“Iron Lion’s new school bus seems to be a lemon. That half-baked mechanic in his squad can’t fix it.”

“Iron Lion asked Chen Ye for help, but Chen Ye refused.”

“He insisted on fixing his own tricycle first.”

“What a selfish young man!”

Inside the command tent, the Eavesdropping Radio broadcasted its unsolicited commentary on the evening’s events. The Artifact monitored the entire convoy, and occasionally, it felt the need to editorialize.

Its opinions were usually biting.

“No, I disagree,” a calm voice interrupted.

Captain Chu Che sat alone in the dim light of his tent, cradling a porcelain cup. “In the apocalypse, fairness is the rarest commodity. Chen Ye prioritized his own survival first. In my eyes, that is perfectly fair.”

He brought the cup to his lips and took a small, reverent sip, a look of pure intoxication washing over his face.

These days, Chu Che never drank his tea in public. He savored it only in the privacy of his vehicle or his tent. To share such exquisite tea with the unrefined survivors outside would be like casting pearls before swine—or as the old saying went, letting a cow chew on a peony.

[Credit Assessment Complete.] [Host Approved for Loan Limit: 10,000 Slaughter Points.]

Ten thousand?

Chen Ye’s eyes widened in genuine delight.

A ten-thousand-point line of credit changed everything. Added to his existing 4,000 points, he now had a war chest of 14,000 Slaughter Points.

It wasn’t enough to build the dream version of the Apocalypse Pickup, but it gave him options.

Crucially, it meant he didn’t have to choose between the car and the Artifact he had been coveting. He could reserve 5,000 points for the Artifact upgrade and still have 9,000 left for the vehicle.

This windfall was a direct result of his chronic penny-pinching. Whenever he could use manual labor instead of System automation, he did. Now, that stinginess was paying off.

“System, reopen the blueprint. We need to optimize.”

By “optimize,” Chen Ye meant “gut.”

He had 9,000 points to work with. The original design cost over 20,000. He needed to slash the budget by more than half.

First to go: the eight-wheel configuration.

It looked incredible and offered superior load distribution, but the point cost was astronomical, and the friction would murder his fuel economy. Even in electric mode, the motor would struggle to turn eight heavy-duty off-road tires.

“Revert to four wheels,” Chen Ye ordered.

He kept the four All-Terrain tires scavenged from the Wrangler. Those were non-negotiable. If he had to go off-road—which was inevitable—he needed that grip.

Slash. The cost indicator dropped from a “2” handle to a “1”. Progress.

Next: Suspension.

The System’s premium suspension package promised a smooth ride over jagged terrain, protecting both the driver and the cargo. Chen Ye hesitated. A broken axle in the desert was a death sentence.

He didn’t delete it, but he downgraded it to the “Economy Durability” package. It would be stiff and uncomfortable, but it wouldn’t break.

Then came the chassis and frame reinforcement.

The quote for these structural upgrades made Chen Ye wince. Thousands of points.

He had planned to scavenge a frame from the pileup earlier, but Chu Che’s sudden evacuation order had ruined that plan. Now, he had to pay the System to fabricate it.

He gritted his teeth. “Keep it.”

You couldn’t build a fortress on a foundation of sand. The frame was the skeleton; it had to be strong.

But everything else? Everything else was on the chopping block.

“System, streamline the bodywork.”

The sleek, unibody armor was scrapped. In its place, Chen Ye chose a patchwork design. The cabin and cargo bed would be clad in riveted sheet metal. The canopy, previously a seamless alloy shell, reverted to a reinforced metal frame with welded plates.

It wasn’t pretty. It looked like something welded together in a scrapyard during a sandstorm.

But it was solid. It was waterproof. And it looked… experienced.

Before, the blueprint looked like a billionaire’s doomsday toy. Now, it looked like a Weather-Beaten War Rig. A true child of the wasteland.

Chen Ye continued his ruthless budget cuts.

Cabin Air Conditioning? [Cost: 500 Points] “Delete.” He’d sweat.

Integrated Walkie-Talkie? “Delete.” He had a mouth.

Radio? “Delete.”

Automatic Power Seats? “Delete. Manual levers are fine.”

Automatic Fuel-Electric Switching System? This system would seamlessly switch to battery power if the gas tank ran dry. “Delete.”

He replaced it with a manual toggle switch. If he ran out of gas, the engine would die, the truck would stall, and he would have to physically flip a switch on the dashboard to engage the electric motor.

It was clunky. It was dangerous in a chase. But it saved points.

“System, remove the installation fee for the wheels and engine.”

He would bolt the tires on himself. He would align the engine mounts himself. He only needed the System to fuse the chassis and body.

Finally, he stepped back.

The resulting vehicle was stripped to the bone. In terms of comfort, it was barely a step up from a tractor. It was loud, hot, and manual.

But it moved. It hauled. And it was tough.

Chen Ye checked the final quote.

[Total Cost: 6,000 Slaughter Points.]

“Hah… that’s the limit. I can’t cut any deeper.”

He confirmed the design.

A holographic hourglass appeared above the pile of parts.

[Transformation Time: 09:59:59]

Ten hours.

It would be ready by 7:00 AM, just before the convoy rolled out.

Chen Ye did the mental math. Total Funds: 14,000. Vehicle Cost: 6,000. Remaining: 8,000. Reserved for Artifact: 5,000. Final Balance: 3,000.

He had started the hour with 14,000 points, and now he was looking at being broke again. The anxiety of poverty gnawed at him, but looking at the blueprint, he knew it was worth it.

Job done.

Chen Ye stood up, dusting the sand off his pants. He turned toward the flickering flashlight beam under Iron Lion’s yellow school bus.

They were still at it. It was time to earn those cigarettes.