Wot attempted to push through the crowd, but the throng of survivors was too dense, with many greedily fixated on the ten cans displayed at the stall, leaving no room for movement.

"Excuse me, could you make way?" Wot called out.

But no one paid him any mind.

James Lone, deciding to take matters into his own hands, placed a firm hand on a nearby person and forcefully cleared a path through the crowd.

"Hey! What the hell! Move aside... Whoa! Sir!" The pushed individual turned only to see the dark barrel of James Lone's gun, instantly quieting down.

In the peaceful era, firearms were a rarity in American society. Yet, with the chaos unraveling, an assortment of firearms had slowly emerged among survivors, each one having a questionable origin.

After one gunman was killed, other survivors inevitably scavenged whatever weapons they could find; even if a gun lacked bullets, it still served as a significant deterrent.

How could an enemy know whether a magazine was full?

As such, the likelihood of encountering firearms among survivors was steadily rising.

With James Lone clearing a path, he protected Wot as they reached the front of the stall, where he quietly stood behind him.

Upon inspecting the cans closely, James Lone quickly realized something was off.

These were all fake cans!

In his perception view, he could clearly see that the cans emitted a faint glow, indicating they were gathering energy.

This was nothing like a normal can.

Moreover, he noticed that the contents appeared strangely uniform, not resembling meat, but more akin to a gelatinous substance.

What kind of bizarre canned goods are these?

James Lone narrowed his eyes, subtly glancing at the stall owner.

The short man with triangular eyes was radiating a glaring, aggressive red light!

The stall owner also shifted his gaze toward Wot and James Lone, his eyes narrowing.

With their clean clothes and healthy hues, they seemed like important figures.

"This old man must be someone significant!"

Feigning excitement as if he were encountering a valuable customer, the triangular-eyed vendor exclaimed, "Sir, how about some canned goods?"

Other survivors watched Wot closely, calculating him. This old man clearly possessed significant purchasing power, and they saw him as competition.

Wot picked up a can, weighing it briefly before handing it to James Lone.

The guards behind the triangular-eyed vendor watched James Lone with intense focus, as though fearing he might snatch the can away.

James Lone discreetly weighed it and sniffed it. No matter how closely he examined it, it appeared to be an ordinary can.

Yet his perception told him otherwise; this was not genuine at all.

Maintaining a neutral expression, he placed the can back on the stall, pretending, "No problem."

Wot nodded slightly, asking, "How much?"

The stall owner grinned insincerely, "That depends on how many you want to buy."

James Lone noted the stall owner's reluctance, realizing something was amiss.

Strange—if he's selling something, even if it's fake, why act unwilling?

Wot, with grandeur, declared, "I'll take them all."

The corners of the stall owner's mouth twitched, and the surrounding survivors immediately voiced their discontent.

"No way!"

"You're going to buy them all? What are we supposed to eat?"

"Seriously, you're just going to barge in and clear the whole stock? Buying should have its turn!"

James Lone noticed the stall owner seemed to breathe a sigh of relief.

What was going on here?

The stall owner hastily added, "Right, sir, it wouldn't be fair for you to take everything. People need food to survive during these difficult times cloaked in purple mist. It's tough for everyone to find something to eat."

His comments lifted the spirits of the survivors around him.

Wot was torn, unsure what to say next, suddenly feeling uncertain about James Lone's plan.

In a whisper, James Lone communicated in his mind, "The cans are fake; he is up to something. Gather more intel."

Fake? Wot glanced at the can again without showing any signs of suspicion. "How many do you have?"

The stall owner grinned confidently, holding up five fingers. "Five hundred! We stumbled upon a warehouse of canned goods and can afford to part with some."

A buzz erupted among the crowd, eyes sparkling with greed.

"I want ten cans!"

"I'll take thirty!"

"I, I want... one can!"

"Get out! You want one can when this is a wholesale deal!"

Once the clamoring subsided, Wot pressed, "Why must we go back with you to collect them? Why don't you just bring the goods here?"

Confusion washed over the group as they watched the stall owner, suspicious of a potential double-cross.

Yet the stall owner answered honestly, "You think I don't worry? So many of you here—who can ensure they'll stay safe while I transport 500 cans? What if someone robs us?"

The crowd pondered his logic, finding it valid.

In this dark time, besides the military, no one dared transport such vast amounts of food.

The thought of 500 cans could incite greed in any survivor.

Even ten cans could raise suspicion; people would start glancing at their weapons if they sensed a chance to take.

If there weren't so many guards around, the stall owner might have been robbed already.

He continued, "You don't have to worry if you come with me. With so many people, why would we need to fight? Even if we killed you, how many would die? What could we truly gain from it? It's not worth the risk, right?"

The survivors shifted their perspectives, feeling persuaded to follow the stall owner and claim their canned goods.

Wot glanced questioningly at James Lone.

James Lone replied in his mind, "We shouldn't go. It feels dangerous."

Upon hearing this, Wot was ready to back out. After all, their convoy had adequate supplies; there was no need for them to take unnecessary risks.

However, at that moment, a small-time delinquent with green hair and earrings slipped up to the triangular-eyed stall owner. He whispered urgently, "This old man came from a convoy further ahead; they have a tank! And women! Boss Giacomo wants us to grab him!"

A tank! Now that was something! The stall owner's eyes lit up as he turned to Wot, hastily saying, "Sir, do you still want those cans?"

Wot shook his head, "I don't want any. We need to keep moving; I don't have time to follow you."

The stall owner's facade crumbled as he hurriedly added, "It's just an hour round trip—quick as a flash! Come now; have a smoke! My name is Selim Hanks, and you can call me Selim. What's your name, sir?"

Wot wouldn't take the offered cigarette, his gaze locked on Selim with growing suspicion.

"You're acting overly friendly, kid. I can't afford to smoke whatever you're offering."

Selim feigned innocence. "You misunderstand! You're a valuable customer! Of course, I need to make you feel welcome."

Growing more uneasy, and remembering James Lone's orders, Wot firmly declined, "I don't have time for this. Let's just forget it."

After saying that, he pivoted and walked away.

"Wait, sir!" Selim called anxiously.

Ignoring him, Wot hurriedly distanced himself.

Damn! This old man is too cautious! Selim cursed inwardly, debating whether to capture Wot here.

If he acted now, the other survivors would definitely shy away from going to the warehouse with him.

What was the old man planning? As James Lone's focus shifted back to Selim, he overheard the green-haired thug whispering something else.

"With so many beauties in that old man's convoy?"

"Yeah! Plenty! I sneakily peeked and saw at least five women! All of them made up and looking so pristine!"

"Damn! This old man must be a high official from the 910 forces—must be living the life! Let's ask Boss Giacomo to take us in and rob the place!"

"Impossible! Giacomo said that guy might be linked to the 910 forces. We can't afford to provoke them. The Fire God Company is too notorious here; if that old man gets into trouble, they'll trace it back to us easily. Better to let them go and follow behind to find an opportunity elsewhere!"

James Lone's eyes narrowed sharply.

The Fire God Company?

They're asking for trouble!

Immediately, he directed his thoughts to Wot, saying, "Let's head back and tell Selim we want to buy his cans!"

Wot hesitated, unsure why James Lone had suddenly switched gears, but he nodded, "Alright."