Preparations for War

Looking at the stockpile of weapons and support gear filling the warehouse, Meng Shan found little reason to smile.

Why? Because just twenty-four hours ago, this pile of hardware was a mountain of cash—his retirement fund for the rest of his life. That money had been earned during the war by Meng Shan and his teammates through methods both legitimate and… less so. After the squad disbanded, they split the pot, and as the captain, Meng Shan had naturally walked away with a significant share.

“Sigh, this is going to be the death of me. There goes my chance at a comfortable life.”

As he’d mentioned before, Meng Shan never intended to stay in this city forever. He had plans to leave once the “three little ones” reached adulthood and settled into their lives. He would have divided the bulk of his warehouse wealth among them, ensuring they could live peacefully even if they retired from being Magical Girls. The rest would have funded his own long-awaited retirement abroad. If such a thing were even possible.

Unfortunately, life moves faster than plans. Since Ken the Werewolf was a target worthy of Ran Jiuyi’s attention, he likely wasn’t some pushover monster. Could the three girls, who had only ever handled small fry, actually take him down? Meng Shan didn’t believe it for a second. Even with a pre-set plan, the risk was too high.

Thus, to tip the scales in the coming battle, Meng Shan had unhesitatingly liquidated his entire retirement fund into weaponry. Did he regret it? Of course not. He was truly terrified—terrified that the girls would end up like the soldiers on the battlefield, dying abruptly before they ever got a chance to enjoy life. He had seen enough friends die; he didn’t want to see another. When you’re alive, money has a purpose; when you’re dead, it’s useless. Money is for the living to spend, not to be buried with the dead.

So, he had contacted a trusted former teammate and traded his fortune for the gear before him. Heavy machine guns, rocket launchers, anti-tank mines, and various large-caliber autocannons—heavy ordnance that no civilian should ever be able to touch—now sat packed into his secret lair.

In the center of the warehouse stood a massive crate covered by a dust tarp, its contents hidden. On a nearby table sat a letter addressed to a single name: Lucas.

Meng Shan knew the name well. Lucas was a former teammate and one of the few people he trusted implicitly. Unlike Meng Shan, who had no family legacy and had to fight for every cent, Lucas was one of the children of an international arms conglomerate’s CEO. He had joined the war and Meng Shan’s squad specifically to earn the merit needed to secure a higher seat in his family’s company.

After the war, the highly decorated Lucas naturally took over company operations, including arms supplies for the New United Alliance—the nation where Meng Shan now resided. Leveraging this connection, Meng Shan had struck a deal to have these weapons smuggled into this hidden warehouse. Given that he had requested strictly controlled heavy weaponry, Meng Shan expected a markup, but Lucas’s price was still staggering. For the amount he’d paid, he should have been able to buy ten warehouses’ worth of gear, not just one.

Whatever, he thought. Being able to buy it at all is a stroke of luck. I can’t ask for more. I’ll figure out how to make the money back later.

Steeling himself, Meng Shan opened the envelope.

Hello, Captain. It’s been half a year, hasn’t it? I wanted to meet in person, but unfortunately, work has me tied up.

“Yeah, little Lucas. I wanted to see you too, and like you, I’ve got no time.”

When you said you needed heavy firepower, I sent the strongest stuff I could get through. Hope you like it.

Meng Shan scanned the warehouse. Lucas’s standard stock was okay—barely a passing grade.

If we both find the time one day, let’s have a real drink. My treat.

“Damn right it’s your treat. You made a killing off me this time; you’d better buy the good stuff.”

Finally, you might think I charged too much. If you feel that way, take a look at what’s under that tarp. It’s worth every penny.

Meng Shan folded the letter and set it ablaze with his lighter, watching it turn to ash.

Alright, Lucas, what’s this ‘surprise’ under the tarp? Probably nothing that valuable, he thought as he yanked the cloth away.

What he saw made him realize the true definition of a “surprise.”

Before him stood a black exoskeleton suit, roughly two meters tall, paired with a comically oversized sniper rifle. Unlike most modular exoskeletons in the world, this suit was integrated—a sleek, unified build. Its smooth exterior looked less like a machine and more like a suit of medieval armor modernized for the 22nd century.

“Okay, little Lucas… I didn’t expect you to get our old gear back. Next round is on me, and I’ll never call you a cheapskate again.”

Indeed, the armor before him was the exact model Meng Shan had used during the war: the A-3 General Purpose Exoskeleton. No one in this city understood its value better than he did. During the war, the Research Institute had priced each suit at 35 million. It was an astronomical figure, but its battlefield performance proved it was worth every cent. After the war, the Institute reclaimed the manufacturing tech and halted sales, leaving nations to scramble with inferior knock-offs. An original Institute-made suit like this was a rare relic that money usually couldn’t buy.

As he ran his hand over the armor, the familiar texture pulled his mind back to the war. He remembered the glory of completing “impossible” missions, but he also remembered the faces of comrades dying before him while he stood helpless.

The words he had said to Ran Jiuyi—weren’t they really meant for himself? He envied the three girls. He envied their youth and their chance to fix their regrets. Unlike him and Ran Jiuyi, who could only sit in solitude and mourn their past selves.

He pressed a hidden sequence of buttons at the neck of the suit. With a faint metallic hiss, the back of the armor split open. Meng Shan stepped inside and rebooted the system. As the vision system surged to life, the world outside flickered onto his HUD.

“Initiate auto-diagnostic mode. Scan unit status,” Meng Shan muttered, looking at the familiar screen.

“Initiated,” a familiar electronic voice chirped in his ear. Within seconds, the scan was complete. “Scan finished. Unit integrity: Optimal. Pilot status: Optimal. Armament: 100%. Power reserves: 100%.”

“Self-test combat modes.”

“Testing. Please stand by.”

Under Meng Shan’s command, the armor first vanished into a blur, leaving behind only an unnatural distortion in the air. Then it reappeared, several thruster ports clicking open on its back and limbs. Finally, the thrusters retracted and the entire suit began to compress. Within seconds, the two-meter-tall frame had shrunk significantly in volume.

“Diagnostics complete. Stealth Mode: Functional. Flight Mode: Functional. Armored Mode: Functional.”

Excellent. A surge of excitement hit Meng Shan. Now, he actually had the capital to face Ken the Werewolf head-on. He moved the suit experimentally; even after six months, his control was as fluid as ever. The armor felt like a second skin, showing not a hint of mechanical stiffness.

With the suit tested, he turned his attention to the sniper rifle. It was a B-42 Large-Caliber Electromagnetic Sniper Rifle. Measuring over two meters long, it was less of a rifle and more of a cannon. He remembered complaining to his superiors about the name back then—why not just call it a “Sniper Cannon”? The answer had been simple: it was named by the Research Institute, and the military had no right to change it.

Beside the rifle lay five armor-piercing rounds, each nearly the length of Meng Shan’s forearm, along with three small, battery-like boxes. These were the proprietary AP rounds and rapid-charge batteries made specifically for the B-42. Fully loaded, the weapon weighed over fifty kilograms.

Two noticeable gaps in the chassis suggested the rifle was missing two batteries, as each round required its own power cell. However, this wasn’t a deal-breaker; the B-42 had a dedicated interface to draw power directly from the exoskeleton’s core in emergencies. The rifle was, after all, a companion piece designed to provide the exoskeleton with long-range precision firepower.

He ran a shallow test on the rifle, calmed his racing heart, and began to map out the next phase. He had a warehouse full of heavy ordnance and very little time. He had to make every single piece count.

The following week was the busiest Meng Shan had been in six months.

Since he didn’t know Ken’s exact entry point or capability stats, he had to over-prepare. During the day, he drilled with the three girls, simulating combat scenarios, reviewing footage, and refining their tactics. At night, he moved through the city alone, hauling crates of weapons to set up traps.

Relying on his wartime experience and sacrificing sleep, his efficiency was terrifying. From abandoned buildings to sewers so foul even the homeless avoided them, Meng Shan turned every deserted corner of the city into a kill zone. In just one week, his clean, orderly map had become a chaotic mess of trap annotations.

Compared to him, the girls had it easy. With less than two weeks left, Meng Shan knew it was impossible for their magical powers to spike significantly. At most, they could learn simple, high-yield combat formations.

His orders for them were straightforward: maintain peak physical condition, master the tactical formations for quick adaptation, and—most importantly—memorize every single trap location he had set. His experience told him that if they didn’t, they would almost certainly blow themselves up with his own mines.

The only thing that gave him peace of mind was their attitude. Their recent string of defeats hadn’t broken them. Bai He’an, in particular, had been a powerhouse of motivation since their talk. She was a dynamo of energy, even dragging her two lazier teammates into extra training. Her hard work paid off; by the end of the week, the three of them finally showed some semblance of organized combat discipline.

Yet, despite the plans and the traps, Meng Shan still felt a void of uncertainty. Having zero concrete intel on Ken the Werewolf was a nightmare for a tactical mind like his.

Regardless, he had done everything he could. The rest would come down to their performance on the day—and perhaps a little bit of outside help.