Chapter 104: When Enough is Enough

[You chose to leave the Interastral Peace Corporation. But since even you yourself are corporate property, the IPC would never let you go so easily.]

[Thus, the birth fees, upbringing costs, training expenses, and even the price of buying your freedom—all added up to a staggering sum of 100 million credits.]

[And that's not all. The 100 million credits were just the principal. On top of that, there was a 50% interest rate. Every month, your earnings would be directly deducted by the IPC.]

This was outright extortion!

Solon couldn't help but curse after reading the terms.

And in truth, he was right.

[The Corporation never intended to give you a way out. They wanted to make an example of you—to show everyone what happens to those who try to leave.]

[You tried applying to hospitals, but every single one rejected you. The IPC had already warned them not to hire you, and none dared defy the Corporation's will.]

[Left with no choice, you opened an underground clinic in the slums.]

[You scrimped and saved, only for the IPC to seize every last credit in your account at the end of the month—leaving you without even enough to live on.]

[The IPC's influence was too vast. You had no choice but to endure.]

[Before long, gang members began harassing you. They weren't fools—no one would dare provoke a doctor without orders. Clearly, the Corporation was behind this too.]

[When enough was enough, you stopped holding back. You slaughtered every last one of those gangsters—anything that moved, even the dogs, didn't escape your wrath.]

[Then, you stormed the local IPC branch and massacred every executive inside.]

[The incident caused an uproar, humiliating the Interastral Peace Corporation on a galactic scale.]

[The IPC headquarters issued a bounty for your capture—10 billion credits, broadcast across the universe.]

["If you don't want to pay 50,000 credits for a loaf of bread! If you don't want to live and die under the Corporation's control! If you don't want your children and grandchildren to suffer the same fate—then rise up! Take up arms! Join me in fighting this tyranny!"]

[With your charisma and fiery speeches, you quickly rallied a rebel army on your homeworld.]

[You led the rebellion in a protracted war against the IPC.]

[Though you dealt heavy losses to the Corporation, you were eventually overwhelmed by their endless reinforcements.]

[You died.]

Solon stared at the system screen in silence.

Well, at least now he knew what the Intermediate Difficulty looked like.

Choosing to leave the IPC inevitably led to rebellion—and the difficulty spiked accordingly.

First, destroying a corporate branch was just the appetizer. The real challenge came after.

He'd have to withstand the IPC's relentless assaults.

With their endless wealth, they could hire mercenaries indefinitely and deploy their fleets at will.

And that was just their conventional tactics.

If the losses grew too severe, the IPC would send in their elites—like the Ten Stonehearts, or even an Emanator of Preservation.

At that point, he'd need to pull a Penacony—dragging another major faction into the conflict to force a negotiation.

And this was just Intermediate Difficulty—already more intense than the American Revolutionary War.

If this was the baseline, Advanced Difficulty would probably require toppling the IPC altogether.

…But he was getting ahead of himself.

Shaking off his thoughts, Solon refocused on the simulator.

The first major turning point was clearly the choice of department.

Unfortunately, he didn't know enough about the IPC's internal structure yet. He needed more intel.

For now, he'd start with the first option: Market Development Department.

This time, Solon selected [Swordmaster (Blue)] and [Focus (Blue)].

The head of Market Development was Oswaldo Schneider, a former Nameless—and also Boothill's sworn enemy.

Just from the name, it was obvious this was an aggressive division.

Solon didn't mind playing lackey to Oswaldo for a while. The man was no saint anyway—betraying him later would carry no guilt.

The simulation began anew.

Soon, the department selection screen appeared.

Following his plan, Solon picked the first option.

[You joined the Market Development Department.]

[Employees here were ambitious. To climb the ranks quickly, you enlisted in the department's Vanguard Corps—an elite military force deployed whenever the IPC needed to "open markets" by force.]

[First, crush the local resistance. Then, impose "free trade."]

Joining the military was a fast track to promotion, with fewer bureaucratic hurdles.

At least on the battlefield, enemies wouldn't care if you were a backwater native or a high-born Pier Point aristocrat.

The downside? You were gambling with your life.

Win, and you'd live like a king. Lose, and you wouldn't even get a chance to "retire."

[Your exceptional swordsmanship quickly earned you respect in the corps. Through repeated victories, your rank soared.]

[Five years later, your valor earned you command of a strike team.]

[A decade later, your accumulated merits promoted you to battalion commander.]

[But after that, your progress stalled.]

[No matter how many battles you won over the next twenty years, your rank refused to budge.]

[Eventually, you learned the reasons.]

[First: Your origins. In the IPC, those born on subsidiary worlds were inherently second-class.]

Of course. Corporate hires were handpicked elites who clawed their way up.

Natives, meanwhile, were born into lifelong debt.

Letting them work for the IPC was already a "mercy." Discrimination was only natural.

[Second: Your aptitude. After evaluation, the higher-ups deemed you unfit for large-scale command. You lacked the talent, so they cut you from the promotion track.]

Well, that was awkward.

Bad birth, no "credentials"—his path to advancement was effectively sealed.

Without beginner's luck, the difficulty really did spike.

Solon had a feeling this run would end in failure too.

[Years passed in stagnation. Juniors overtook you.]

[Then, in one battle, your battalion was sacrificed as cannon fodder by the fleet admiral.]