The cigarette butt flicked between his thumb and middle finger traced a rolling bright red arc in the dark night, landing with a hiss into the muddy water.
Jeremiah gave a bitter smile, having studied for two terms as an outer disciple in the Tai Sect, he truly wished that Fatty had been the Director of his branch in the West 7th District, instead of Puluo Town's Director. If that were the case, perhaps he wouldn't feel so much pain and confusion about the future now.
This planet will belong to the bandit army. This has always been Jeremiah's steadfast belief.
He is not a military strategist and can't analyze the situation. He only knows that the bandit army started from nothing, and their achievements far surpass those of the long-established Northern Commerce Alliance. Moreover, just by comparing the current dilapidated and tragic state of Central City to the vibrancy of Puluo Town, it's enough to make him obsessively stick to his stance.
