That night, after a half-day of bustling activity, the players finally finished erecting rows of makeshift shelters using wasteland rocks and scrap materials on the outer perimeter of the potato cultivation zone.
Fires burned outside the shelters, the dancing flames driving away the piercing cold of the wasteland night.
After eating warm gruel made from boiled nutrient paste, the two thousand-plus refugees who had escaped the Redblaze Wasteland industrial zone finally experienced their most stable and warmest night since leaving that hellhole.
The sound of snoring soon rose and fell within the shacks, intermingled with the occasional sobs of children in their dreams.
Most of the players had also logged off by this point, and the base sank into an exhausted tranquility.
However, on the second floor of the central mess hall—the players' command center—the lights were burning bright.
Power was supplied by several sets of batteries that had been charged during the day using a portable fuel generator bought from the store.
The lighting wasn't very bright, but it was enough to illuminate this room simply constructed from large stones.
A group of people sat around a crude, eight-meter-long conference table polished from a single massive wasteland boulder in the center of the hall.
Zeke sat at the head of the table.
He had taken off the field jacket he had given to the workers in the freezing night and was now only wearing a thin, gray work tank top.
Seated to his left were Schrödinger Bro, Tax Bro, Cogboy, and White Scars.
Seated to his right were [Blood Angels' Second Emperor], [Soul of Cadia], [I'm Not the Regent, I'm Just Passing By Guilliman] (Bro G), [Have You Been Loyal Today?], and other newly promoted Chapter officers.
The atmosphere was somewhat heavy.
"Everyone," Zeke was the first to break the silence, his voice slightly hoarse. "The reason I asked you to stay behind is to discuss an urgent matter. The total Imperial Coins of our Main Chapter and all the Sub-Chapters combined is running low."
He pulled up the compiled data, projecting the Chapter's financial situation for everyone to see:
[Crimson Dawn Main Chapter Funds: 91,237 Imperial Coins]
[Crimson Strike Sub-Chapter Funds: 8,412]
[Crimson Wind: 7,903]
[Crimson Spirit: 11,028]
[Crimson Machina: 15,671]
[Total: 134,251]
"A little over one hundred and thirty thousand," Zeke tapped his fingers against the rough stone table. "It sounds like a lot, but divided among five thousand, it's less than thirty coins per person. The breathing tax we have to pay every day is one thousand five hundred coins. The nutrient paste we consume daily costs four thousand five hundred coins. For the continued development of the base, and so everyone can continue upgrading their strength, we must find new sources of income. Otherwise, we'll eat through our savings in a matter of days."
At this moment, [Fugitive Cogboy of the Mechanicus], seated to his left, spoke up:
"That's correct. I've done the calculations. After all the physical enhancements, skill learning, psychic awakenings, and equipment purchases over these past few days, the Imperial Coins in the players' personal accounts generally do not exceed two hundred. And the Chapter funds everyone previously contributed... the six accounts combined indeed only amount to one hundred and thirty thousand. Add to that the over two thousand natives you brought back today, Chapter Master... Even if we calculate their bottom-line food and water at the absolute minimum survival standard of 0.5 Imperial Coins per person per day, we will have an additional daily expenditure of over a thousand coins. That is not a small sum."
Zeke nodded, a look of apology on his face. "Taking them in was my own unilateral decision. I didn't discuss it with you all beforehand. I will try my best to find a way to cover this additional expenditure and make up the shortfall."
Cogboy, however, shook his head. "Zeke, I'm not blaming you. On the contrary, from a rational perspective, taking in this batch of natives brings us more benefits than disadvantages. Setting aside the potential value of that little girl who is a suspected A-tier Psyker, the over two thousand skilled workers themselves are a massive asset. They are miners, smelters, machine operators, and porters, and they are familiar with the local environment of Aurelian IV. That far outweighs the small Imperial Coin expenditure. More importantly, they can gradually take over our logistical work. They can cultivate more potato fields, build sturdier housing, perform basic nighttime guard duties, and maintain the equipment and walls. This will greatly liberate the productivity of our players, allowing us to focus on exploration, combat, and leveling up. This is a long-term investment."
"I agree with Cogboy's analysis." Tax Bro spoke in a muffled, resonant voice, his fists unconsciously clenching. "When I was helping them build shelters during the day, a few young guys secretly asked me if I could teach them how to use guns. I asked why. They said they didn't want to be herded around like livestock anymore like they were in the industrial zone, and they wanted the ability to protect their own people. Just for that sentence alone, I think it's worth it."
White Scars nodded as well. "I agree too. Money can be earned again. But if people die... they can't respawn like us."
Schrödinger Bro slowly opened his eyes. "I support it."
The other officers also voiced their agreement. No one opposed taking in the refugees; in fact, they all believed it was the right, even necessary, choice.
Zeke looked at his companions around the table—people who were willing to follow him in making a seemingly irrational choice in this cruel world.
He took a deep breath and simply said two words: "Thank you."
This support was worth more than any amount of Imperial Coins.
"Alright," Zeke reigned in his emotions and sat up straighter. "Since everyone agrees, the next step is how to make money and open up new income streams. How did your various scouting missions go? What's the specific situation? White Scars, you start with Red Town."
White Scars sat up straight, his face unusually grim.
"Red Town only allowed fifteen people inside. I didn't force my way in. The town has a Magistrate appointed by the Aru Group with a garrison of a few hundred under his command. Their equipment is garbage—mostly outdated kinetic firearms. The town primarily guards the trade route leading to the Kent Mining City. It has a permanent population of a little over two thousand; the rest are bandits, gangsters, and scavengers. It's a typical Warhammer wasteland town: chaotic, impoverished, and cannibalistic. We traded pelts and tools for some intel and... food. Besides expired nutrient paste, it was flatbreads made from mutant beast meat mixed with some unknown substance. It's even worse than nutrient paste. There wasn't much valuable intel. The Kent Hive is to the southeast; it's a major mining site for the Aru Group."
Zeke took notes. "So Red Town has very low trade value?"
"Extremely low," White Scars affirmed. "There is nothing but exploitation there."
Zeke nodded and looked at Tax Bro. "What about your mining pit?"
Hearing this, Tax Bro perked up. "I took five hundred players to check out that mining pit. The location is good—to the northeast. I had some in our Chapter who know geological surveying take a preliminary look. There's definitely still ore inside. Although the promethium purity isn't high, there should be a sizable deposit. However, the ore isn't the main point for us right now! The main point is that the area around the pit is basically a paradise for mutant beasts! I personally saw dozens of packs of Razor-Dogs, plus some burrowing ones, some with carapaces... all sorts, and a lot of them! For us right now, those are all walking Imperial Coins!"
The eyes of everyone at the table lit up.
When they were short on money, a monster spawn point like this was essentially a massive treasure trove.
Zeke also nodded slightly; this was indeed a solid short-term resource stream.
He then looked at Schrödinger. "What about the ruins of the outpost you went to?"
Schrödinger's face was expressionless, his voice calm. "We thoroughly searched that old outpost of the Blaec House. Any equipment that could be moved or data drives holding valuable knowledge were either taken by the evacuees eighty years ago or scavenged clean by scavengers or the Four Great Factions later on. There is essentially nothing left that is of use to us."
Hearing this, Zeke couldn't help but feel a pang of regret.
He had originally hoped to find some machinery or historical records in that former outpost.
Seeing the disappointment flash across Zeke's face, the corners of Schrödinger Bro's mouth twitched upward almost imperceptibly.
"However—" he dragged out the word.