Rise of the Arms Dealer in the World War

Chapter 19: Chapter 19 The Merchant of Power

"This rifle is superior to the ones currently used by the Japanese military," Zhang Chun continued. "It was once issued only to the elite soldiers of the Russian Empire. I dare say there is little in the world today that could match its precision and power."

The weapon itself was a masterpiece—polished wood and meticulously crafted steel melded together in a creation both elegant and deadly.

Even the elders, revered for their wisdom and discipline, could not tear their eyes away.

"How did you acquire such a weapon?" one elder asked, his voice trembling.

Zhang Chun smirked. "Smuggled it, piece by piece, hidden where no one would think to look. Each rifle was disassembled into dozens of parts.

Some pieces were openly transported under the guise of harmless tools. Ingenious, wouldn't you say?"

The elder swallowed hard, his throat dry. "And... how many of these rifles can you procure?"

"As many as you can pay for," Zhang Chun replied smoothly. "But let me be clear—these are the finest weapons in the world. They don't come cheap."

The room fell silent. Talk of money always weighed heavier than steel.

One of the elders hesitated before speaking. "Zhang Chun, you have aligned yourself with our cause. Could you not secure these weapons for us, free of charge?"

Zhang Chun's expression turned serious. "Elder, if it were within my power, I would arm every man and woman in this room. But the merchants who supply these weapons demand payment, and they are not ones to negotiate."

The elder looked away, embarrassed. His request had been rebuffed, and rightly so. That night, neither the elder nor any of the gathered disciples could sleep. The rifle haunted their dreams—a vision of power and possibility that seemed just out of reach.

By dawn, the group reconvened, their faces drawn and weary. As they sat in heavy silence, one man finally broke it. @@novelbin@@

"If we had those rifles... we could achieve our cause. For the greater good, we must acquire them!"

The sentiment spread like wildfire.

"He's right!"

"With weapons like that, we could have repelled those Japanese devils!"

"But how do we gather the funds?" another interjected, his voice tinged with despair.

The question stifled their fervor. Funds. Always the barrier. With money, they could turn the tide. Without it, they were as helpless as ever.

"Do you think Zhang Chun is overcharging us?" one muttered. "Surely it can't be that expensive."

"No," said another. "His rifles rival those used by the Beiyang Army, and they cost the same. Yet his are far superior. I've seen the Beiyang rifles—they fire one shot at a time, reloading after each. Zhang Chun's rifles hold five rounds. The price is fair."

The elder nodded in agreement. Though he hadn't fired a Beiyang rifle himself, he had witnessed their limitations. Zhang Chun's weaponry, with its unmatched precision and efficiency, seemed almost divine by comparison.

As they pondered their predicament, a young voice spoke up.

"What if we can't do it alone? Why not bring in others to help?"

The elder frowned. "And how do you propose we do that?"

"Simple," the boy said, undeterred. "We teach them the Way of the Righteous Fist. Share our wisdom and grant them the strength of Qi. In return, we ask for their support. They gain our knowledge, and we gain the means to arm ourselves. Everyone benefits."

The room fell into thoughtful silence, the boy's words hanging in the air. Slowly, heads began to nod.

"Yes... that could work," someone murmured.

The elder's stern gaze softened. The boy, despite his youth, had a clarity of purpose that resonated with the gathered disciples. The Way of the Righteous Fist was their pride, their legacy. To share it would spread their influence and strengthen their cause. And with enough support, the rifles—those harbingers of hope—would be theirs.

The disciples rose as one, their resolve hardened. The path forward was clear. Zhang Chun watched them, his expression unreadable. His gamble had paid off. In the world of sales, he knew, it was never just about the product. It was about planting a vision—and letting others make it their own

And so, the seeds of revolution were sown.

Here's the adapted version of the text, styled as a cinematic, epic fantasy narrative:

The Merchant of Steel and Shadows

The elder sat in silence, his hand suddenly slapping his knee with a resounding "Tak!".

"The boy is right! The Way of the Righteous Fist exists to uplift our people, but that doesn't mean the effort of the masters should go unrewarded. This is truly a plan that benefits all!"

His proclamation brought a wave of hope to the room—whether it was hope or unbridled greed, no one dared to question. For now, they chose to call it hope.

"It's decided," the elder declared. "We will spread the Way of the Righteous Fist to all who seek it and, in return, gather resources to secure the weapons we need."

With this resolution, the assembly dispersed. But the elder had one more matter to settle. He summoned Zhang Chun, ensuring no one else was present for their private conversation.

"Zhang Chun," the elder began, his voice low with lingering doubt, "I don't question your devotion to the people, but... are those rifles truly so expensive?"

The elder's skepticism clung to him like a shadow, his question more of a last-ditch attempt to haggle than genuine suspicion.

"Elder," Zhang Chun said with a calm yet commanding tone, "a rifle is no ordinary tool. It is power—power that can end a life with the flick of a finger. How could such a thing ever come cheaply? But even more important than the price is this: I will sell these rifles only to you."

The elder blinked in confusion. "Only to me?"

Zhang Chun nodded, his expression sharpening like a blade. "No matter how much gold the disciples amass, I will not sell to them. The rifles will belong to you alone."