Warhammer: Striving to Be a Grinding Man

Chapter 68 Expansion and Monthly Level

The Black Pearl glided smoothly through the chaotic sea, its portholes covered by armored panels, leaving only the faint glow of instruments and indicator lights in the bridge. The ship's vibrations remained steady at a soporific rhythm—the stray engine's output curves had shown no abnormal fluctuations since leaving the abandoned ship system. Sera maintained the course in the navigation module, while Hera Voss listened to the interstellar broadcasts in the communications module; everything was operating smoothly.

But the crew never stopped talking.

The chatter in the mess hall hadn't stopped since the first day we entered the warp. The veterans would gesture at the long table how far the green-skinned supergiant would pounce, while the new recruits listened intently, trays in hand. Some people couldn't sleep during the warp journey, so they would go to the mess hall to listen to the veterans' stories. Before long, the mess hall became the liveliest place on the entire ship.

The Black Pearl has several mess halls, but this one, located near the bridge, is primarily frequented by the garrison and mid- to high-ranking officers. The atmosphere here is more relaxed than in the other mess halls, and the topics of conversation are more direct.

"Let me tell you, when the captain was clearing the way in front of the wrecked ship, those green-skinned rifles would go silent halfway through firing," an old soldier said with certainty, picking up a steak. "It wasn't jammed, it just wouldn't fire. Back when I served in the navy, I'd seen mechanics fiddling with guns, but I'd never seen anyone go to the battlefield and silence an enemy gun with a wave of their hand."

The new recruit sitting opposite him pressed, "How did you do that?"

The veteran chewed on his steak, thinking for a long time. "It's probably a machine spirit. The captain is a technical priest; he talks to machine spirits much more easily than we talk to people. Where do those green-skinned lousy guns get machine spirits? They cower at the captain's glare."

Carlos at the next table scoffed. "Machine Spirit? You want him to talk to those greens with their machetes about Machine Spirit?" He raised his left arm, now fitted with a Voss-type mechanical prosthetic, and deftly twirled a piece of cutlery between his fingers. "Captain, that's the Emperor's blessing. Wherever he goes, the radiation disappears, the poison gas disappears, the greens' guns fall silent, and their cunning minds stop working—have any of you ever seen a tech priest like that?"

No one responded.

Lars sat in the corner, his new left arm steadily holding the soup bowl. He hadn't joined the discussion. The Cardians' creed was that battle was the only true test, and he'd witnessed firsthand how the captain had led the troops during those three months in the wrecked ship. He never spoke of how the vital signs of the seriously wounded soldiers had quickly stabilized after the captain's passage in the mess hall. Some things, once spoken, weren't just boasting, but disrespectful.

A new recruit who had just boarded the ship after completing a mission in the roaming port lowered his voice: "So, how does the captain compare to the Emperor's Angel?"

The cafeteria fell silent for a moment.

Carlos put down his fork and glanced at the recruit. "I've never seen an Imperial Angel. But during those three months in the wrecked ship, I saw the captain walk alone ahead of a bunch of cunning bastards. Those things would leap into the air and then plummet back down, their shells intact, no wounds, no blood." He pointed to his head with his fork. "Brainless. Have you ever seen an Astartes do that?"

No one answered.

A veteran who had served in the navy for nearly twenty years leaned back in his chair and said slowly, "Back in my days in the navy, I heard about the Terminator Squad's ship-scavenging technology. If ten people went in and five came back, that was considered a win. Our captain led a bunch of veterans and servitude crew through the wrecked ship for three months, dismantled an armory, and killed the cunning chieftain—not a single person died." He paused. "Whether the Emperor's Angels could do that, I don't know. But I do know that no ship in the Imperial Navy could."

A murmur of agreement rippled through the cafeteria.

Kara carried the tray over and sat down at the end of the long table. She glanced at the veterans, who were engrossed in their discussion, but didn't interrupt. These men had nearly lost their lives in the wrecked ship; the fact that they could still sit here and boast was a gift from the Emperor. As for why they received this gift, she knew better than anyone. The claw mark that had cut into her shoulder armor seam still left a faint imprint on her back armor.

When Liu En entered the cafeteria, the chatter didn't subside—in fact, it got even louder.

"Captain." Someone stood up.

"Captain, please have a seat here."

"Captain, the kitchen made Grox's Steak today, and we saved some for you."

Liu En nodded, took a plate from the table, and sat down in a corner. He picked up his coffee cup and heard someone at the next table whisper, "Last time, one ship took on three Dark Eldar warships single-handedly. In the wrecked ship, one person cleared the way for three months—I've followed so many captains, and I've never seen anything like it." The speaker was a veteran who had served in the navy for nearly twenty years. There was no boasting in his tone, only a calm statement of facts.

Liu En sipped his coffee, remaining silent. He wasn't intentionally eavesdropping, but the cafeteria was only so big. He heard the discussions about how "even the Emperor's angels couldn't do it," but didn't take them seriously. Only he knew how he had accomplished what happened on the wrecked ship. It wasn't divine bravery, it was ability. It wasn't the Emperor's blessing, it was a cheat code he brought with him when he transmigrated. But in these people's eyes, it was a miracle. They needed a miracle to keep themselves from collapsing in the Warp. He didn't correct them.

Marcus walked over with a tray and sat down opposite him. The old naval lieutenant commander had no expression on his face, and his sitting down was as usual—composed and unhurried.

"Captain." Marcus forked a piece of steak.

Liu En nodded.

The two ate quietly for a while. The noise in the canteen subsided a bit after Liu En sat down, but it soon returned to normal—the veterans knew that the captain didn't like people fawning over him, so the new recruits followed the veterans' example, bragging and eating as usual.

Marcus put down his fork and looked up.

"Captain, there's something I want to tell you."

Liu En put down his coffee cup.

Marcus carefully considered his words. "For those three months on the wrecked ship, you led the team. The machine guns operated entirely on pre-programmed instructions, and frankly, their efficiency during that time wasn't great. Coupled with our already insufficient crew, the Black Pearl simply couldn't reach its optimal combat readiness."

Liu En looked at him.

“It’s not a malfunction,” Marcus said. “The instructions are the same, the patrol routes are the same, but the servitors’ response time, judgment, and even their reaction to emergencies are far worse than when you were on the ship. The armed servitors’ accuracy in the shooting drills dropped by more than 10%, and the service servitors made several route planning errors when handling supplies—these never happened when you were on the ship.”

He tapped his finger lightly on the table.

"After you came back, these problems disappeared. It wasn't a gradual recovery; from the moment you stepped onto the gangway, the servitors were like brand new wet parts. I don't know how the technical priest did it. But this time made one thing clear to me—the servitors on the Black Pearl can't do without you."

Liu En offered no explanation. He had personally crafted these mechs, especially the wet components, which were crucial and different from those produced by Garros on a production line. They possessed a natural informational affinity with him. It wasn't that he deliberately injected commands; rather, their atomic-level perception allowed them to receive the faint signals of his consciousness spreading throughout the ship. It wasn't control, but rather that the machinery within the signal coverage area inherently possessed an extra layer of judgment. During his three months on the wrecked ship, when his consciousness couldn't reach the Black Pearl, the mechs could only operate based on preset commands, reverting to the Imperial Navy's average level. This slight increase hadn't meant much to him, and he hadn't paid much attention to it until now, when the situation changed.

Marcus didn't ask any further questions. He finished the steak on his plate and took a sip of water.

"And then there's the garrison regiment. This time, two companies went for so long, leaving only one company on the ship. When you were here, the three companies, plus the armed servitors and mechs, were barely enough for boarding defense. But without you, the servitors' efficiency dropped, and there's no one to command the Castellan mechs, so only one company of the main force is left to hold the fort." He tapped his fingers lightly twice on the table. "Captain, this situation is severely limiting the Black Pearl's combat effectiveness. Our organization, by Imperial Navy standards, can't even muster a limited number of shifts."

Liu En knew what he wanted to say. The standard crew size of an Imperial Navy Gothic-class cruiser was 90,000 to 100,000 men—not an exaggeration, but a number he'd read about on forums in his previous life, which he now knew was true. The engine room needed people to monitor the reactors, the deck needed people to operate weapons, the bridge needed people to monitor sensors, the medical bay needed people to be ready for surgery at any time, and the logistics department needed people to inventory ammunition and replenish supplies. Every position required human beings, not just servants. Servants could do most repetitive tasks, but in critical decision-making, emergency response, and tactical judgment, servants couldn't normally replace human beings—especially since servants would regress to a basic level if he wasn't on board for too long. Although the difference was subtle, it could be fatal in critical moments. He couldn't just keep servants busy all day doing nothing.

This road is almost at its end.

Liu En put down his coffee cup. "After returning to Lucis, we'll deal with a batch of spoils. Then we'll head to Amegiddon."

"Amigidon?" Marcus was slightly taken aback.

"Yes." Liu En's tone was steady. "The recruitment of crew members and the expansion of the garrison are all being carried out in Armageddon. There are plenty of people in the hive there, no shortage of skilled workers, engine operators, communications officers, medical assistants—Armageddon has no shortage of these, it's just that no one is giving them the opportunity."

He paused.

"During recruitment, their families are taken along as well. Once each person is confirmed as hired, their family members board the ship directly."

Marcus's finger paused on the table for a moment.

"And then there's the garrison regiment. Amegiddon has no shortage of veterans—the remnants of the Cardia, retired soldiers from the hive capital PDF, and even tough guys who survived the underworld gang wars. As long as the pay is right, there are plenty of people willing to come. The initial target is 10,000, plus the existing garrison regiment, mixed and trained. The families of the garrison regiment members will also be taken along."

Marcus remained silent for a few seconds.

"Captain, why Garros?"

Liu En looked at him.

"Gallos will be their future home. Not just the crew and the garrison—all the existing crew, including their families, and the families of the garrison, will be moved to Gallos."

Marcus opened his mouth, but no words came out.

"Gallos will be a habitable world in the future," Liu En said. "Not a rusty tomb like Forge World, not an industrial ruin with only assembly lines and machine servants. There will be domes, sunshine, clean water and air, and growing vegetables and grains. Children can see the real starry sky under the domes. It belongs to me, but to everyone on the Black Pearl. And it will belong to many more people in the future."

He picked up his coffee cup and took a sip.

"You don't need to worry. The infrastructure in Garros is already under construction. The dome is complete, and the residential areas, agricultural areas, schools, hospitals—everything is progressing according to plan. You're not pioneering; you're moving."

Marcus leaned back in his chair, the blue halo around his right mechanical eye slowly expanding and contracting. He picked up his water glass, took a sip, and put it down.

"Captain, I have no objections. I have always trusted your judgment. And this arrangement—to be honest, is much better than I ever imagined. The crew's morale will be completely different if they know their families can also go to Garros. The same goes for the garrison. Kara will definitely support it too."

Liu En nodded.

"Expand the crew to eight thousand. All non-combat crew members must also undergo combat training in preparation for boarding operations. You will oversee recruitment and training; begin once we arrive in Armageddon. You and Kara will discuss and finalize the expansion plan for the garrison."

"Understood." Marcus nodded and didn't ask any more questions.

The noise in the mess hall continued. Carlos was bragging to the new recruits again that he had shot and killed three petty thieves in the wrecked ship. Someone nearby chimed in, saying that those three thieves were long past their prime; they were already dead when Carlos pulled the trigger. Laughter erupted again.

Liu En walked out of the canteen. He passed through several airtight doors and returned to his private workshop. The hatch closed behind him.

He sat down at the worktable, closed his eyes, and his consciousness withdrew from this body like a receding tide, flowing into the body lying in the life support pod on the top floor of the Garros Governor's Mansion.

Enpu opened his eyes in the life support pod.

A thin layer of mist condensed on the inside of the glass canopy. The nutrient solution receded silently from the drain, and a dry airflow rushed in. He sat up, pulled the dark gray robe folded on the metal table and draped it over himself, habitually pulling the hood down low.

His bare feet touched the cool terrazzo floor. In the corridor, the lighting automatically switched to daytime mode, and the administrative servants stood silently at the intersections. He walked through several airtight doors to the helipad on the top floor of the Governor's Mansion. A shuttle was already waiting there.

The shuttle took off from inside the dome, passed through a giant airtight door at the edge, and entered the vacuum. The dome's transparent armor spread out below, and sunlight streamed through the armor plates, casting bright spots of light on the complex. A few minutes later, the shuttle slowed down and glided into the spaceport's berth area.

The transit hall was empty. The immigrants who had disembarked from the Resolute had been transferred in batches to the resettlement area under the dome via transport ships. The registration data had been entered into Gallo's household registration file in the administrative staff's system. Housing and job assignments were completed simultaneously.

The spaceport is now empty. The busy beetle-shaped servants in space—the Voss Space Floating II—with their oval bases and four sets of multi-directional plasma nozzles leaving long, thin blue trails in the vacuum, and the data lights on the tool interfaces at the ends of their six foldable robotic arms flashing green. Nearly a thousand of these servants are welded and secured to the spaceport's outer shell, prefabricated modules being assembled onto the skeleton.

The pace of expansion is currently slowing down. Most of the Beetle servants have entered the maintenance phase. It's not that expansion is no longer needed, but rather that the expansion plan has gone beyond simply piling up modules.

A standard Moon-class cruiser was built directly on the berth.

Five kilometers long and 0.8 kilometers wide. The mainstay of the Imperial Navy, a blueprint he pieced together and improved from the scrap heaps of ships in Lucis, and once a backup plan for the Black Pearl. The Moon-class's advantage lies in its balance—torpedo tubes at the bow, large-scale gun arrays on both sides, and light lance turrets amidships, providing comprehensive weaponry to deal with various threats at different distances. Its armor thickness is moderate, its shield generator power is stable, and its maneuverability is above average for its class. For novice captains without combat experience, the Moon-class is the best choice—high margin for error; even if a few shots miss, it can withstand the damage, and even if hit a few times, it won't be immediately rendered combat ineffective. Moreover, its initial purpose was to escort immigrants, and its cargo hold is large and plentiful.

The entire hull and critical armor of this ship were made of adamantite by Enp. The armor of a standard Luna-class cruiser is made of ceramic steel composite plates, with only a small amount of adamantite used for reinforcement in the core sections. The proportion of adamantite used on this ship, from keel to outer armor plates, far exceeds the Imperial Navy's shipbuilding standards. This isn't for increased combat power, but for safety. The improved version of the Luna-class cruiser Garros will become the main combat vessel construction program at the Garros shipyard.

The keel grew out of the void. Skeleton, bulkheads, piping, fuel tanks, reactor, engines, shield generators, weapon systems, armor, internal facilities—five kilometers of steel gradually took shape.

In less than a month, a brand-new lunar-class cruiser hovered quietly in the void outside the spaceport. With enhanced capabilities and expanded domain, his shaping abilities had greatly improved. If needed, at full capacity, he could create a small fleet single-handedly within a year.