28

General Ross, the head of military transition, sat in his office, his mind heavy with the latest developments. After the Stark Arms Department was shut down, a massive order had been placed with Hammer Industries. Yet now, that order remained unfinished, and Ross had been preparing to reclaim it for the military. But then, something unexpected happened: Hammer Industries was acquired, and the new owner had personally invited him to a meeting.

"Wick," Ross muttered, his face dark as he sat in the conference room, reviewing the thick file on the Wick family. As a seasoned general, he understood the gravity of the situation. Wick, he knew, was rumored to have backing from the United Kingdom and connections in Russia. The global underground alliance, with influence stretching across continents, had been founded by a single man.

The government, seeking stability, had chosen to tolerate these underground alliances, sometimes even offering tacit support. Wick's profile was no secret. In fact, it was this transparency that allowed him to hold his seat in the underworld. When faced with an unknown enemy or a well-known one, most would choose the latter. "By choosing to live transparently and accepting the scrutiny of intelligence agencies worldwide, Watson Wick became a tycoon of his generation," Ross thought, feeling a grudging respect for the man's audacity.

A so-called transparent person is someone who accepts the constant gaze of intelligence agencies. Every public appearance, every meal, every cough, every gesture—all meticulously recorded in intelligence files. Unlike most, transparent people do not evade agents; they tolerate their presence. Such a life, stripped of privacy, could drive anyone mad. Ross knew he could never endure it.

The conference room door opened, interrupting his thoughts. He looked up, his gaze falling on the young man who entered.

"John Wick," General Ross said with a cryptic smile, studying the visitor intently. "You're very confident, squandering your father's company and making foolish decisions."

He launched into a lecture as John entered. "Hammer Industries has lost the military's trust due to the Expo incident. Right now, it's a fragile network riddled with vulnerabilities. Acquiring it brings you no advantage." Ross was no longer young; his white hair and beard gave him a stern, unyielding appearance. He did not seem like the kind of man who would make a good grandfather or father.

John did not argue. Instead, he sat down and remarked to Natasha, "I think whiskey suits an iron-blooded general well."

Natasha glanced at John, nodded in agreement, and left the room. Soon, she returned carrying a glass of whiskey. Ross paused his speech, frowning, uncertain how to respond.

"The military's orders must be fulfilled, and the $7,080 billion defense budget needs to be allocated," Ross said, as if reminding John of the stakes.

John finally spoke, pouring amber liquid into a glass. Throughout, he spoke with effortless honesty. "Stark Industries announced the closure of its weapons manufacturing division, leading to a surge of orders to Hammer Industries. As someone in the military familiar with Hammer Industries' equipment, you should know that one failure does not erase their capabilities. The military has used their weapons before. While not superior to Stark's, they were certainly competitive—especially the Iron Soldiers."

John walked over to Ross, set down the glass, and chuckled. "You really think that was a failure?"

"Isn't it?" Ross said solemnly. "New York was attacked by out-of-control steel soldiers."

"No, no, no, that was a success," John said from behind Ross. "You saw what the Iron Soldier was capable of. Their loss of control was caused by deliberate sabotage by the designers. After all, we only have one Iron Man, right?"

"Exactly," Ross replied.

"The Iron Soldier was exploding," John continued. "But that was part of the program designed by Ivan. What about its performance before the explosion? It was capable of attacking enemies, taking off, and launching missiles. A robot capable of fighting Iron Man and being driverless meant absolute loyalty. Unlike Iron Man Tony Stark, they would not betray the Department of Defense. Nor would their missions fail due to personal emotions or cowardice. And what does the army need? A loyal soldier who will never betray."

"So, aside from the final act where Ivan was buried and the Iron Soldiers attacked Iron Man, the rest of the performance satisfied the military greatly," John concluded.

Ross only agreed to come after John promised he could recreate the Iron Soldier. "Honestly, if Hammer Industries could continue producing steel soldiers and guarantee no repeat of the last incident, the military would not abandon them. They desire an Iron Man force, but Tony Stark refuses to hand over the technology. The next best option is to acquire the Iron Soldiers."

"Yes, we only have one Iron Man," Ross said, pushing away his wine glass. He lit a cigar, placed it in his mouth, and exhaled slowly. "But you have no other choice."

"Tony Stark is undoubtedly a genius," John admitted with a nod. "I really cannot give you his armor."

"But…" John smiled, "I can give you what you desire."

"For example?" Ross asked.

"An absolutely loyal soldier."

John's smile lingered, but Natasha's pupils narrowed in concern. "An Iron Soldier?" she echoed.

Ross was noncommittal and sneered, "As far as I know, it was Ivan Vanko who enabled Hammer Industries to produce steel soldiers."

"Indeed," John said, resting his fingers on the table thoughtfully. "Let me tell you, before Ivan Vanko died, he left a backup of the Iron Soldier technology at Hammer Industries."

"Huh?" Ross's smile vanished. He stared at John's youthful face, unsure if he was joking.

"This is no laughing matter, Wick," Ross said with a frown. "Do you really think I would believe it?"

"You will believe it because it's true," John replied. He held up a finger. "In one month, we will deliver the same steel soldiers as seen at the Expo, and all you have to do is delay those orders for a month."

If it truly is the Iron Soldier, then waiting a month will not be a hardship. Ross fell into deep thought.

John continued, "I can promise that it will perform better than any Iron Soldier you have ever seen."

Ross pondered for a while, then bargained, "I can promise you to wait for one month, but on the original basis, the order price will drop by 10%."

Ross was an old fox. If you cut off 10% of the price of a steel soldier that costs hundreds of millions, the military could save a fortune. But John stopped tapping his fingers on the table and said calmly, "The price increases by 10%."

"What are you talking about?" Ross almost thought he misheard. "Increase instead of decrease? Are you stupid, or am I?"

John said meaningfully, "In the future, do you expect Iron Man to be the savior, or the Department of Defense? In exchange for equal value, superior steel soldiers require a superior price."

Ross sat there, silent. He picked up his glass, drank the whiskey, and slammed the cup down hard. "The performance will increase, and the price will increase by 10%," he said coldly. "On the contrary, I will send you out of the United States on espionage charges."

John raised his eyebrows, replying casually, "This is a big order."

Ross stood, walked to John's side, and leaned down to threaten in his ear, "You should understand that life and death depend on this month."

John didn't take the threat to heart and smiled. "Do something for me, and you'll see results in half a month. Help me check the people related to the Hell's Kitchen gang."

Ross's veins pulsed in his forehead. He took two deep breaths before suppressing the urge to draw his gun. He left Hammer Industries with a black face.

John shrugged, walked over, and tossed the cup Ross drank from into the trash can.

Natasha said in surprise, "Aren't you afraid he'll withdraw the order directly?"

"It's not me who needs the orders," John sneered. "Thanks to Stark, he makes the Department of Defense hold its breath."

If Tony had not said the Department of Defense would invite him unless he was appointed as Secretary of Defense, he would be filled with hatred from those American soldiers. Even if he had the skills to make steel soldiers, he would not be able to make Ross swallow his anger. After all, everyone in the Department of Defense wants to vent their frustrations.

Natasha was speechless and asked, "What about the Iron Soldier?"

"Oh, it can be made," John said, not hiding the truth. He sniffed the whiskey and tossed the expensive bottle into the trash. "You have to be honest. Of course I won't lie to him."

"Can you really make steel soldiers?" Natasha pressed, following John as he left.

"Tony Stark built a suit of armor out of scrap metal in a cave. I have the most advanced equipment and an experienced team in the world here," John chuckled. "I don't think it's impossible."

Confidence? Or is there something more?

Natasha found herself unable to read this man at all.

John stopped in the lobby of Hammer Industries and glanced at the TV. "It seems he received my greetings," he said.

Natasha looked up, confused. The news was showing footage from a war-torn region. "There was a rebellion within the infamous Ten Rings Gang. The leader was assassinated, and his fate is unknown. Many of their bases have been evacuated."

After fleeing the church, the priest was confused, moving as if in a dream, with only one thought echoing in his mind: "Kill the leader."

He was picked up by the police and taken to the station. On the way, he strangled the officer driving the car, stole the police car, and drove to the docks. He took a yacht, then used a fake passport to board a plane, finally returning to his boss.

The boss, who had once almost died because of Iron Man, summoned the priest immediately. He asked about the mission to assassinate Wick.

The priest replied respectfully, "The mission failed, chief."

The leader snorted, "If you failed, why did you come back?"

The priest smiled, drew a pocket pistol from his clothes, and said, "Wick says hello."

He pulled the trigger. The bullet struck the stunned leader in the chest.

Immediately, members of the Ten Rings gang who heard the gunfire rushed in and killed the priest. As he died, his left hand opened, and a gold coin rolled out.

The wounded leader clutched his chest. His heart was on the right side of his body, so the bullet missed its mark. He struggled to pick up the gold coin, staring at the Underground Alliance's insignia on it, his pupils trembling.

Gunshots rang out again. One of his men was shot in the head—a killer had arrived, dressed in local garb. The killer's eyes were filled with greed as he looked at the leader.

Pandora's box had been opened, and now the costs would never stop appearing.