Chapter 383 The Nation's Sharpest Blade

Li Jiajun clearly possessed a certain degree of foresight.

He had a clear understanding of how quickly his domestic counterparts would jump on the bandwagon.

In fact, at this very moment, in a southern city famous for small commodity manufacturing and toy OEM, the gears of commerce were already spinning frantically.

Inside a sizable toy factory on the outskirts of the city, the sound of machines running was incessant.

The toy factory owner from the industry chat group earlier had already, at this moment, impatiently taken concrete action.

Through various channels, he had paid a premium to acquire, from a scalper who moved extremely quickly, a piece of stock that had just been shipped from Baishui City.

After receiving the courier package, the balding boss didn't even go to his office. He found an empty table right there on the factory floor.

Then, he immediately summoned his technical engineers responsible for product molding and reverse engineering.

Several people gathered around a workbench stained with oil.

The boss swallowed hard and carefully tore open the courier packaging.

He took out the drab, gray Firefighting Parent-Child Pistol produced by Li Jiajun.

As the pistol was exposed to the air, it looked completely devoid of any metallic luster.

The boss slammed the plastic gun onto the table. It made a dull thud.

"Watch closely, everyone!"

The boss pointed at the gun and issued an irrefutable order to his technical team.

"This is the hit product that's currently trending like crazy online!"

"You lot, use the factory equipment immediately and reverse-engineer it for me."

"Figure out its mold data and internal spring structure!"

A greedy glint flashed in the boss's eyes. He braced his hands on the edge of the table, his tone urgent.

"By tomorrow morning at the latest, I want to see our own blueprints for a similar product."

"We must capitalize on this current hype, get our own version out, and make a killing!"

Listening to the boss's grand plan, the few engineers in blue uniforms exchanged glances.

The lead engineer pushed up the glasses on the bridge of his nose, looking confident.

'It's just a plastic toy gun.'

'Our factory can even replicate remote-controlled Transformers with sound and light effects; taking this thing apart should be a piece of cake,' he thought.

In their established view, this kind of gray plastic shell was surely just two injection-molded pieces screwed together. At most, it would have some cheap industrial glue.

The old engineer picked up a Phillips screwdriver and a flat steel blade for prying open shells from the table. He picked up the Firefighting Parent-Child Pistol with great confidence.

The engineers surrounded the plastic gun, turning it over and over, looking for a seam to pry it open.

A reverse-engineering process that was destined to make them completely question their lives began quietly on that greasy table.

However, five minutes passed.

The screwdriver in the old engineer's hand couldn't find a single entry point.

He examined the gun from the muzzle to the base of the grip. He even shone a light over it carefully, using the bright overhead lights of the workshop.

His brow began to furrow.

There were no seams!

The entire gun body looked like a single, naturally formed piece of gray stone. The places where seams should have been were impossibly smooth.

"What the hell... there isn't even a screw hole?"

The old engineer muttered, fine beads of sweat beginning to break out on his forehead.

A young technician nearby leaned in, holding a utility knife.

"Master, it's probably sealed with ultrasonic welding. Let's just use the knife to pry it open along the mold line."

As the young technician spoke, he jammed the tip of the utility knife into a slightly raised line under the barrel.

The result was a sharp "snap."

The sharp blade of the utility knife shattered instantly.

A small shard of the broken blade flew past the young technician's cheek, causing him to gasp in shock.

Meanwhile, the surface of the plastic pistol didn't even have a faint white mark on it.

Now, the few engineers were all standing there, dumbfounded.

Holding the lightweight pistol, they felt like they had encountered a hedgehog they couldn't bite into.

This was absolutely not the civilian-grade plastic they were familiar with!

This was some kind of high-polymer synthetic fiber material!

Moreover, this so-called shell was highly likely made using integrated molding technology, not even leaving a leverage point for assembly.

'What kind of monster factory made this thing?'

'Did they use aerospace-grade craftsmanship on the shell just to prevent counterfeiting?'

The old engineer was speechless to the extreme, the corners of his mouth twitching uncontrollably.

He turned his head to look at the boss, who was full of expectation and still dreaming of getting rich, and opened his mouth, not knowing how to explain it.

He couldn't exactly say that their factory tools couldn't even scratch the surface of someone else's toy, could he?

Seeing them stalling, the boss became impatient.

"What are you doing? Hurry up and take it apart!"

"If you're going to drag your feet on such a small job, do you not want your bonuses?"

Facing the boss's urging, the engineers had no choice but to bite the bullet and bring over a small cutting machine. They intended to force it open.

Time ticked by, minute by minute. As the Earth rotated, the sun gradually dipped toward the west.

The camera zoomed out instantly, moving from the bustling factories in the south of the Eastern Country, across the long national border.

Passing through layers of tropical rainforests and endless mountain ranges, it arrived at one o'clock in the afternoon.

In the Sanbianpo region abroad, a place filled with crime and chaos, the sun was still scorching, and the air was filled with a damp, decaying scent.

The decapitation crisis targeting the director of the scam zone had reached a breaking point.

In this lawless land, inside a hidden assembly point far from the bustle of the small town, it was an abandoned, dilapidated warehouse.

Old Wolf, Yan Poyue, and the others had quietly slipped away from the shady hotels where they were hiding and gathered together on time.

The warehouse was dimly lit.

Only a few rays of sunlight filtered through the cracks in the damaged asbestos roof tiles, forming distinct shafts of light in the air.

Dust danced aimlessly in the light beams.

The eight elite comrades of the Special Front had now completely shed their disguises as tourists and businessmen used to deceive others.

They had quickly changed into tactical gear suitable for action.

On their feet were non-slip tactical boots.

On their heads, they wore communication headsets and bulletproof tactical helmets.

Several people gathered around an abandoned wooden crate in the center of the warehouse.

The surface of the wooden crate had been cleaned off. Spread out on top was a hand-drawn structural map of the scam zone, densely marked with pencil lines.

This was precious intelligence obtained by intelligence personnel at the cost of their lives.

It clearly depicted the scam zone's entrances and exits, the locations of pillboxes, the patrol routes, and the core buildings where the director might be hiding.

"Take a good look."

Old Wolf lowered his voice. His long fingers tapped on several red crosses on the hand-drawn structural map.

Finally, he began to coordinate the tactics for this assault.

"Group A is responsible for clearing the two hidden sentries on the perimeter. Do not make any noise."

"Group B, follow me. We will infiltrate the main building through the side ventilation ducts and head straight to the floor where the target is located."

Everyone listened quietly, assigning their respective assault routes and fire support points.

No one raised any objections.

After clarifying the mission, Old Wolf stood up straight. He walked past each team member one by one.

He confirmed everyone's equipment status.

Whether magazines were fully loaded, whether tactical knives were easily accessible, and whether communication frequencies were set to encrypted mode.

The air was filled only with the faint sound of metal buckles and the subtle noise of pulling back bolts to check the chambers.

This was a solemn ritual unique to the pre-battle moments.

Old Wolf walked over to Yan Poyue, who was on the far side of the formation.

"The fire support point is yours. Don't drop the ball," Old Wolf said, patting his shoulder.

Yan Poyue nodded.

He took a deep breath, completely suppressing the sense of pre-battle tension in his chest.

He lowered his head. His right hand gripped the powerful-looking, non-metallic heavy-firepower submachine gun at his waist.

The thick gun body and the large drum magazine gave him a great sense of security.

That was his most solid reliance as an assault trooper.

Subsequently, his palm slowly left the submachine gun and moved an inch to the side.

Yan Poyue touched the thing tucked on the other side of his tactical belt.

That gray plastic pistol he had carried with him all the way.

As his fingers touched the temperatureless synthetic plastic shell, the speechless "one-key matching" electronic sound from the hotel last night flashed uncontrollably through his mind again.

As well as the five-minute-long, unresponsive freeze.

Even now, he still had no idea if this thing would be useful or if it was just dead weight.

But when he thought of his red, tired eyes from staying up for that manual, the obsession brought on by such huge sunk costs made him unable to just throw it away.

'I'll just carry it as a trinket anyway.'

Yan Poyue's gaze was resolute as he pulled down his tactical goggles, covering most of his face.

This sharpest blade of the nation was now completely hidden in the shadows, poised and ready.