This is the bonus chapter for reaching 250 Powerstones.
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"The Primarch personally led the charge... What did our little Aurelian IV ever do to deserve such an honor? Wait, what about the four major factions? Weren't they just fighting over there?"
"Fighting? They pissed their pants in sheer terror!" White Scars hopped out of another truck, moving so fast he was practically a blur. "You guys should have seen the commander of the four major factions! He kneeled before the Primarch with absolutely textbook posture. I bet the inner lining of his Power Armor was completely soaked in sweat."
The players roared with laughter.
But Cogboy, Schrödinger Bro, and Blood Angel standing at the gates were not laughing.
The three exchanged a look.
"Paul." Schrödinger Bro stepped forward. "The conference room is ready. Sixth floor."
Paul nodded. "Meeting in ten minutes. Tax Bro, White Scars. You two come as well." He looked back at the players who were still excitedly discussing the battle. "Everyone else, back to your posts. Medical team, prioritize the lightly wounded. Logistics team, tally the equipment degradation. Intel team, I want the compiled battlefield observation report in one hour."
The orders were concise and clear. After this period of development, the players had become increasingly proficient. They were feeling more and more like actual soldiers. Many had even remarked that this game was making up for the regret of never having served in the military in real life.
This was the efficiency Crimson Dawn had forged over the past month.
Five thousand players and twenty-two thousand native residents, operating under a strict Chapter system and contribution framework, had become a highly precise machine.
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Ten minutes later. Sixth-floor conference room.
All twenty-three seats were filled.
The newly promoted female player supervisors were also present. The medical report compiled by [Studying Med is Worse Than Falling to Chaos] was already bound and placed on the table.
The education progress chart from [Teaching Nurgle How to Read in the Warp] showed that over the past half-month, another eighteen hundred native residents had completed the basic literacy classes.
The resource inventory from [The Most Incorruptible Logistics King of the Imperium] was thirty pages thick.
And the player in charge of internal base security—[Slaanesh Just Wants to Slack Off Today], who had picked her ID purely as a meme—was responsible for reporting on the disciplinary actions taken over the past week.
Paul sat at the head of the table. He had unequipped his Power Armor and was wearing a basic black combat suit.
Even so, his Astartes physique made the chair look slightly too small for him.
"Let's begin." He spoke, his voice calm. " Topic One: Battlefield Observation Report."
"Tax Bro, you start."
Tax Bro cleared his throat. "Our one thousand men fought guerrilla warfare in the warehouse district on the northeast flank of the industrial zone for three and a half hours. Combat Stats: 1,237 lesser daemons killed. This includes 804 Tzeentch Horrors, 329 Khorne Bloodletters, and 104 other entities such as Flesh Hounds. Total salvage value: 415,000 Imperial Coins."
He pulled up a holographic projection, displaying a battlefield map covered in dense annotations. "The focus is here. The combat doctrine of the Iron Hands Legion."
The image zoomed in.
It was footage captured by the players using binoculars and recording devices. Although blurry, the general outlines were clear.
"Five thousand Astartes, divided into fifty centuries. Each century was subdivided into ten tactical squads, ten men per squad. Their coordination... was like a machine." (TL/N: A century was a fundamental military unit within a Roman legion)
Tax Bro rapped his knuckles on the table. "I'm not using a metaphor. It was literally like a freaking machine. I watched one squad clear out a three-story manufactorum in four freaking seconds. Second one: breaching team blew the wall. Second two: assault team breached. Second three: heavy weapons provided suppression. Second four: cleanup team executed the survivors."
"Zero verbal communication the entire time. Purely hand signals and pre-established tactical protocols. Twenty-two Horrors inside the manufactorum. Total wipeout."
Sharp intakes of breath echoed around the conference room.
"Their equipment level is also higher than we estimated," White Scars added. "Standard Mark IV Maximus-pattern Power Armor, but heavily modified. I saw at least three non-standard weapons. One was a shoulder-mounted plasma cannon with complex cooling coils wrapped around the barrel. One was a multi-barrel Bolter with a fire rate triple that of the standard model and their Power Swords. When activated, the disruption field is pale blue, not the standard green."
Cogboy's mechanical eye immediately began to flash. "A pale blue disruption field? That indicates a far more stable energy output. The purity requirements for the rare crystals needed for that are at least three times the Imperial standard. They either have an exclusive supply chain, or... they know how to forge them themselves."
"They know how to forge them themselves." Paul confirmed Cogboy's hypothesis. "Ferrus Manus was one of the best technological Primarchs of the Great Crusade era. The Iron Hands Legion is renowned for its mechanical augmentations and weapon research and development. They very likely have fully operational manufactorum lines right there on their warships."
He pulled up another piece of footage.
It was the scene of the Fist of Iron launching its drop pods. Thousands of flaming meteors streaked across the sky, perfectly aligned in a formation so flawless it was suffocating.
"Topic Two: Primarch Combat Assessment." Paul paused the footage on the exact moment Ferrus stepped out of his drop pod. "I attempted to use my psychic perception to brush against his willpower... and I failed. I only managed to intercept a few fragmented pieces of data."
He shared some of the content: "Ferrus possesses a crystal-clear understanding of the current state of Aurelian IV. He knows the four major factions are the actual rulers of the planet. He knows Governor Harrington is a figurehead. He knows the extent of the corruption in the industrial zone. He chose to descend personally at this exact moment, and it wasn't just to purge the daemons. The energy levels of those two daemons had already been whittled down by eighty-seven percent; any random Company could have finished the job."
Schrödinger Bro frowned. "Are you saying... he came to steal the kill?"
"No, he came to re-establish Imperial rule." Paul switched the image to the scene of Kans Atens kneeling before the Primarch. "The wealth, military forces, and technology the four major factions accumulated over the past eighty years... are now all spoils of war for the Imperium. When Ferrus told them to 'await further judgment,' he wasn't just being polite. I estimate that within the next month, the Atens Knight House, the Hysman Merchant Guild, the Conmo Psyker Dynasty, and the Order of the Omnissian Mind will all face a massive reshuffling."
Blood Angel looked thoughtful. "Then where does that leave us..."
"That brings us to Topic Three." Paul looked at everyone. "The Iron Hands Legion will garrison this planet until the Warp rift in the industrial zone—and whatever is beneath it—is completely purged. I estimate this will take anywhere from thirty to sixty days. During this time, any large-scale military operation will draw their attention."
He pulled up the holographic map of their base.
The Crimson Dawn base now covered over five square kilometers. The walls, barracks, farmlands, manufactorums, training grounds... all densely annotated on the map.
"We have twenty-two thousand people and five thousand players. The average player augmentation level: Type-III physique completion at seventy-two percent, 537 Official Psykers, 909 semi-mechanized cyborgs. Equipment: 5,700 lasguns, 284 heavy stubbers, 320 rocket launchers, 150 transport trucks, 12 rocket artillery trucks, and 5 light tanks."
The data looked decent on paper.
"But how long would this force last against a single Century of Iron Hands?" Paul asked and answered his own question. "Based on our observations today, in a pitched battle, we would be entirely annihilated within ten minutes. The average neural reaction speed of an Astartes is three times ours. The armor plating on their Power Armor is completely immune to direct lasgun fire. And a single shot from a Bolter could blow a hole straight through our walls. If you factor in their heavy weapons and tactical coordination... we wouldn't even last five minutes."
Tax Bro opened his mouth to say something, but ultimately swallowed his words.
He had seen how those silver-grey giants fought with his own eyes.
It wasn't a battle. It was an assembly line. Input target, output corpse.
"Therefore, Topic Four: Strategic Realignment." Paul's finger drew a circle on the holographic map. "From this moment on, Crimson Dawn enters a period of dormancy. All external expansion plans are suspended. Base construction will pivot entirely toward internal fortification. We will focus on three things. First, dig deep. Cogboy, I want you to expand the subterranean bunker system to hold thirty thousand people within thirty days. The defensive rating must be up to standard to withstand orbital bombardment."
Cogboy's mechanical fingers blurred across his console. "Budget?"
"Whatever Imperial Coins you need, requisition them directly."
"Understood."
"Second, stockpile food. Logistics King, our food reserves need to be increased to feed fifty thousand people for half a year, continue expanding the potato fields, and try introducing other crops. Medical resources, water purification systems, and energy reserves—double all of them to wartime standards."
The slightly chubby Logistics King nodded. "I'm currently working with a few players who studied agriculture to develop localized planting methods. The background radiation of Aurelian IV's soil is high, but the modified seeds from the shop are extremely adaptable. We might be able to grow corn and wheat."
"Third, keep our heads down!"
Paul then looked at Blood Angel. "How is the progress on your end?"
Blood Angel stood up.
A faint, pale gold light seemed to flow around him.
He was the man in charge of Crimson Dawn's ideological work and underground operations.
"Over the past half-month, we've dispatched four undercover squads in four separate waves."
He pulled up four dossiers, each stamped with a crimson codename.
"First wave, codename King Cobra. Team Leader [Crimson King Cobra]. Five-man squad. Disguised as vagrant Psykers, they infiltrated the middle Hive of Aru City fourteen days ago. Current feedback: They are attempting to establish an intelligence network."
"Second wave, codename Storm. Team Leader [Crimson Storm]. Six-man squad. Disguised as merchants, they entered the middle Hive eleven days ago. Deep utilized his position to forge trade permits for them. Current feedback: They have secured a foothold in the Fourth Trade District of the middle Hive and are gathering data on the resource flow of the four major factions."
"Third wave, codename Emei Peak. Team Leader [Crimson Emei Peak]. Four-man squad. They successfully acquired the identities of Mechanicus apprentices and infiltrated the Aru City branch of the Order of the Omnissian Mind. Current feedback: They have acquired low-level clearance and are attempting to access the maintenance logs for the Skitarii's wargear."
"Fourth wave, codename Waiter. Team Leader [Crimson Waiter]. Seven-man squad. Disguised as food and beverage suppliers, they bypassed security five days ago using Deep connections and entered the upper Hive's aristocratic service chain. Current feedback: They have planted listening devices in three banquet halls in the upper Hive."
Blood Angel paused, then added: "Four squads, twenty-two personnel in total. Each operative is carrying an operational fund of five hundred thousand Imperial Coins. All squads transmit a message over the regional channel at pre-arranged times every forty-eight hours, which is received by a dedicated handler."
The conference room was completely silent.
This was Crimson Dawn's true trump card. As everyone knows, intelligence is the greatest weapon in war.
"They have three core objectives." Blood Angel continued, "First, ascertain the Iron Hands Legion's garrison plans and departure date. Second, monitor the 'judgment' of the four major factions. Specifically, which industries will be seized by the Imperium, and which will be left untouched. Third..."
He looked at Paul.
Paul finished his sentence. "Third, assess Ferrus Manus's attitude toward the native powers of Aurelian IV. Will he purge all the local factions like he purged the Blaec House eighty years ago? Or will he leave some collaborators in place?"
Schrödinger Bro looked thoughtful. "If it's the latter, then we must become one of those collaborators."
"But the prerequisite is that he has to know we exist." Paul knocked on the table. "And right now, in his assessment, there's a high probability we are simply filed away as an 'unidentified armed force. Threat level: Low.'"
Those words woke everyone up.
Although the four major factions were about to be purged, at least in the eyes of the Primarch, they were a "problem that required handling."
But what about Crimson Dawn?
They might just be a footnote in a report, or perhaps entirely unnoticed.
"Therefore, Topic Five, and our final topic." Paul stood up, his three-meter-tall frame casting a long shadow under the conference room lights. "We need an opportunity to make our debut. An opportunity that will make the Iron Hands notice us, but without viewing us as a direct threat."
He looked at everyone in the room. "Brothers, right now, we are dancing in a minefield. If we dance well, after the Iron Hands leave, we can become the new masters of Aurelian IV, and truly build the paradise we want. If we don't dance well..."
He didn't finish.
But everyone understood.
Tax Bro grinned. "What's there to be afraid of? Worst case scenario, we delete our accounts and start over. We players can just respawn anyway."
"But the native residents can't." Paul paused. "We aren't just players anymore. We are the hope of twenty-two thousand living, breathing people. We can respawn. They cannot. If we lose, we can just go back to the real world and keep working our day jobs. If they lose, they die."
The conference room fell silent.
Outside the window, the sky had grown completely dark.
Aurelian IV's two moons rose into the sky. The red and white light filtered through the glass, casting overlapping shadows on the conference table.
"Meeting adjourned." Paul said, "Return to your posts. Execute the plan. Let's see how Ferrus intends to play this game of chess."
The command team stood up and left.
In the end, only Paul, Schrödinger Bro, and Blood Angel remained.
"Paul." Schrödinger Bro suddenly spoke, his voice very soft. "If Ferrus really does notice us... what do you think he'll choose to do?"
Paul looked out the window, gazing at the Fist of Iron faintly visible in the night sky.
The twenty-kilometer-long warship looked like a floating mountain—cold, silent, and suffocating.
"I don't know." He spoke the truth. "But I do know one thing. In the Warhammer universe, weakness is not an obstacle to survival. Arrogance is."
"Are the Iron Hands arrogant? Perhaps! But at the very least, they are willing to fight to purge the daemons, rather than sitting in the rear treating human lives like numbers, like the parasites of the Imperium do."
Paul turned around, looking at Schrödinger Bro and Blood Angel. "Therefore, what we must do is prove that we are neither heretics requiring purification nor insects to be casually crushed. We must prove that Crimson Dawn... can be the Imperium's alternative choice on Aurelian IV."
Blood Angel smiled. "Like Pavel Korchagin?"
"Exactly."
Paul smiled as well. "In the darkest of eras, we will be the most stubborn spark of fire."
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Next Goal = 500 Powerstones.
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