Chapter 7 The Grand Arrival of the Sucker

Two days later, Blackstone Town had never been so loud.

The main dirt road had been entirely cleared of peasants. Armed imperial soldiers lined the streets, holding back the murmuring crowds. At the town gates, a trumpet sounded, its high-pitched note echoing off the stone walls.

TA-DAAAA!

A massive, ostentatious carriage made of solid cedarwood and plated in pure, glittering gold rolled through the gates. It was pulled by four pure-white Spirit Steeds, their hooves shod in silver. Sitting on top of the carriage roof were two literal court musicians, desperately blowing into long brass horns while trying not to fall off as the vehicle hit the bumpy, muddy potholes of the border town.

Inside the carriage sat Lord Vance, the Imperial Inspector. He was a man with a sharply groomed mustache, dressed in layers of heavy lavender silk, draped in white fox fur, and wearing five sapphire rings on each hand. He looked like a walking jewelry store.

Sitting across from him was Mayor Silas, whose face was still heavily wrapped in white medical bandages, making him look like an angry mummy.

"Look at this place," Vance sneered, holding a silk handkerchief soaked in rosewater to his nose to block out the smell of wet mud. "Silas, you told me a remnant of the Vanguard army caused a riot here? This town smells like wet dog and cheap cabbage. How could a Vanguard possibly pose a threat?"

"My Lord, I swear to you!" Silas muffled through his bandages, his voice sounding like a congested pipe. "The boy used a forbidden pill! He shattered my Silver-Bone defense with one strike! But my scouts confirmed it—the side effects have utterly destroyed him. He is currently on his deathbed!"

"Hmph. Good," Vance smiled arrogantly, twirling a sapphire ring. "The Emperor gave me a strict decree: ensure the Vanguard bloodline is completely wiped out. I brought an entire chest of five thousand Mid-Grade Spirit Stones from the Imperial Treasury just to fund this military expedition. It seems I won't even need to draw my sword."

The golden carriage splashed through a massive puddle, finally grinding to a halt right in front of the doorless, broken Vanguard shack.

Vance stepped out of the carriage, his leather boots instantly sinking two inches into the mud. He grimaced in disgust, adjusting his fox fur as twenty elite guards surrounded the shack, their spears raised.

"Logan Vanguard! Julian Vanguard!" Vance’s Peak Qi Foundation voice boomed, sending a shockwave through the dirt street. "The Imperial Court has arrived to pass judgment! Crawl out and accept your execution!"

The surrounding townspeople held their breath.

Slowly, from behind the thin, frayed entrance curtain of the shack, a squeaking sound emerged.

Squeak... squeak... squeak...

The imperial guards tilted their heads. Lord Vance blinked.

Emerging from the shack was Julian Vanguard, who was wearing a tattered robe and pushing a makeshift, heavily splintered wooden wheelchair. The wheels weren't even round; they were crudely chopped octagons, which explained the horrific squeaking sound.

Sitting in the wheelchair was Logan.

To ensure the "Act of the Dying Quail" was completely airtight, Logan had let Mei help him prepare one last time. This time, there was no flour. Instead, Logan was wrapped in three thick, heavy winter blankets despite the sweltering noon heat. He was wearing a ridiculously oversized white head-bandage that covered one eye, and he was holding a massive, dented iron bucket tightly in his lap.

"Cough... HECK!... Cough..."

Logan let out a series of theatrical, soul-crushing coughs that vibrated his entire body. He leaned forward and spat a mouthful of red cranberry juice (disguised as vital heart-blood) straight into the iron bucket.

CLANG!

The sound of the "blood" hitting the bottom of the empty bucket echoed with perfect comedic timing across the silent street.

Logan looked up at Lord Vance with his one uncovered eye, his face painted a pale, ghostly white with rice powder. He let out a weak, pathetic wheeze that sounded like a deflating balloon.

"Lord... Lord Vance..." Logan whimpered, his hand trembling violently as he pointed a shaky finger at the Inspector's gold-plated carriage. "You... you have arrived... Please... before you execute me... could you turn down the volume of those trumpets? My shattered dantian... cannot handle the bass..."

Behind the firewood pile nearby, Mei had to violently bite her own arm to keep from laughing out loud. Julian’s face was completely stoic, but his stomach muscles were cramping from the sheer agony of holding back his amusement.

Lord Vance stared at the boy in the squeaking wheelchair, then looked at the iron bucket, and finally let out a loud, booming laugh that echoed across the plaza.

"Hahaha! Silas! Is this the monster that terrified you?!" Vance roared, pointing a mocking finger at Logan. "He’s wearing a blanket fortress! He's spitting blood into a bucket! He's defeated by a brass trumpet!"

"Lord Vance..." Logan wheezed, his voice trembling so hard it sounded like a wet leaf in a hurricane. He reached out a shaky, powder-white hand from beneath his mountain of blankets, holding a crumpled, dirt-smudged piece of parchment. "Before... before you take our heads... please... look at our debt. The Imperial Court... always preaches justice..."

Vance scoffed, his face twisting with profound amusement as he stepped closer to the octagonal-wheeled wheelchair. "Debt? You think the Empire cares about a peasant's medical bills?"

"It's... it's not medical bills, My Lord," Julian chimed in with perfect timing, his voice cracking with theatrical sorrow as he leaned heavily on the back of the wheelchair. "When my son took that forbidden pill to defend our home... he accidentally ran straight through the local pharmacy. The owner is demanding reparations. Three thousand gold coins... or they will sue our ancestors."

Vance burst out laughing so hard his white fox fur rattled. "Sue your ancestors?! They're already buried in the dirt! What are they going to do, dig them up?"

"But My Lord," Logan whimpered, letting out another massive, chest-rattling fake cough that sprayed a tiny drop of cranberry juice near Vance’s expensive leather boots. Vance instantly took a sharp step back, his aristocratic disgust flaring. "If the Vanguard family dies with an outstanding debt to a local business... it will tarnish the Emperor's glorious reputation for overseeing a prosperous border town! If you pay it for us... from your glorious Imperial Treasury... we will sign a confession stating we are rebel trash..."

Vance’s eyes narrowed, his arrogant mind instantly calculating the political profit. A signed confession of rebellion from the last Vanguard bloodline—without a single drop of imperial soldier blood spilled—would guarantee him a massive promotion back in the Capital. And three thousand gold coins? To an Imperial Inspector carrying high-grade resources, that was nothing but a drop in the ocean.

"You want me to clear your peasant debt before I chop your head off?" Vance sneered, turning back toward his glittering gold carriage. "Fine. Let it never be said that the Imperial Court is uncharitable to the dying. Soldiers! Bring out the auxiliary supply chest!"

Two heavy-set armored guards ran to the back of the golden carriage. They hauled out a reinforced iron lockbox, dropping it into the mud with a heavy, metallic thud.

When the lid was lifted, the sheer radiance of five thousand Mid-Grade Spirit Stones and stacks of high-grade gold bars illuminated the dreary mud street. The spiritual energy radiating from the chest was so dense it practically formed a visible mist.

"Take a good look, little rat," Vance gloated, stepping up to the open chest and casually scooping up a handful of glowing, diamond-like spirit stones. "This is the wealth of the Capital. I will pay your ridiculous three thousand gold debt. Silas! Take the ledger and—"

Vance stopped talking because he noticed Logan was no longer wheezing.

In fact, the trembling in Logan’s hand had completely ceased. His one uncovered eye was locked onto the open chest of spirit stones, wide open and gleaming with an intense, terrifyingly sharp golden light.

Five thousand mid-grade stones, Logan calculated internally, his mind instantly cataloging the immense spiritual value. That's enough to push my Qi Foundation realm straight to the Middle tier by tomorrow morning. What a magnificent sucker.

"What are you staring at, trash?" Vance barked, suddenly feeling a strange, icy prickle of danger on the back of his neck.

Logan slowly reached up, grabbed the massive, ridiculous white head-bandage covering his left eye, and ripped it off in a single, fluid motion. He stood up from the wooden wheelchair, the three heavy winter blankets sliding off his broad, perfectly straight shoulders and pooling in the mud.

The sickly, pale rice powder on his face couldn't hide the absolute majesty of his posture. He didn't look like a dying teenager anymore; he looked like a sovereign inspecting his taxes.

"I was just doing some accounting, Lord Vance," Logan said, his voice dropping its whiny pitch and echoing across the plaza with the deep, booming authority of a general. He stepped out of the wheelchair, his boots planting firmly in the dirt. "And I’ve decided to adjust the price. The entry fee for bringing a golden carriage onto Vanguard property is exactly one entire chest of spirit stones. Hand it over, and I might let you keep your boots."

Vance’s jaw dropped so fast he almost swallowed his own mustache. Beside him, Mayor Silas—still wrapped like a punch bag instantly let out a muffled shriek of terror and tried to scramble back into the carriage.