Old Joe led the two through the clanging, steaming Main Workshop Area and pushed open a heavy, soundproof door.
Behind the door was a completely different world.
It was cool and quiet, with rows of metal shelves neatly displaying various weapons. Cold white light fell evenly from the ceiling, illuminating the chilly glint of blades, the rugged lines of firearms, and the runes and crystals embedded in the weapons that flowed with a faint Glimmer.
“The rules are simple,” Old Joe said with a wide wave of his hand, his voice echoing in the silent armory. “D-Rank Mission standard issue. One main weapon, one sidearm or throwing set, and the workshop provides the basic armor. If you have special requirements, you can ask. Whether I approve them depends on the budget and my mood.”
He leaned against the doorframe, pulled out a flat flask to take a swig, and squinted at Jiang Ming. “A rookie? I suggest picking what you’re most familiar with. Flashy stuff is useless here; staying alive and completing the mission is what matters.”
Jiang Ming’s gaze swept across the display racks.
There were long swords, battle-axes, spears, and heavy hammers of various designs. Ultimately, his eyes landed on a row of firearm cabinets against the wall, and next to them, an open wooden box containing dozens of throwing knives as thin as willow leaves with dark blue edges.
He walked over and picked up a knife. It was extremely light but perfectly balanced. The blade was engraved with fine flow runes, and the handle had micro-etched textures for grip.
“Can I try it out?” he asked.
Old Joe nodded. “There’s a testing area to the right. Don’t aim at people or valuables.”
Jiang Ming flicked his wrist.
The throwing knife turned into a nearly invisible stream of light, pinning itself into a composite target twenty meters away. It buried itself up to the hilt with only a faint thud.
Jiang Ming’s Soul Source was wind, so he was quite handy with throwing knives. If all else failed, they could also be used as melee weapons.
“Not bad.” Old Joe raised an eyebrow. “The Silent Blade series. Suitable for assassination, breaking spells, and interfering with psionic flow. The downside is it’s vulnerable to high-intensity energy clashes. If you run into someone with a thick shield, you’ll need a different plan.”
Jiang Ming then walked to the firearm cabinet. He passed over the large-caliber models with exaggerated designs and complex attachments, eventually choosing a medium-sized handgun with a matte black finish and clean lines. The grip had anti-slip patterns, a rail was reserved under the barrel, and a small serial number was engraved on the side: H-7 Raven.
“Standard psionic magazine, compatible with most issued ammunition, medium recoil, and good accuracy,” Old Joe said, listing the specs like a pro. “The advantage is reliability; the failure rate is low, and it can manage in extreme environments. The disadvantage is the power ceiling is average. Against a high-level Beyonder, it’s like a tickle.”
“It’s enough.” Jiang Ming ejected the magazine to check it before snapping it back in efficiently. “Twelve throwing knives for the sidearm, and this for the main weapon.”
Jiang Ming didn’t take weapons like swords or sabers. As the saying goes: seven steps away, the gun is fast; within seven steps, the gun is both fast and accurate.
Old Joe looked at Elvira, but she simply shook her head, indicating she already had her preferred weapon. Her massive **Scissors** were currently folded and hanging quietly behind her waist.
“Fine.” Old Joe turned to lead the way. “Next stop, the Armor Room. Although, personally, I think by the time you’re relying on that layer of sheet metal to save your life, it’s probably already over.”
The Armor Room was smaller than the armory, and the air was thick with the smell of leather, polymers, and some kind of inert coolant. The racks were hung mostly with lightweight tactical vests, reinforced joint guards, and several different styles of helmets.
Old Joe took two palm-sized metal cubes about a finger thick from the innermost safe and tossed them to Jiang Ming and Elvira respectively.
The cubes felt cool to the touch with a smooth surface, and a tiny red crystal was embedded in the center.
“Emergency defense device, code-named Iron Curtain,” Old Joe said succinctly. “Single-use item. Infuse it with Soul Source to activate, and it can generate an absolute energy deflection layer on the body’s surface for three seconds. Note: only three seconds. Theoretically, it can withstand one full-strength attack from a White Tower Rank, but I suggest you don’t actually try to test that.”
He paused and grinned, revealing teeth yellowed by tobacco.
“This thing costs enough to buy ten Ravens. So don’t use it unless you’re about to die. If you do use it, remember to write a five thousand-word report explaining the necessity, otherwise those accountants in the Internal Affairs Department will nag you until you retire.”
Jiang Ming turned the metal cube over in his hands and carefully tucked it into the inner pocket of his tactical vest.
Elvira simply snapped it into a dedicated slot on the side of her belt, her movements practiced as if she had done it countless times before.
“Equipment is all set.” Old Joe clapped his hands. “You’ve read the mission files, right? D-Rank usually means ‘routine threat,’ but the word ‘routine’ is basically a joke in our line of work. I wish you—”
Before he could finish, a muffled explosion sounded from the direction of the Main Workshop, and a bit of dust shook down from the ceiling.
Old Joe didn’t even flinch or look back. He simply waved his hand at the two.
“—luck. Remember to come back alive to return the gear.”
***
Back at the temporary residence assigned by the Order Bureau, the door closed behind them.
The living room lights turned on automatically, casting a soft, warm white glow. Outside the window was still the artificial night; the starlight was fake but constant, as if time had lost its meaning there.
Both of them removed their somewhat restrictive uniform jackets almost simultaneously, hanging them on the rack by the door. Elvira was wearing a tight-fitting, dark tactical shirt underneath that outlined her lean, powerful frame. Jiang Ming’s uniform was something he had picked up while getting his gear, so he had just thrown it on. After taking it off, he was still in his civilian clothes, though now a holster and a knife sheath were strapped to his waist.
“Mission first.” Elvira sat on one side of the sofa and pulled the slightly curled file folder from her bag.