Chapter 12: The System’s Feast Begins

Three days later, Datong Prefecture.

On the official road, dust billowed as more than twenty riders galloped fiercely, like a blazing, sharpened blade piercing straight toward this mighty northern fortress.

At the forefront rode a knight so heavy he nearly crushed his horse.

Fan Tong’s backside had long since lost feeling from the saddle, his inner thighs burning with pain. Never in his life had he imagined what “unceasing riding” truly meant.

Behind him, the twenty cooks, each covered in dust and grime, had eyes that shone with an intense light. Once mere kitchen soldiers, they had never dreamed of such treatment. Each man rode two horses in rotation, fueled by premium dried meat and Fan Tong’s specially made “energy bars.” After three days and nights of relentless riding, not a single one had fallen behind.

“Boss! Datong Prefecture is just ahead!” one of the cooks exclaimed excitedly, pointing toward the towering city walls in the distance.

Fan Tong squinted and nodded, cursing silently to himself.

This job was truly inhuman.

At the city gate, a squad of garrison soldiers awaited, led by Bao Nianfeng, who had arrived ahead of the others. Standing beside him was a burly, middle-aged general with a thick beard—Zhang He, commander of the Datong garrison.

Zhang He’s eyes flicked suspiciously between Fan Tong and his strange “bodyguards” behind him.

Three days earlier, Bao Nianfeng and two others had appeared before him, dusty and exhausted, brandishing the command seal of Marshal Xu Da. The seal was genuine—there was no doubt about that. But the orders it carried puzzled him.

“Seal off the entire city. Await orders from Commander Fan Tong.”

A mere commander ordering a third-grade garrison commander around?

If the seal weren’t genuine, Zhang He would have cut down these suspicious men on the spot.

“Commander Fan Tong?” Zhang He stepped forward, clasping his fists in a tentative greeting.

“Commander Zhang, thank you for your hard work,” Fan Tong dismounted, his 250-pound frame hitting the ground with a dull thud. Brushing off dust, he cut straight to the point: “Is the city sealed?”

“Sealed as per your orders. Entry only, no exit,” Zhang He replied, eyes fixed on Fan Tong’s unusual attire and the menacing weapons held by those behind him—clearly not standard Ming armaments.

“Good,” Fan Tong nodded with satisfaction. “Now, help me with one more thing.”

“Speak, Commander.”

“Find the best, largest tavern in the city. Then, in my name, send invitations to every prominent merchant family with the name Cao, Wang, Li—anyone connected to commerce. Invite them all.”

Fan Tong grinned broadly, showing a full set of white teeth.

“Tell them I, Fan Tong, Commander of the Firehead Troops under Marshal Xu Da, have just arrived and want to invite all the esteemed merchants to a simple meal.”

Zhang He furrowed his brow deeper.

What exactly was this fat man up to?

Ignoring the suspicion, Fan Tong headed to the tavern to wait. His first task was to offer a sacrifice.

Of course, not to the heavens—but to the system.

“System! Come forth, the feast is ready!”

Fan Tong silently commanded, then waved his hand. Several large tables brimming with delicacies he had ordered from Datong’s finest tavern were laid out, filling the courtyard with the aroma of exotic dishes.

[Ha ha ha! No wonder you’re my favorite spawn… This system is very pleased. Next batch, please.]

[Congratulations, host, sacrifice successful! You have gained ‘Ogre Heavy Armor Set’ x20, ‘Bloodline Elixir’ x10, and ‘Fearless Aura (Team)’ x1!]

It worked!

Fan Tong salivated as twenty brand-new sets of armor appeared before him.

This “Ogre Heavy Armor Set” was even more formidable and fearsome than the previous “Vanguard Suit.” Forged from solid black iron, the breastplate was covered in sharp spikes; massive beast-head pauldrons adorned the shoulders; the helmet was a fully enclosed ferocious beast’s head, exposing only the eyes.

This was no mere armor—it was a killing machine worn by men.

“Bao Nianfeng! Bring the men over! Change into the new gear!”

When twenty Firehead Troops donned the heavy armor and took up massive axes and spiked maces, the air in the courtyard seemed to freeze. Like twenty demons risen from the depths of hell, they stood silent, radiating a suffocating aura of menace.

Fan Tong then distributed ten bottles of the green-fizzing “Bloodline Elixir” to the ten most trusted men, including Bao Nianfeng.

“Drink this. It’ll make the feast taste even better.”

…

At Datong’s largest tavern, “Gathering Immortals Pavilion,” the place had been entirely reserved.

Cao Xun, Wang Chengyu, and several leading Shanxi merchants arrived one after another, their hearts filled with unease.

They had imagined countless possible scenarios for this meeting—perhaps a deadly banquet guarded by armed men, or a stern official interrogation.

But when they entered the main hall, all were stunned.

No guards, no killing intent.

Only one massive round table, around which twenty giant men clad in terrifying black armor were devouring food voraciously.

“Crunch! Crunch!”

The sound of gnawing bones.

“Gulp! Gulp!”

The sound of hearty drinking.

There were no exquisite dishes on the table—only piles of roasted meat, stewed meat, and sauced bones stacked like mountains.

At the head of the table sat the fat man, eating so messily his mouth dripped with grease. Before him lay an entire roasted lamb leg. He did not use a knife, tearing it apart with his hands and stuffing it into his mouth with satisfied grunts.

The entire hall was thick with the scent of meat and sweat, and an overwhelming sense of crudeness that made everyone deeply uncomfortable.

“This…” Wang Chengyu gaped, whispering to Cao Xun, “Is this really the envoy sent by Xu Da?”

A flicker of surprise crossed Cao Xun’s eyes, quickly replaced by a barely perceptible sneer.

So he was just a rude, unrefined brute.

Such a man was easiest to deal with.

“Heh, Commander Fan sure has a hearty appetite!” Cao Xun forced a warm smile and stepped forward, placing a heavy brocade box on the table.

“A small token of greeting, nothing worthy of your honor. Commander, you’ve traveled hard. We have prepared the finest residence and several courtesans for your arrival…”

Other merchants also stepped forward, smiling obsequiously as they presented gifts and flattered.

Fan Tong didn’t even lift an eyelid.

He kept his head down, focused on tearing apart the lamb leg, as if those priceless gifts were less appealing than the bones in his hands.

The atmosphere in the hall instantly grew awkward.

The merchants’ smiles froze on their faces.

Only after swallowing the last bite and downing a large gulp of wine did Fan Tong finally burp contentedly.

Wiping his mouth carelessly with a napkin, he lifted his eyes—now narrowed to slits by the rolls of fat—to slowly scan every person present.

The simple, somewhat foolish look earlier was gone, replaced by a coldness utterly devoid of warmth.

He deliberately pulled out two items from his pocket.

A black iron waist token, intricately carved with a wolf biting a copper coin.

A cryptic letter scrawled in indecipherable handwriting.

“Slap!”

He slammed both onto the table, the sharp sound making every merchant’s heart skip a beat.

“My name is Fan Tong. I’m a cook.”

His voice was low but clear, reaching every ear.

“A cook doesn’t understand grand principles. I only know this: whoever tries to break my pot and leave me starving, I’ll take their life.”

He hefted the waist token in his hand.

“This belongs to you, right?”

Cao Xun’s pupils contracted sharply, but his face remained composed. “Commander Fan, you jest. We’ve never seen this before.”

“Never seen it?” Fan Tong smiled and pushed the secret letter toward them. “What about this? Also never seen?”

“I’m a straightforward man,” Fan Tong leaned forward, his massive frame exuding an overwhelming pressure. “Li Hu betrayed us and looted our army’s provisions. Who’s behind it—I don’t want to know.”

His words stunned every merchant.

Don’t want to know?

Fan Tong continued, “Marshal sent me here not to investigate, but to demand one thing: an explanation that satisfies the Marshal, and fills the mouths of tens of thousands of soldiers.”

His fingers tapped the table lightly, each knock striking the merchants’ hearts.

“I know you may have others behind you—Mongols? Some powerful court officials? I don’t care.”

“You have three days.”

His gaze sharpened like a blade.

“In three days, I want to see enough provisions for thirty thousand troops to last a month delivered outside the city camp. Also, gather five hundred thousand taels of silver as rewards for the army.”

“Accomplish this, and I’ll pretend this token and letter never existed. You’ll remain respectable merchants of Datong, and I’ll stay the cook who only makes the food.”

“If not…”

Fan Tong grinned fiercely.

The twenty heavily armored Firehead Troops behind him seemed to receive a silent signal, simultaneously ceasing their feasting.

Twenty cold, bloodthirsty gazes locked onto every merchant present.

“Then I’ll have no choice but to personally prepare a ‘final feast’ for all the people of Datong Prefecture.”