This is the bonus chapter for reaching 600 Powerstones.
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Three days slipped by quietly in the Warhammer universe.
But for the Crimson Dawn Base, these seventy-two hours could be written into the "Fourth Scourge's Crash Course on Infrastructure Construction".
The morning mist hadn't yet fully dispersed when Zeke climbed to the top of the completely repaired watchtower—which even had a makeshift rain canopy installed—and looked down.
His first thought was: Is this still the same ruined hellhole from three days ago where we had to dig our own latrines?
Around the perimeter of the base, a stone wall fully three and a half meters high and nearly a meter thick encircled the entire area.
The stones were quarried from the nearby hills, their surfaces rough, stacked tightly with the gaps filled using cheap adhesive bought from the store.
Every twenty meters along the top of the wall was a wooden guard tower, making a total of eight. Two players stood in each tower, gripping lasguns purchased from the store, vigilantly scanning the eerie jungle outside the walls.
Inside the walls, the space was clearly divided into five sectors.
The East Sector was the territory of the Crimson Strike Chapter. The most prominent feature was the training ground built from logs, taking up an area the size of a football field.
At this moment, over a thousand muscular bros were inside conducting various mind-boggling training routines:
Some were doing squats with half-meter-thick tree trunks on their shoulders. Some were whacking each other's enhanced bodies with iron pipes to test impact resistance. There was even a circle of people watching two players in the center engage in wrestling, their muscles bulging as if they were about to explode.
The air was thick with the smell of sweat and burning protein.
"These guys eat nutrient paste like it's rice."
Tax Bro's voice came from the side. He had also climbed the watchtower, wearing only a sleeveless work tank top. His exposed arms were thicker than Zeke's thighs, and a faint metallic luster flowed beneath his skin.
This was the sign that his Type II Enhancement had passed 50% completion.
"Yesterday, some idiot ate fifteen tubes of nutrient paste in one day and ended up with indigestion. Squatted in the latrine for two hours."
Tax Bro grinned. "In the end, Cogboy had to pour half a bottle of lubricating machine oil down his throat to get him to shit it out."
Zeke's eye twitched. "...As long as you guys are happy."
–
The West Sector was the headquarters of the Crimson Wind Chapter.
There were no large buildings here, only rows of low but exceptionally sturdy wooden cabins. Parked in front of the cabins were fifteen light transport vehicles.
These vehicles had been purchased through a Chapter fundraiser. At 8,000 Imperial Coins each, their performance rivaled standard Imperial Guard models, though their exterior looked a bit shabby. The hulls were spray-painted with various graffiti:
"Speed is Justice."
"Deja Vu!"
"I reckon this car can fly."
White Scar was leading dozens of players in tinkering around one of the vehicles, attempting to attach simple jet thrusters bought from the store.
"Theoretically, it works!"
White Scar's voice could be heard from far away. "Even though these thrusters were originally meant for single-person hoverboards, if we attach a few more, maybe it can really get the car off the ground for a short time!"
A player next to him asked weakly, "What about landing?"
White Scar waved his hand dismissively. "Landing? That's a technical issue for the next phase! For now, we solve whether it can fly!"
Zeke: "..."
"Did these guys get their minds broken by the neural reflex and sensory acuity modifications?"
–
The Central Sector was the joint headquarters for Crimson Spirit and Crimson Machina, and it was also the most civilized place in the base.
A two-story stone-and-wood building, reinforced and damp-proofed, served as the public cafeteria and assembly hall. It was now jokingly referred to by the players as the "Dawn Hall."
Next to the hall were several relatively clean and tidy wooden cabins, hanging signs that read:
"Psychic Meditation Room."
"Mechanical Workshop."
"Medical Station."
"Supply Warehouse."
What comforted Zeke the most was the public latrine built next to the warehouse out of stone slabs, complete with a rudimentary waste disposal system.
Three days ago, the players were still digging holes in the open to relieve themselves. Now they finally had a relatively decent place, even if the smell was still a bit 'touching.'
"After all, we can't afford the Warhammer world's air purification technology right now."
Schrödinger Bro had climbed up at some point as well. He wore a washed-out work jacket with some unidentified stains on the cuffs. His gaze was even more... unfocused than it was three days ago.
"But at least it's cleaner than Nurgle's Garden."
Schrödinger Bro raised his right hand, palm up.
Faint energy with a pale blue halo swirled around his fingertips, tracing a simple geometric pattern.
"Psychic Control Progress: 12%."
He lowered his hand, and the halo dissipated. "A B-tier talent isn't bad. It's just that every time I finish meditating, I feel like Tzeentch is banging gongs and beating drums in my head, trying to sell me his knowledge subscription package."
Zeke frowned. "Is it dangerous?"
"Not for now."
Schrödinger Bro shrugged. "I have the protection methods from the Basic Meditation manual and the rudimentary safeguards provided by the game system."
"Even though it's crude, it at least lets me distinguish which voices are Warp whispers and which ones are my own stray thoughts."
He paused, then added: "By the way, my current psychic level is (1/12) Faint-grade. By Warhammer standards, that's roughly equivalent to... being able to light a cigarette?"
"That's not bad."
"Keep leveling up and you'll get stronger eventually!"
–
The North Sector was the living and agricultural area.
The living area consisted of neatly arranged wooden and stone cabins. Eight to ten people lived in each cabin. Although cramped, it at least provided shelter from the wind and rain.
The agricultural area was a plot of land roughly ten acres in size that had been cleared and tilled. Tender green shoots were already sprouting from the soil.
"Potatoes."
Tax Bro pointed over. "Improved seeds sold in the shop. Growth cycle shortened to forty days, resistant to pests and diseases. The taste is just... well, about the same as nutrient paste."
"As long as we can eat it." Zeke was very pragmatic. "It's better than eating synthetic nutrient paste every day. I swear, if we keep eating that stuff, our intestines are going to turn into plastic tubes."
–
The South Sector housed one of the base's most important assets: the Water Treatment Facility.
An aqueduct—dug manually by the muscular bros from a river fourteen kilometers away—wound its way here, emptying into a sizable concrete pool.
Inside the pool, a clunky but exceptionally sturdy machine hummed as it operated.
[Basic Water Filtration System (Heavy)]: Price 30,000 Imperial Coins. The single largest public investment made by the Crimson Dawn Chapter.
The machine sucked in river water that gleamed with oil slicks and suspicious colors at one end, and spat out relatively clear liquid at the other.
Though it still needed to be boiled before drinking, it was at least fine for washing clothes and bathing.
"Cogboy tested the water quality yesterday," Schrödinger Bro said. "Heavy metal content still exceeds standards, but at least there's no obvious Chaos contamination or mutant viruses."
"He said if we spend another 3,000 coins on a Psychic Purification Module, we can drink it straight."
Zeke smiled helplessly. "Money..."
At the mention of money, all three fell silent.
Base construction had burned through a massive amount of Imperial Coins: building materials, tools, vehicles, the water filtration system, seeds, basic medical supplies...
Even though the players had donated a portion of the coins they earned in the industrial zone to the public fund, the expenses of five thousand people were a bottomless pit.
Not to mention, everyone had their own enhancement needs.
Zeke had pushed his own Basic Physique Enhancement to Type II, and completed the Type I Neural Reflexes and Sensory Acuity modifications. In total, he had spent 700 coins.
He was now 1.85 meters tall, and his weight had increased by fifteen kilograms—all solid muscle and reinforced bone. Standing there, he looked like a human Big Mek.
Tax Bro was even more exaggerated. Through frantic training, his Type II completion had reached 51%. His muscle mass was visibly larger, and he could now lift a two-hundred-kilogram boulder with one hand.
The price was a skyrocketing appetite; he could put away five tubes of nutrient paste in a single meal.
White Scar had taken the agility route. His Type II Neural Reflex Optimization was at 40% completion, and Type I Sensory Acuity at 25%. His reflexes were now fast enough to catch flies barehanded.
Schrödinger Bro's Psychic Talent Screening cost 100 coins. He spent 1,000 coins to awaken his B-tier talent, and another 500 on the Basic Meditation manual.
He had to spend time meditating every day, and while he currently had no combat capabilities, he could faintly perceive the life force and emotional fluctuations of the living beings around him.
Cogboy and the players of Crimson Machina spent their money on knowledge.
The skill books in the store covering mechanical principles, basic electronics, and an overview of Imperial Standard Template Constructs (STC) technology ranged from 20 to 300 coins each.
They bought over a dozen of them and were now holed up in the workshop all day studying, trying to modify those fifteen transport vehicles to be more practical.
"It's not easy for the players. In reality, after eating and finishing their chores, they log into the game to move bricks and build."
"There's no helping it. This game is simply too realistic." Schrödinger Bro patted Zeke's shoulder.
Zeke sighed. "The main issue is that the daily 0.3 coin tax is still being deducted. Even though everyone still has a little cushion in their accounts, eating into our savings isn't a long-term solution."
As the provisional leader of this small base, Zeke was actually quite anxious.
Right now, he felt like he was steering a small wooden rowboat through the raging tempest of the Warhammer universe. One wrong move, and the ship would shatter, drowning them all at the bottom of the sea.
Five thousand people might be a lot in another world, but this was Warhammer...
Tax Bro, Schrödinger Bro, and the others actually understood Zeke's worries. After all, this wasn't an ordinary world; this was the Warhammer universe. Was there a single Chapter Master here who wasn't drowning in stress?
(A/N: For details, please refer to: Dante, Calgar, Grimnar, Azrael, Tu'Shan, etc...)
Zeke looked out at the jungle shrouded in the morning mist in the distance, his gaze gradually firming.
"It's time to head out and take a look."
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Next Goal = 150 Powerstones.