3: Chapter 3 Do you even understand the steps to eat Ant Cow canned food?

The vision distorted, and the grey metal walls of the Warhammer World receded, replaced by the familiar ceiling of the rental apartment.

Fu Haoran opened his eyes and saw the familiar apartment.

'I've been gone for a year, my family will definitely be worried...'

Fu Haoran glanced at his phone.

'Hmm? Wait, isn't this the date from before I transmigrated?!'

While Fu Haoran was wondering, he caught sight of the system countdown ticking away.

No time to think; Fu Haoran grabbed his car keys and headed out.

Opening the car door, turning the key, and hitting the gas—the movements were smooth and practiced.

Before transmigrating, as a newcomer, Fu Haoran had been sent by his company to the US to handle the maintenance of Costco's automated sorting system.

Because of this, the apartment he rented was only a few hundred meters from this Costco; it didn't even take three minutes to drive there.

Fu Haoran pushed a shopping cart, frantically clearing out the canned goods section.

Braised pork, dace with salted black beans, luncheon meat, yellow peaches, corn kernels... regardless of the flavor or price, he swept entire rows into his cart.

Nearby foreigners would occasionally cast strange looks his way.

Finally, a passerby couldn't help but ask, 'Hey buddy, what are you doing? Is it the end of the world?'

'Company team building,' Fu Haoran tossed back a line, pushing two carts piled like small mountains toward the checkout.

When Fu Haoran pushed a third cart piled high toward the checkout, the young cashier's face turned pale.

The older woman queuing behind him was displeased: 'What are you doing? Go to a wholesale market if you're buying cans!'

Fu Haoran didn't look back: 'I can't wait, aliens are about to attack!'

The woman rolled her eyes.

In a sense, Fu Haoran wasn't lying.

Finally, just as Fu Haoran drove to the bottom of his rental building, the system prompt sounded again:

[The Tax Collector's flagship has entered planetary orbit. Reincarnator, please return to the Governors Mansion immediately.]

Fu Haoran didn't dare to be slow and immediately mentally commanded the system to store the goods.

...

Strictly speaking, the Tax Collectors in the warhammer universe are not the responsibility of Inquisitors; they are only there to supervise.

Because Inquisitors possess immense power, holding the authority of life and death, they can label a planet as traitors and execute everyone without a second thought if they are displeased.

Fu Haoran didn't know if the cans he bought would suit the other party's taste; he could only take a gamble.

Gambling that these cheap cans from the 2K era could open the door to negotiations.

After all, in a world where everyone gnaws on Corpse Starch, a hot mouthful of braised beef is enough to tempt any Imperial bureaucrat.

When he opened his eyes again, Fu Haoran was back at the Governors Mansion.

Sunlight shone through the scratched portholes onto the mountain of canned boxes, the metal casings glinting with a cold light.

Fu Haoran looked at these industrial goods that averaged less than twenty yuan in the supermarket, which had now become his only bargaining chip at the negotiation table. It felt like using a plastic toy gun to bet on the life or death of a planet.

Fu Haoran straightened his ill-fitting Governor's uniform and ordered into the communicator: 'Prepare the reception to the highest specifications. Bring these cans and water to the banquet hall. Heat some up, open them, and plate them.'

Fu Haoran pulled up the orbital monitoring screen; a warship was tearing through the veil of realspace, slowly entering planetary orbit.

The ship was five kilometers long, its hull as black as a coffin.

A massive emblem was painted on its side, twin-linked Macro Cannon arrays were mounted on the prow, and the dense laser turrets on the broadsides were like a hedgehog's spines.

The bridge towered high, with the antenna array at the top flickering with the faint light of data streams.

A moon-class cruiser.

One of the main ships of the Imperial Navy.

The firepower of such a ship was enough to wipe the upper structures of a Hive City off the map.

Fu Haoran leaned back in his chair, watching the giant ship descending like Judgment Day on the screen, and suddenly let out a low chuckle.

'Starting out by having to pay off three hundred years of debt... as expected of an SSS-difficulty mission, it pushes you to a dead end right from the start.'

'Success or failure depends on this one move.'

The Thunderhawk Gunship tore through the clouds above the Hive City and slammed down onto the Governors Mansion square.

The hatch opened, and Inquisitor Makarov stepped out.

Six Stormtroopers guarded him like iron towers from behind, Bolter muzzles lowered, but fingers tightly gripping the trigger guards.

Fu Haoran went to meet them, followed by an honor guard of a hundred veterans from the Guard Regiment—this was all the prestige Adjutant Wade could muster.

But compared to the bloody aura from the sea of stars behind Makarov, they immediately looked like a bunch of local militia.

Makarov swept a glance and showed undisguised mockery.

'Welcome.' Fu Haoran reached out his hand.

Makarov ignored the hand, took a data slate from his adjutant, and handed it to Fu Haoran.

[Overview of Planet Scylla IV's Tax Arrears: 300 Standard Years]

Strings of astronomical figures scrolled, finally freezing on a bright red total.

'I am Arbiter Makarov, ordered to collect the overdue Tithe. You have only two choices: pay in full, or... be executed for treason according to Chapter Four of the Imperial Sacred Tax Law.'

Fu Haoran's heart tightened, but his face remained calm.

He turned and pointed to dozens of standard containers covered with tarps on one side of the square: 'The portion I could gather is ready; your Excellency may inspect it first. Shall we go inside to discuss the specific plan?'

Makarov stared at him for two seconds, his eyes like he was looking at a dead dog.

Finally, he nodded slightly.

The banquet hall.

The long table was empty, with only two chairs placed.

An attendant brought water.

After Makarov took a sip, he was somewhat surprised.

No strange taste?!

No metallic astringency from a water recycling system, none of that faint scent of humus and radiation dust that could never be removed from the purified water of a Hive City.

Makarov put down the water cup, his scrutinizing gaze deepening: 'Lord Governor, you surprise me a little.'

'Before coming here, the reports I reviewed showed that Scylla IV's water purification system was paralyzed in the campaign three years ago.'

'It seems your abilities far exceed what is recorded in the files.'

Fu Haoran smiled and didn't respond.

Then, the food was served.

There was no complex cooking, just simple heating.

Makarov instinctively pulled out his Combat Knife to prevent a full-grown Ant-beef from jumping out of one of the cans.

In Makarov's not-so-long career, he had several experiences fighting Ant-beef cans, and every year there were some fools who, before opening a can, forgot the iron rule of stabbing the can seven times with a Combat Knife.

However, Makarov noticed that there were actually no guards with bayoneted Laser Guns, flamethrowers, or various heavy weapons on site, which made Makarov very dissatisfied.

To dare eat canned food without even the basic preparations!

Makarov had to pull out his Bolter from under the dining table.

Fu Haoran, the host, was completely unaware of this as he opened a can somewhat unskillfully.

*Clack!*

This wasn't the sound of a can opening, but the sound of Makarov chambering a round in his Bolter.

The atmosphere on site was a bit subtle.

Fu Haoran felt that he was just opening a can; was the Inquisitor really going to execute him?

Makarov, on the other hand, breathed a sigh of relief upon realizing it wasn't an Ant-beef can.

Fortunately, this awkward situation was eased as the thick and pure aroma of braised beef wafted out from the can.

Makarov's Adam's apple bobbed imperceptibly, his hand holding the Bolter loosened, and his tone remained cold but with a bit less killing intent: 'Lord Governor, how long do you intend to make me wait?'

Fu Haoran's heart, which had been hanging for a long time, finally landed, and he pushed the can over while feigning composure: 'Please, your Excellency, it's just been heated.'

Fu Haoran feigned composure, but his heart was pounding.

'Whether it works or not depends on this one bite.'