When William announced that the two small robots would stay on Mars to take care of the potatoes, the vast majority of Facebook users were thrilled.
At the same time, his credibility skyrocketed.
A one-dollar bet might not be a big deal to people wealthy enough to own a computer, but nobody likes being scammed.
Even though people understood that William had been stranded on Mars for over two months, facing multiple life-threatening crises, and was now eager to return home,
if the potato guessing game remained unfinished, most of them would still be upset.
But now, with the robot caretakers, there was nothing to worry about.
"Do you know how much money I'm losing just to keep my word and finish this game?"
William sighed, rubbing his face with mock frustration.
"**This spaceship will have to stay on Mars, and the original plan to bring back 100 tons of gold to London has been reduced to just 50 tons.
At current market prices, that's a $1 billion loss.
Plus, this ship will be stuck here for over 40 days.
If I took it back to London and refitted it with new energy sources, it could do a round trip between Earth and Mars in just four days.
Over 40 days, assuming a trip every 10 days, that means I'd lose the opportunity to bring back another 200 tons of gold—a total loss of $4 billion!
So tell me, am I getting completely screwed, or what?"
Holy crap!
The audience was stunned.
William had just casually mentioned losing hundreds of tons of gold—billions of dollars—and they were still trying to process those astronomical figures.
Before they could recover, William's expression suddenly changed—as if he had just thought of something.
"Heh, heh, suddenly, I realize… I might not be the only one getting screwed here."
Wait… what?
Who else could possibly be unlucky enough to suffer alongside him?
Suddenly, an English user on Facebook posted:
"England is actually suffering worse than William."
William grinned and said:
"Looks like someone already figured it out."
Laughing, he continued:
"**According to the current tax rate, if I bring gold back under my company's name, I have to pay 26% in gold or its equivalent in British pounds.
If I bring it back as a personal asset, I have to pay 40%—though some expenses and charitable donations can reduce that amount.
But in the end, the British government won't accept tax payments in gold—they'll only give me back pounds.
So now, ask yourselves: if this spaceship doesn't return to England, how much gold will the British government lose in taxes?"
Suddenly, all of England stopped laughing.
Meanwhile, the rest of the world erupted into hysterical laughter.
William hadn't just made a joke—he had deliberately made this issue public.
Since he had openly declared that he was bringing gold back to London, everybody knew about it.
With the whole world watching, if he paid even a penny less in taxes, the reputation of the Devonshire family would be completely ruined.
However, while he couldn't avoid paying taxes, he could decide how much to pay and when to pay it.
If he was dissatisfied with the British government, he could store the gold on the Moon instead.
Right now, William was the only person in the world who could transport cargo through space.
To him, storing gold on the Moon, Mars, or his Oxford castle made no difference—it was still his gold.
But for the British government, losing 100-200 tons of gold per month could be a catastrophe.
If people found out about it, the streets of London might be flooded with angry citizens overnight.
Now, William's influence in England was no longer just about his military strength—it also extended into economic power.
"Alright, folks, I can't say any more."
William shrugged, looking amused.
"I'm a Londoner, after all. If I keep talking, I might get into trouble."
"**With the potatoes taken care of, I have nothing left to worry about on Mars.
The real priority now is returning to Earth.
So, if nothing unexpected happens…**"
Checking his watch, he continued:
"I'll be departing for London in two hours."
Now that it was finally time to leave, William felt a bit reluctant.
After playing the role of a stranded survivor for two months, suddenly, it was all coming to an end.
But then, he reminded himself—the mission's most important goal had already been achieved.
The Space Stone.
Surprisingly, securing the Infinity Stone had been incredibly easy.
As soon as he placed it into his storage space, it instantly stabilized, as if it had found its rightful owner.
With the Space Stone in his possession, William's mastery of spatial magic skyrocketed, his magic level increased, and his storage space expanded exponentially.
At this point, he wasn't even sure how to fill it all up.
After saying goodbye to his audience, William shut off the livestream and entered the spaceship he had piloted to Mars.
Passing through the decontamination chamber, he reached the cargo bay, followed by the two small robots.
Pointing at the 40 pots of potato plants, he instructed:
"**Your mission from now on is to care for these potatoes, maintain the spaceship, and keep the livestream running for Earth.
Only if the ship is completely secure can you assist the five engineering robots in building the settlement.
In case of an emergency, you are authorized to pilot the ship away from this canyon and find a safer location until rescue arrives.
Understood?**"
"Understood, Mr. Devonshire."
With that, the two robots immediately began tending to the potatoes.
Their movements were smooth and precise—clearly, Sunday's programming had paid off.
"Sir, congratulations!
The yield from this batch of potatoes might exceed all expectations.
Your chances of winning the Facebook bet have skyrocketed."
"Heh, Sunday, if you tell me that now, it ruins the fun."
William grinned as he watched the robots scan the soil moisture levels and adjust water distribution with precision.
"Sometimes, cheating is just this simple…"
The first batch of potatoes had been a huge success, giving Facebook users a clear reference for the second batch's yield.
This time, since people assumed William wouldn't intervene, they placed a variety of bets, rather than all guessing the highest number possible.
But now, with robotic caretakers ensuring optimal conditions, the second batch might far exceed 75 kg.
In that case, guessing the correct weight would become significantly harder.
Even William himself wouldn't be able to predict the exact number.
With so many participants already eliminated, he no longer needed to cheat.
After all, if too few people won, it would hurt his plan to promote Devonshire gold coins.
(End of Chapter)
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