Sky-cracking Rider

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"Hiss! It looks very similar to my original one, excellent craftsmanship. Is this a top-notch high-quality counterfeit or did you find an original factory gun?"

Squadron Leader Chekhov picked up the AK-47 automatic rifle lying quietly on the oilcloth, examining it closely to find any traces of it being a high-quality counterfeit.

But the more he looked, the less he found any clue indicating it was a counterfeit, and instead, it gave him a familiar feeling, as if it was his very own beloved AK-47.

"Of course it's original, straight from the factory!"

Chen Fei took the just-prepared Martini, took a small sip, and the spiciness that went straight to his soul made his hair stand on end.

Vodka, sweet wormwood, and red sorghum, in a 1:1:1 ratio, no ice, with a final addition of a sour green plum—this was the mix concocted by the bartender specifically for Chen Fei.

If some wasabi powder had been added, it would have been even better.

"Rookie, you must be joking, right?"

Looking it over meticulously from every angle, Squadron Leader Chekhov held the AK-47 even more carefully.

If he wasn't mistaken, the delicate woodgrain patterns visible beneath the smooth finish of the handguard, grip, and stock were unmistakably those of his own original factory-made AK.

Chen Fei took another sip of his drink, put down the glass, and said, "Original factory! Genuine article! Guaranteed!"

All his efforts had not been in vain.

In fact, by resolving the issue of internal stress and achieving uniformity in the details, even the factory wouldn't be able to distinguish an AK-47 replicated with shaping ability from the original.

The dimensions and composition of the metallic elements could reach molecular precision, making it impossible for the human eye and touch to discern any differences. Even with high-resolution equipment, the results would be the same.

Add to that zero stress retention, and it could withstand the test of time; any time you picked it up, it would shoot, and each shot would hit its target. It could be treated as if it was completely original.

Even the actual factory might not achieve such consistency at the molecular level.

"This serial number... it's still mine. Could I have been hallucinating from having too much to drink last time?"

Squadron Leader Chekhov held the AK-47, full of self-doubt.

Something seemed unscientific, yet he just couldn't put his finger on it.

Little Chili, Irinei Rusios, looked at the AK in Big Bear's hands and asked curiously, "Chekhov, is that still your original gun?"

Chekhov's expression was strange; wasn't this his most cherished baby?

What could explain such a bizarre reaction?

"I don't know!"

Squadron Leader Chekhov looked utterly bewildered; he wanted to doubt but couldn't find a single fault.

Perhaps it was possible to distinguish by feeling, but feelings are often unreliable.

"No problem? If there are no problems, then let's close the deal! Our AK business is done!"

Chen Fei gulped down the Martini in his hand and took out his work card, ready to swipe it and leave.

Squadron Leader Chekhov really couldn't find any fault and finally said, "Wait a minute, let's fire a couple of shots!"

In his view, the craftsmanship of the person Chen Fei found was too good; he couldn't differentiate it himself.

"No problem!"

Chen Fei rummaged through his pocket and pulled out a 7.62x39mm rifle cartridge.

Of course, the bullet was a modern product—it couldn't really be called a counterfeit. Besides antique guns, many modern firearms still use them.

If even the bullets had to be antiques, that would be ridiculous; bullets a hundred years old hitting their mark would mostly depend on luck.

"Come on, let's test-fire a couple of shots and watch Chekhov shoot the rifle!"

Deputy Squadron Leader "Devil Pepper" Irinei Rusios raised his arm and called out.

"Time to shoot, time to shoot!"

"Watching Squadron Leader Chekhov shoot!"

"Should we bring a hand grenade?"

"Let's go, let's go! Mount the machine gun and get a box of ammunition belts."

Not just the Flyers from the Genuine Fragrance Combat Flight Squadron, but also other departments' booze hounds joined in the excitement.

Most were staggering drunk, hardly aware of what they were doing.

The crowd surged out of the bar, gratefully retaining just enough sense not to cause chaos on the base, and instead moved towards the base gates.

About dozen grown men stood by the side of the mountain path, unzipping their trousers to collectively relieve themselves first; when you drink too much, you have to let it out first.

Streams of liquid, clear and murky, flew out thirty meters with the wind, as the drunken revelers laughed heartily.

The few women present simply couldn't bear to watch and had to make scissor gestures to scare these unshielded fellows.

After relieving themselves, Chekhov carefully loaded bullet after bullet into the magazine of the AK-47, paying great attention to every single one.

Handling a vintage name-brand rifle required sincerity; with a true heart, the aim would be true, and the person and gun could become one. Otherwise, you're just going through the motions, and where's the sentiment in that? That's just like soliciting prostitutes!

That would be no fun at all!

Click! The magazine snapped into place, and Chekhov worked the rifle's bolt with a brisk motion.

Aiming at a row of bottles some enthusiasts brought over, they even used flashlights to help with the targeting.

The base bar was never short of various bottles, perfect for use as targets. They were lined up, spaced only thirty centimeters apart.

From fifty meters away, the bottled bodies glittered under the flashlight beams. Squadron Leader Chekhov, having assumed his shooting stance, held his breath for a moment and then squeezed the trigger.

Pop! The bottle at the far left instantly shattered to pieces.

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Pop! With the second gunshot, the adjacent wine bottle exploded, sending countless shards of glass flying in every direction.

Pop pop pop pop…

At a distance of fifty meters, eight or nine out of ten shots hit their mark.

The thirty-round magazine quickly depleted half of its bullets; thereafter, he switched to rapid fire, laying the weapon on its side and sweeping out the remaining bullets in a small fan shape, shattering every missed bottle from earlier.

The familiar feeling returned, and Squadron Leader Chekhov, like caressing a lover, gently stroked the now-hot barrel of his gun. He didn't mind the heat, giving it a MUMA kiss and nodded with satisfaction, "The rhythm of the firing mechanism, the ejection sound, the muzzle movement, the recoil—should be right, Rookie, you've found a top master craftsman."

He couldn't find a single fault; the AK-47 in his hands seemed to be the very same one he originally had.

The kid, Rookie, finally didn't owe him anymore.

Chen Fei once again ventured to ask, "AK squared away?"

Despite his current confident and composed demeanor, he had been extremely nervous inside, especially when Chekhov was scrutinizing the AK, secretly breaking out in a cold sweat.

Even though he knew there shouldn't be any problems, the actual test was something else entirely.

This was about a substantial debt of 1.8 million Star Yuan, and it was impossible for Chen Fei to pretend it was nothing.

"Heh heh, you little rascal!" Big Bear pointed at Chen Fei, chuckled twice, nodded, and said, "Alright, AK squared away!"

He didn't lack money, what he wanted was his original factory-made AK, not the 1.8 million Star Yuan.

"Huuh…" Chen Fei finally let out a long sigh of relief as the pressure on him diminished sharply.

Chen Fei: Ding! Personal debt -1.8 million Star Yuan!

The remaining total debt is 6,765,035 Star Yuan, to creditor Hanna Gagel, interest-free.

Luckily, the female executive manager had bought out his on-paper debt, settling the credit company and Apocalypse Defense Group's dues in advance, turning it into a private loan. Without the interest, even the monthly interest would not have been a small amount.

"Rookie, wait for me!"

Just as Chen Fei was about to leave, "Devil Pepper" Irinei Rusios called out to him.

"Squadron Deputy Leader, is there something you need?"

Chen Fei slowed down, puzzled.

"Let's walk together!"

Irinei Rusios caught up with him in a few quick steps to walk alongside Chen Fei.

She didn't like those fellows flocking around Chekhov at all—once they got drunk, they behaved like a bunch of lunatics, forgetting their own names.

Passing through the base gate, the deputy leader codenamed "Devil Pepper" spoke up again.

"Rookie, was Chekhov's AK-47 made with your special ability? And was it the same ability that you had initially?" Discover hidden tales at empire

Chen Fei hadn't expected this short-haired lady to be so direct. After opening his mouth, he finally said, "Yes! It was all the special ability!"

It wasn't just the Metal Element Psychic Power—any psychic power upon initial Awakening could easily become uncontrollable, even causing varying degrees of damage.

Manager Hanna had immediately arranged for him to be injected with a Supernatural Ability Suppressant, precisely for this reason.

From current indications, the suppressant seems to have been effective. The most significant trouble Chen Fei had caused was probably only the beloved AK of Squadron Leader Chekhov.

In the end, everyone was pleased with the outcome.

"Devil Pepper" Irinei Rusios probed, "Can you mass-produce original AKs?"

It wasn't only the AK-47, but also the AKM, AK-74, SVD, Mauser Kar98k, Lee-Enfield, and other vintage firearms that were sought after by gun enthusiasts and collectors around the world.

Due to scarcity and various accidents causing damage or even loss, the vintage guns from the last and the one before last century were only going to dwindle in number and become more valuable; understandably, their prices were bound to rise.

"Uh... theoretically, yes."

Honestly, Chen Fei hadn't thought about this issue at all. He was only focused on paying off Chekhov Big Bear's AK debt as soon as possible—the troublesome debt of 1.8 million Star Yuan had been unbearably oppressive.

Irinei Rusios smiled and said, "Congratulations, you're going to make a fortune!"

"No, that would be dishonest!"

Chen Fei hastily shook his head.

At the Chen Family Gate, the teachings were to be down-to-earth in how one conducted oneself—without cheating, cutting corners, or scheming. Even in making money, one had to do so above board. Taking shortcuts or the wrong path was absolutely forbidden.

The puzzled deputy leader asked, "What about Chekhov's AK...?"

"It's different, different."

Chen Fei continued shaking his head.

Big Bear's AK was repaired, its main body was still that very same gun, whereas what Irinei Rusios was talking about was conjuring vintage guns out of thin air. Even though they could be made to fool anyone, it didn't sit right with Chen Fei's principles.

Vintage guns are vintage guns; magically creating a multitude of ultra-high-quality fakes for profit was not the right thing to do, and it went against the teachings of the Chen Family.

Hearing Chen Fei's response, the short-haired woman was taken aback and then burst into giggles, "Sticking to your principles is the right thing to do."

"Thank you!"

Chen Fei secretly breathed a sigh of relief, afraid that the female deputy leader would insist on dragging him into the business of making ultra-high-quality AK fakes.

Although he was unwilling, offending a direct superior wasn't a good thing; a warning of future stumbling blocks lay ahead.

"Devil Pepper" Irinei Rusios stopped in her tracks and looked at Chen Fei, saying, "Chekhov needs a partner, and the other jet at Aircrew Base also needs a pilot, I've recommended you."

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