People in the Alliance, Time Management Master

I never imagined that Coca-Cola would encounter such a strange thing in real life.

Chapter Seventy: I Had a Plan

In a corner unnoticed by anyone, undercurrents were swirling in Piltover.

But on the surface, it was just a peaceful day.

For Hans Pierre at least, today was nothing special, except that the air around the breathing station was a bit murky.

As a lowly liquor vendor, he couldn't be bothered to observe this and that like those artists. He just wanted to make more money and then find a way to escape this damned Zaun. If he could climb over Pi Lao's head, that would be even better.

"Damn it, this road is getting harder and harder to walk on... Isn't anyone going to fix it?!"

Pierre grumbled as he climbed the rope up the main road. Once his feet were firmly planted, he didn't forget to spit back at the path connecting Zaun and Piltover.

A furious curse came from the dark, vertical alleyway.

"Oh, you should be cursing that nameless, idiotic road designer, not me who spat on him." Pierre dusted off his hands and left, satisfied.

The streets were bustling with people, most of whom looked tired, as if the morning sun itself made them weary.

"The morning should be energetic and full of spirit!" Pierre thought indignantly. These bastards really don't know how lucky they are, just as disgusting as the plague rats in the sewers.

He crossed his arms, his face full of disdain and resentment, and walked quickly and heavily on the bluestone road.

The aroma wafting from a newly opened restaurant made his mouth water; the grilled fish and freshly baked Shurima sun bread made him salivate. But instead of going in, he stopped a woman pushing a small grill and bought her a cup of tea and a cheap sweet cake.

The taste is not bad, much more fragrant than the food in Zuan, and the price is reasonable.

"It's a pity the quantity is too small... All the old men are the same, they're all stingy."

Pierre, still savoring the taste, sucked on each of his ten fingers in turn, then strode quickly through the alley to the right of the restaurant and into the low bungalow tucked away in a corner.

"Hey, good morning, One-Eyed." He greeted the big man standing behind the wooden counter, but the man ignored him.

The room was rather cramped, with boxes lining both sides of the already narrow aisle. The lighting was also much dimmer than outside, giving it a gloomy feel.

"Hey, one-eyed man, is this how you do business?" Pierre banged on the counter. "You haven't been infected by those bastards, have you?"

"Stop making noise, stop making noise, stop making noise. The important thing here is not to cause trouble." The big man turned half his face to the side, frowned, glared at Pierre, and continued to fiddle with something in his hands.

A minute or two later, he carefully put down the paper cards folded into a pyramid shape and turned around:

"Are you here to buy things or to have fun? If you're looking for fun, I suggest you check out the strip clubs in the upper district."

“I know without you telling me,” Pierre shrugged. “When buying things, follow the old rules.”

"The three traditional ingredients for brewing?"

"Yes, as usual, one case of each."

“Okay.” The big man bent down and started rummaging through the pile of wooden crates. Beads of sweat trickled down his forehead and over his right eye patch, and he wondered if they would seep into the empty eye socket.

"There are far fewer guards around here these past few days," he said, making conversation as he searched for something. "You know, those cowards are as annoying as flies. It's much quieter now."

“Hmm, sounds good.” Pierre casually replied, while a restless hand crept up the wooden counter, where large cigarette packs were displayed.

This guy made a lot of money off me... It's only right that I take some things from him.

Soon, the big man moved three boxes of raw materials onto the counter.

Pierre had done purchasing many times before, and he immediately noticed that something was off about the three boxes.

It's too heavy.

“I’m a regular customer, One-Eyed Dragon,” he said in a deep voice.

"Hmm? You can tell there's a problem at a glance?"

The big man, whose little trick had been exposed, was not angry or embarrassed. Instead, he laughed heartily, the scar on his right eye jiggling along with the fleshy muscles on his face, making him look somewhat frightening.

"A new batch of goods arrived today, good quality and low price. Of course, if you want the old kind, I also have those."

"You better not be kidding me." Pierre muttered as he tore open the wooden lid and grabbed a branch from the Sunburn tree used for brewing.

From the outside, there is no problem.

Try it... Hmm, this salty and astringent taste is fine, and it even seems... fresher?

"How about it? Isn't it great value for money?" The big man's smile widened.

"You want to pass off good stuff as junk? Are you crazy?" Pierre clicked his tongue and spat out the dirt in his mouth. "Everyone else uses inferior goods to pass off as superior goods, how can you pass off superior goods as inferior goods?"

"There's no other way... When it comes to smuggling goods, the faster you sell them, the better, since it's all free money anyway."

"Smuggled goods...?" Pierre raised an eyebrow and subconsciously glanced towards the door a few times. Luckily, he didn't see a single person.

"Don't be so nervous. I've already said there aren't many guards here lately, otherwise I wouldn't have this kind of thing."

"You've got some nerve..."

Pierre recalled the scene and realized that he hadn't seen many guards along the way.

It's said that the officials in charge of the guards have moved all the guards to the north of the city, but no one knows why.

"This material of yours..." He picked up another twig and examined it carefully for a while, "Is it guaranteed to be cooked through?"

The big man smiled helplessly, "I run a materials store, why would I sell you raw materials roots?"

Pick out three boxes for me.

"walk slowly."

While the seller was browsing, Pierre slipped out into the alleyway and started smoking. The cigarettes he'd taken tasted much better than the ones he'd bought himself.

As he exhaled smoke, he saw a figure walking towards him through the swirling smoke around him.

The man was tall and strong, carrying a huge backpack. His face was expressionless, and his eyes were cold and somewhat frightening.

"Holy crap, could it be a security guard...?"

Pierre, ignoring the fact that he still had most of the cigarettes left, ran frantically into the house.

"One-Eyed! Hide the stuff quickly! It looks like the guards are coming!"

"Huh?" Upon hearing this, the big man's body trembled, and he quickly covered the wooden box with a strip of cloth. "Don't panic, don't panic, act naturally... I still have a trick up my sleeve."

Pierre nodded and was about to go out to check the situation again when a shadow suddenly loomed over him—the uninvited guest was standing at the door!

it's over... it's over...

"Don't just stand there, run!" The big man overturned the wooden crate and took off running towards the secret passage behind the bungalow.

Although the materials in this room were valuable, he would rather give up some silver wheels than commit the serious crime of smuggling.

“…” Pierre was stunned for a moment. So this was what they meant by having a backup plan?

Before he could catch up with the big man, the "guard" suddenly raised his arm and fired a burst of bullets, turning the big man into a human sieve, leaving only one arm hidden behind the wall intact.

Okay, this time they really held back...

"Humans, eliminate—"

"Clear your mother's clear!" Pierre grabbed a hammer from the counter and slammed it hard on the "guard's" head, then took advantage of the moment it fell to the ground and ran outside.

In just half an hour, the outside world had undergone a complete transformation.

The air was filled with the sounds of bullets whizzing by, artillery fire roaring, and the cries of the wounded…

"Am I still dreaming...?" Pierre panicked instantly, his steps faltering.

Until he saw a little girl standing in the middle of the road crying.

The child was only five or six years old, her expensive little dress covered in dust. Beside her lay a man with a shattered head, also dressed in fine clothes; he could be her father or her brother.

"Stop fucking crying, run!" Pierre shouted at her urgently.

The little girl didn't react at all, she just kept crying. The panicked crowd ran past her, posing a constant risk of knocking her down and trampling her.

“Damn it…” Pierre gritted his teeth, his legs trembling as he rushed forward and picked up the little girl.

What the hell am I doing...? Why did I save this idiot...?

Oh no... I can't run fast with this burden in my body...

What the hell is wrong with me...

"You'll be working for me for free for the rest of your life in your next life!"

Pierre rolled to the roadside with the little girl in his arms, covering her with the collapsed stall frame, while he stood up to face the pursuing "guards".

Damn, the sun is so bright today...

damn it……

Pierre closed his eyes and awaited death. Once he was killed, his body would fall backward, landing squarely on the little girl hiding under the shelf.

The "guard" raised his arm again, his palm transformed into a black gun muzzle.

The sound of a bullet being chambered was clearly audible, like a death knell tolling before the arrival of death.

At this critical moment, a flash of sword light suddenly appeared, and the "guard's" arm was completely severed.

"Hey, young man, you're pretty brave."

A middle-aged man dressed in a Taoist robe, with a blade of grass in his mouth, held a long sword and looked imposing. At his feet was the mechanical arm he had just severed.

“Leave the rest to me. All you have to do is remember my name—Morgan, the head swordsmanship instructor of the Firos family.”

Chapter Seventy-One: Jess Stark

Bang-!

After a loud bang, Pierre, the wine merchant, stared in astonishment.

That's incredible... Is this really a level that humans can reach...?

That uncle with the sword actually... just one strike...

He was instantly killed?

"Hey old man, are you still alive?" Pierre shouted at the ruins of the house. "Can you hold on?"

"How can a man say he can't handle it..."