Outnumbered? I'll conquer America with an unlimited number of suicide soldiers.

The intersection of Montgomery Street and Sacramento Street in San Francisco.

A two-story brick and wood building with attached warehouse stands here, its exterior walls mottled.

This is the editorial office and printing press of the Daily Evening Post.

Roger Thomas, the newspaper's owner and editor-in-chief, looked grim as he berated the warehouse workers, telling them to speed up the printing process.

If you are slow in any step or waste any materials, you will be met with a barrage of harsh and sarcastic remarks.

As Thomas turned and went upstairs back to his office, cursing, a young worker with a face covered in ink complained, "That damn Scrooge, he pays so little, yet he always makes so many demands."

"Yes, the weekly report has become a daily report, but the salary won't increase. I'm thinking of quitting."

"You'd better quit quickly. I heard that banks aren't lending money to bosses anymore. What if he can't pay salaries in the future?"

"Really? Then we really need to start planning..."

While the workers in the warehouse were muttering about their boss in front of the rotary printing press, in the office on the second floor...

"Mr. Thomas, I'm very sorry."

A middle-aged man, looking tired and with a wrinkled suit jacket, stood in front of the desk, his voice filled with anxiety. "I still haven't been able to find any new gigolos. My old clients have made it clear that their gigolo fees won't increase next quarter, and some have even said they want to cut them..."

"Useless trash! Useless idiot!"

Upon hearing this news, Thomas's face darkened further. He pointed to the office door and cursed, "It's not even dark yet, keep running around."

Go beg and pester those shop owners and factory owners. I don't care what methods you use—whether you resort to shamelessness or kneel and kowtow—if I don't have a new GG contract on my desk by this time tomorrow, you're fired as the publisher!

The man didn't dare to retort. He lowered his head, silently left the office, and gently closed the door behind him.

Thomas slumped onto the sofa, his chest heaving. He lit a Havana cigar, grabbed a nearly empty bottle of whiskey from the table, poured himself a full glass, and downed it in one gulp.

He never imagined that a single radical business strategy would lead him to this predicament.

They changed the weekly report to a daily report, invested heavily in the latest steam-powered rotary printing press, and expanded their workforce...

These actions, aimed at seizing market share, pushed them to the brink of disaster within just a few months.

The daily newspaper's exorbitant operating costs are like a bottomless pit, while the expected GG revenue has failed to keep up. Banks have sensed the risk and are relentlessly demanding loan repayments. Now, the financial chain could break at any moment.

Even if they sell off their machines, lay off staff, and downsize, returning to the old weekly reporting model, it would probably only delay their demise.

"A bunch of snobs! Vampires! They run away faster than anyone else when they see me in a little trouble!"

He poured himself another glass of wine and started cursing at the air when he suddenly heard a knock on the door.

The publisher returned and said, "Mr. Thomas, a gentleman says he wants to see you no matter what."

Thomas was filled with rage and initially wanted to shout "Disappear!" But thinking that it might be a GG merchant, he suppressed his anger, straightened his appearance, and shouted:

"Please let that gentleman in!"

The door was pushed open, and a well-dressed man with a composed demeanor walked in. He looked to be between middle and old age, with neatly combed blond hair.

He extended his hand to Thomas: "Mr. Thomas, nice to meet you. I am Hosea Matthews."

Although it wasn't their first encounter, this was indeed the first meeting between Hosea and Thomas. He and Dutch didn't show up when those two news items were sold.

Thomas quickly stood up to shake hands, forcing a somewhat greasy smile: "Mr. Matthews, hello, hello, please have a seat. Are you here to discuss GG business?"

Hosea sat down in the chair opposite Thomas, calmly took out his cigar case from his pocket, lit one, and slowly exhaled a puff of smoke before speaking unhurriedly: "GG? No, Mr. Thomas, you misunderstand. I'm not here to vote GG."

Thomas's smile froze instantly, then vanished as quickly as the tide receded.

"Then you..." His voice turned cold.

"I'm here to discuss an acquisition," Hosea said directly, looking calmly at Thomas. "To acquire your newspaper, the Daily Evening Bulletin."

The last trace of a smile on Thomas's face vanished.

Without hesitation, he pointed to the door and said viciously, "Get out! Get out right now! This newspaper is my life's work, and I will never sell it to you hyenas!"

Hosea didn't even flinch at the enraged Thomas. He slowly took a puff of his cigar, and only after Thomas finished roaring did he speak calmly:

"Don't be so definitive, Mr. Thomas. Let me help you recall your current situation."

"Three months ago, in order to expand the production line and purchase new equipment, you borrowed a loan from Lucas Bank by mortgaging the newspaper's assets and your personal credit."

With this money, you have successfully fulfilled your wish.

With brand-new equipment and more employees, it became a daily newspaper, but it had one small drawback: it couldn't make money.

Limited growth in circulation meant GG's revenue was woefully inadequate, while daily operating costs for paper, ink, and labor skyrocketed. Worse still, Lucasbank's repayment deadline was just two days away.

He gave a mocking smile: "If you can't repay the money in two days, the bank will not hesitate to apply for a court seizure."

"At that time, this brand-new printing press, these typefaces, and this signboard will all be snapped up by your competitors at rock-bottom prices at auction. And you, Mr. Roger Thomas, will be burdened with huge debts and declare bankruptcy."

"Your career, your reputation built up over the years, and your social status will all vanish into thin air."

"As a native-born American, you should know better than me what happens after bankruptcy, right?"

Thomas clenched his fists tightly, his eyes red. He was panting heavily, and finally collapsed.

"How many dollars can you offer?"

Hosea smiled slightly and uttered a number: "Three thousand dollars."

"Three thousand? You son of a bitch, why don't you just rob someone?!"

Thomas, though he had anticipated the man's greed, was still enraged. "My newly purchased steam-powered rotary printing press is worth two thousand dollars!"

"Including the list of a thousand subscribers, the established distribution channels, and the newspaper's reputation, all of that is worth at least eight thousand dollars!"

Hosea shook his head and said slowly, "No, no, Mr. Thomas, what you're saying is the normal situation."

"But the current situation is that you are about to go bankrupt, and your competitors and banks would love for you to die so they can feast on your corpse."

He pointed to the warehouse outside the window, where a steam-powered printing press was printing today's news.

"Moreover, all I want is your steam printing press, the complete set of lead type frames, your inventory of ink and paper, and the right to use the name 'Daily Evening Post Announcement'."

"These things are a really good deal at three thousand dollars. After all, they're all secondhand, aren't they?"

"As for those subscriber lists and distribution contracts, you should keep them for yourself."

Thomas shook his head frantically, saying, "No, I won't accept that! Three thousand dollars isn't enough!"

"Mr. Thomas, but this money is enough for you to pay off your bank debts!"

Hosea shrugged. "Look, I've even left you the subscriber list and distribution contracts. As long as you don't go bankrupt, you'll always have a chance to make a comeback, won't you?"

Thomas slumped onto the sofa, remained silent for a long time, and finally whispered, "I agree."

Sigrún has taught at the Iceland University of the Arts as a part-time lecturer since and was Dean of the Department of Fine Art from -. In – she held a research position at Reykjavík Art Museum focusing on the role of women in Icelandic art. She studied fine art at the Icelandic College of Arts and Crafts and at Pratt Institute, New York, and holds BA and MA degrees in art history and philosophy from the University of Iceland. Sigrún lives and works in Iceland.

Inside a weapons company in Chinatown.

He was once holding a Pacific Type 1 rifle and was shooting at targets.

Specifically, it was about a suicide bomber repeatedly throwing clay discs into the air, and then shooting them to shatter them.

boom! boom! boom!

The gunshots were crisp and continuous, and the flying discs in the air exploded into pieces.

This sport demands exceptional dynamic vision, reaction speed, and shooting accuracy from the shooter.

But for those who now share the physique and skills of elite assassins, this is almost an instinctive ease.

After firing the last bullet, he simultaneously received telepathic messages from Dutch and Hosea.

"very good."

He once put away his gun, a slight smile appearing on his lips, "The foundation of my career has been strengthened once again."

After taking his revenge, Zeng began to put his new idea into practice.

He wants to control San Francisco and even the whole of California, so Chinatown must be taken over before that's possible.

This is his base of operations.

They share the same language and race, and have the same cultural customs. They are tenacious, hardworking, and down-to-earth, and are the most outstanding race in the world.

The new world of the future will depend on the efforts of our compatriots.

In order to protect them, and also to protect their own foundation, both guns and pens are indispensable.

The newly acquired "Daily Evening News Announcement" is the first piece of the puzzle in his construction of a media empire.

Once future scientific researchers develop radio, film, and television, a comprehensive and all-encompassing media empire will be fully formed.

By then, you'll be able to wash coal briquettes white!

"Guilliman, come here for a second." He had called out in his mind.

Soon, a blond-haired, blue-eyed young man walked over.

He was tall, robust, and well-proportioned, with a sculpted, angular face.

Guilliman was summoned using the skill "Strategic Planning," making him his first assassin specializing in politics.

Those who once placed high hopes on him, half-jokingly and half-expectantly, bestowed upon him a name that symbolized empire and order in another worldview—

Robert Guilliman

[Ethnicity: Caucasian, Nordic type]

[Physical fitness: 18 (average for normal adult Homo sapiens males is 10)]

[Skills: Eloquence (Lv.4), Politician (Lv.4), Language Proficiency (Lv.3)]

[Languages: Indo-European (Lv.3), Sino-Tibetan (Lv.3), Afro-Asian (Lv.3)]

"My lord." Guilliman bowed slightly, his posture respectful.

"Guilliman, I have a task for you."

He once directly issued an order: "Starting today, you are the owner and editor-in-chief of the Daily Evening News Announcement."

I will instruct our intelligence network, spread throughout California, to prioritize providing you with valuable and sensational news material. You will need to select a few quick-witted and reliable assistants to handle the typesetting, printing, and initial distribution.

He paused, then said, "I have only two requirements for you. First, in the shortest possible time, ensure that this newspaper's distribution network covers all major cities and important towns in California. Our voice must be heard throughout California."

"Secondly, you yourself need to quickly build a reputation as a newspaper editor and columnist. Publish editorials, serialize novels, criticize current affairs... use these methods to pave the way for your future."

Guilliman suddenly understood what he meant: "You want me to use the newspaper business as a springboard to accumulate political capital and eventually enter California politics?"

"That's right."

He once nodded with a smile and said, "I'm not just going to make you a politician; I'm going to make you the governor of California."

"I checked, and November and December this year is the period for the election of California's new governor. We have about six months to operate, which is enough."

Guilliman thought for a moment and then objected: "No, my lord, you have forgotten something."

Under current U.S. law, an applicant must reside in the United States for at least five years, including at least one year in the state they are applying to, before they can obtain citizenship by filing an application with the court.

"This also means that my identity is a big problem."

Upon hearing this, he laughed and said, "Guilliman, it's precisely because this is America, and the West Coast, a wild and untamed land, that your identity problem is the easiest to solve."

"These days, it's hardly news that local court judges, clerks, and even low-level officials in charge of archives are accepting bribes and tampering with documents; it's practically an open secret."

And coincidentally, the judges and court clerks in San Francisco are said to be not very strong-willed.

"As long as you're willing to spend the money, not only you, but all your loyal followers can become Americans before this year's gubernatorial election."

"My lord, what if the other side is determined?" Guilliman asked curiously, "Should we change cities?"

"Why go through all that trouble? Even if his neck is tough, can it be tougher than a bullet?"

He once shrugged and said casually, "Kill him and then use the fear of death to convert him. If you can convert him, great; if you can't, then see if the next one knows what's good for him."

"Or perhaps a fire will occur and burn all the citizen registration files in the city archives and the court's storage room."

"In that case, chaos will ensue, records will be missing, and who will dare to identify you, this handsome and eloquent white gentleman, as not a law-abiding U.S. citizen?"

He suddenly remembered something and added, "Oh, right, before you go and bring the newspaper stuff back, also go and visit the chemistry group. Ask them how the improvements to the camera and printing methods are going."

"So many days have passed, their research should be complete by now, right?"