"I saved one of your men," Li Qinwu said lightly. "And this is how you treat your benefactor?"
The rebel leader did not respond. Around him, the guards subtly adjusted their stance—homemade firearms rising, muzzles aligning toward Li Qinwu with restrained hostility.
Li Qinwu clicked his tongue inwardly.
Cautious. Good. Not a fool.
"Alright," he continued, unfazed. "Let's stop wasting time. I'm here to do business."
The rebel leader let out a cold snort.
"I have nothing to discuss with the Planetary Governor's dogs. The only language your kind understands… is bullets."
The moment his words fell, a guard stepped forward. The crude barrel of his weapon—wide enough to fit two fingers—pressed directly toward Li Qinwu's forehead. His finger tightened on the trigger.
At that instant—
Li Qinwu laughed.
Not a nervous chuckle. Not forced.
A full, unrestrained laugh.
The death delay ability activated silently within him.
The rebel leader frowned.
"…Why are you laughing?"
Li Qinwu lifted his gaze, mockery undisguised.
"I'm laughing at your ignorance."
His voice sharpened.
"You're trapped in an industrial dead zone—cut off from production, reduced to near-primitive conditions—and yet you're arrogant enough to reject the only chance you have to change your fate."
The rebel leader's expression darkened.
"Our revolution will succeed," he said coldly. "The Planetary Governor and his parasites will be buried by history."
Li Qinwu smirked.
"With what? Stones?" he said dryly. "Planning to break through a hive city's armored shell—dozens of meters of ceramite and ferrocrete—with rocks?"
The insult hit hard.
One of the guards snapped.
His face twisted with rage as he shoved the barrel closer.
"We are not afraid of sacrifice! We will tear down that fortress! We have the will!"
Li Qinwu nodded, almost approvingly.
"Yes. You have numbers."
He leaned slightly forward.
"But the PDF has ammunition."
"You have will," he continued calmly. "They have steel—and the will behind it."
His voice dropped.
"I'd love to see how your 'iron will' survives contact with mass-reactive firepower."
"FUCK YOU!"
The guard lost control, swinging the rifle butt toward Li Qinwu's face.
Li Qinwu moved instantly.
His leg shot forward—clean, brutal.
A direct kick to the groin.
The guard collapsed with a strangled scream, clutching himself as he writhed in agony.
Guns snapped up around Li Qinwu—more than a dozen now aimed squarely at him.
"DON'T MOVE!"
Li Qinwu didn't even blink.
His gaze drifted to the crude weapon inches from his eye.
"…No rifling," he muttered.
He sniffed lightly.
"Black powder. Sulfur residue."
Then he looked up again, unimpressed.
"This is the 41st Millennium. And you're still using technology from Old Terra's pre-Imperial era?"
His lips curled.
"Can this even scratch flak armor?"
Silence.
Even the rebels hesitated.
Because they knew he was right.
Against a properly equipped PDF trooper—flak armor, lasgun or autogun—these weapons were almost meaningless.
The rebel leader studied him more carefully now.
This man… should be dead.
And yet—
No fear. No hesitation.
"Stranger," the leader said slowly, "what exactly do you want?"
Li Qinwu met his gaze.
"I told you already."
"Business."
He tilted his chin toward a familiar figure—the rebel soldier he had released earlier, still holding the PDF automatic rifle.
"See that weapon?"
His tone shifted—deliberate, precise.
"Rifled barrel. Standardized munitions. Industrial-grade metallurgy."
He paused.
"Effective range—hundreds of meters. Lethal well beyond that."
His eyes swept across their crude arsenal.
"That… is a weapon."
"This?" he gestured at theirs. "Scrap."
Then—
"I can supply you with weapons like that."
The effect was immediate.
The tension shifted.
Guards exchanged glances. Fingers eased—just slightly—off triggers.
Because they understood.
A single PDF soldier could suppress dozens of them.
Fire superiority was everything.
And Li Qinwu was offering to change that equation.
All eyes turned to the leader.
Even the groaning guard on the ground went quiet.
The leader hesitated—instinct screaming trap, logic whispering opportunity.
"…What do you want in return?" he asked finally.
Li Qinwu smiled.
"Simple."
"One rifle… for three tons of grain."
Silence.
Then—
The leader's face twitched.
"Three tons?"
His voice rose slightly.
"For something that weighs less than five kilograms?"
Li Qinwu didn't flinch.
"You control the entire planetary surface," he said calmly. "Arable land. Renewable production. Grain is abundant for you."
He leaned forward.
"But this—" he pointed at the rifle—"is not."
"This is the product of the Adeptus Mechanicus."
His tone carried weight now—almost reverence.
"Raw ore extracted. Smelted in industrial forges. Precision-machined. Sanctified. Assembled through ritual and engineering."
"These are not things you can replicate with fields and hoes."
His voice hardened.
"I'm offering you a trade."
"Renewable resource… for irreplaceable industry."
The leader fell silent.
He understood.
But still resisted.
"…Why do you need that much grain?" he asked.
"To feed the hive?"
"To save the very people we're trying to starve?"
Li Qinwu rolled his eyes.
"You still think starvation will win you this war?"
He leaned back slightly.
"Do you even know what corpse starch is?"
Blank stares.
Of course they didn't.
Li Qinwu exhaled.
"The Imperium can synthesize food from industrial byproducts—promethium waste, organic remains, biomass conversion."
His voice was steady.
"It's disgusting. Nutritionally inferior. But it works."
"One processing line can feed billions."
The rebels stared at him—confusion, disbelief.
"That's impossible," someone muttered.
"If that were true, why farm at all?"
The leader frowned.
"Yes. Why would we still grow crops?"
Li Qinwu answered calmly.
"Because real food is valuable."
"Natural grain—what you produce—is high-grade export material across the Imperium."
He smirked faintly.
"You're sitting on wealth you don't even understand."
"Your harvests are shipped off-world. Processed. Sold to nobles and high-ranking citizens."
"And you?"
He gestured around.
"You live like this."
That hit harder than any insult.
Silence deepened.
Then the leader asked quietly—
"…And if we fail?"
"If we stop supplying this 'valuable resource'?"
Li Qinwu smiled.
Cold.
"Then the Imperium reminds you why it rules."
His voice dropped.
"Ships in orbit."
"Fire from the sky."
"No distinction between rebel and loyalist."
"Just… compliance."
A chill spread through the camp.
Because that… sounded real.
Too real.
---
History is a Cycle
In the end—
The deal was made.
Officially, it was simple: weapons, ammunition, and medical supplies in exchange for grain.
Unofficially—
It was curiosity that sealed it.
Li Qinwu had shown them something dangerous.
Perspective.
These rebels, born and raised on agricultural world 496b, had never known anything beyond soil and labor.
They knew of other worlds—but only as distant ideas.
An industrial planet.
A knight world.
Nothing more.
They were farmers.
From childhood, they learned to till, to plant, to harvest.
They grew. They married. They produced the next generation.
And then they died—on the same land.
Cycle after cycle.
Unquestioned.
Unbroken.
Until now.