yi Chunqing rushed to the stall owner, gripping his hands:
“Boss—boss—what’s your name?”
“And—your stall’s hours? I want to bring friends! Will you still be open?”
The handsome young man smiled warmly. “My surname is Jian—just call me Boss Jian! Of course! I’ll be open until at least midnight. I won’t pack up anytime soon—there’s plenty of porridge, so bring as many people as you’d like!”
Before setting up his stall, Jian Yunlan had already considered the poor location and lack of foot traffic. To sell 500 bowls in three days, word-of-mouth referrals from repeat customers would be key.
So far, he’d sold fewer than ten bowls—far from his goal—and he wasn’t ready to call it a night anyway.
Having this elder promise to bring friends was perfect.
Yi Chunqing, thrilled by the owner’s assurance, beamed:
“Great, great! We’ll be back soon!”
With a tap of his cane, he hurried off with the 11th Squad in tow.
*
Yi Chunqing led the squad through the residential district, winding their way to a desolate corner.
Dozens of tattered tents clustered around a central bonfire, where a group huddled for warmth.
Among them were elderly men and women, gaunt children, and young mercenaries missing limbs—all wrapped in filthy blankets, their faces ghostly pale. Without their labored breathing and occasional coughs, the scene might’ve been mistaken for the underworld.
A few brightened at the squad’s arrival, but most remained numb.
A middle-aged woman stepped forward.
Dressed in rough homespun, she greeted them wearily:
“Grandpa Qing, you’re back. Everything go well…? Wait, what’s—?”
As a retired mercenary, she immediately noticed the change in the squad.
That morning, they’d left exhausted—especially Wang Li, whose depleted core had left him gray-faced and near collapse.
But now? They looked reborn.
Radiant, energetic, their cores thrumming with vitality.
“Auntie Liang,” Murong Miao rushed over, clasping the woman’s hands. “Guess what we found today?”
Liang Mingchun studied her, then the others. “What?”
Curious residents gathered around as Murong Miao burst out:
“A porridge stall!!”
The squad chimed in:
“In the deepest part of the Black Market! We didn’t expect much, but the porridge was fresh and delicious!”
“And it repairs cores! Wang Li’s was fully restored!”
“Only three credits a bowl! We came back to take you all there!”
They waited for cheers.
Instead—silence.
“Auntie Liang? What’s wrong?” Murong Miao asked nervously.
Liang Mingchun sighed. “Miao Miao, we appreciate the thought. We know you mean well, wanting us to have a warm meal before we go, but…”
She exchanged glances with the others, their eyes dull with resignation.
—These were the Eastern Base’s discards: retired mercenaries, the elderly, the disabled.
Under Mu Dongsheng, they’d scraped by doing menial work.
Now, with Li Zhou in power, “useless mouths” like them were being expelled to conserve resources.
Today, they’d received orders: leave on missions tomorrow or face exile.
Most could barely survive inside the base. Their cores were drained; “missions” meant certain death.
Li Zhou’s decree was just a pretext to exile them—but they had no choice.
…And now the 11th Squad claimed to have found a magical porridge stall? With cheap, fresh porridge that repaired cores?
Liang Mingchun and the others shared skeptical looks.
Such “good fortune” was too fantastical.
Everyone knew decent porridge in the Black Market cost at least ten credits—several days’ food budget for them. Three-credit porridge had to be spoiled, fly-infested slop.
And even if it were cheap, how could it repair cores?
Core-repairing nutrients cost hundreds per vial. A three-credit bowl having that effect? If it were real, it’d have been mobbed long ago.
Why would they get so lucky?
The most likely explanation was that the 11th Squad had fabricated this kind lie, planning to treat them to porridge out of their own pockets.
“We’re already halfway in the grave—no need to waste resources on us,” Liang Mingchun said with a self-deprecating smile, handing over a card.
“We appreciate the gesture. After all these years under Captain Mu’s care, we’ve nothing to repay you with.”
“This card holds our collective savings. Use it to buy nutrient solutions. Avenging Captain Mu… that’s up to you now.”
The others nodded.
Many silently polished their weapons, ready to march to their deaths at dawn.
Realizing they weren’t believed, Murong Miao and the others grew frantic: “No, it’s true—”
Liang Mingchun shook her head. The group began dispersing back to the bonfire.
Then—
“—They’re telling the truth.”
Yi Chunqing’s voice cut through the murmurs.
“Boss Jian’s porridge stall in the Black Market. Three credits a bowl. Repairs ability cores… All true.”
Liang Mingchun and the others froze.
They might doubt the youngsters, but this was Yi Chunqing—second only to Mu Dongsheng in authority!
If he vouched for it… could the porridge really exist?!
So Mu Dongsheng’s 11th mercenary squad’s Yi Chunqing going be delivering the directions to Boss Jian’s porrdige stall or actually helping them move to Boss Jian’s stall?