New Plan, New Operation

Wade scratched the back of his head. "Sir, you mean those glory boys from the Imperial Guard?"

"That's right, them. If we had a Stormtrooper squad, how much would casualties drop taking the seabed dockyard?" Fu Haoran tapped the screen, his tone certain.

Wade thought it over. "At least forty percent. Stormtroopers are door-breakers, built for hard targets."

"But sir..." He scratched the edge of his helmet. "Schola Progenium Stormtrooper gear is too expensive for us to afford. The biggest problem is the tech."

"Easy. Use Ivan's micro-Ark stack." Fu Haoran pulled up the reactor progress, not seeing the difficulty.

"No, sir. I don't just mean the power issue." Wade sighed, his voice heavy. "Sir, you might not fully understand—Schola Progenium Stormtrooper units are Imperial military assets. Their formation, organization, and equipment distribution require joint approval from the Imperial Ministry of Interior, the Departmento Munitorum, and the relevant Forge World. A planetary governor has no authority to raise them privately. What's more, Stormtrooper gear is a Forge World standard template. I can't produce it. If we make unauthorized changes and get caught, the Machine Cult will invite us for tea."

Fu Haoran's brow furrowed. He jabbed a finger at the Stormtrooper armor's joint bearing on the screen. "Can't even change a bearing size?"

Wade shook his head hard. "Sir, we can't make it! There's no corresponding STC template!"

"Don't need an STC. Just modify existing parts to fit." Fu Haoran waved it off.

"Can't do it!" Wade's head shook like a rattle, his tone firm. "Stormtrooper gear is all Forge World direct-supply standard templates. We can't even privately adjust the elbow bearing size on the armor! If the Machine Cult finds any uncertified modifications, it's tech-heresy. They'll invite us for tea!"

Fu Haoran's forehead darkened with lines.

In his eyes, a small tweak. To these Warhammer people, it was impossibly rigid.

Fu Haoran was silent for two seconds, then slapped the console. "If pure Warhammer won't work, we'll build a chimera."

With a flick of his fingers, the Iron Monger schematics and Hive City force-feedback data popped up simultaneously.

Fu Haoran stared at the merged draft, calculating fast in his head.

"The Iron Monger is thick-skinned and simple. Good enough as a consumable, but not enough."

He pulled up two designs.

On the left: the Iron Monger—sturdy frame, heavy armor, but the control system was clunky hydraulic transmission, with visible lag.

On the right: a Warhammer universe engineering exoskeleton—simple structure, but marked with a Neural Force Feedback System, letting the wearer feel the mechanical arm as an extension of their own, three times faster reaction.

Fu Haoran layered the two drawings together. Lines fused instantly. Slots for exposed hydraulic lines auto-annotated. "Iron Monger frame plus force-feedback controls. Modular armor slots—Plasteel outer plates, Plastisteel inner layer. If it gets busted, pop the clips and swap. Saves man-hours. Add a jump pack, pipe it to the hydraulic frame for short-range flight."

Wade stared at the composite sketch. "Defense? We can't make Carapace Armor."

"Use external armor and insert plates." Fu Haoran pulled up the material library. "Outermost layer—the highest-purity Plasteel we can smelt, pressed into standard plates. Middle layer, Plastisteel. Inner layer, Ballistic Fiber padding. All plates use quick-release clips. If they get wrecked in combat, rip them off barehanded in three seconds and swap. No tools needed."

"That sounds..." Wade scratched his head, searching for words. "...like a walking iron cabinet."

"But it's cheap." Fu Haoran tapped the screen. "We brought plenty of Plasteel and Plastisteel. The plates are stamped. We can repurpose Stark's excavator arm production line without retooling. Saves time. We don't need a company of art pieces in three years. We need a battalion of iron lumps that can smash through walls in three months. Also, materials go through Stark's channels. Modify the magnetic adhesion system to mount fixed weapons. Weapons use Hellguns and Autoguns. Ivan handles reactor miniaturization. R&D and manufacturing all borrow Stark's factory and equipment."

Wade blinked, then asked reflexively, "...So we're freeloading?"

"Mr. Obadiah generously funds new infantry equipment R&D." Fu Haoran smiled. "We're just incidentally verifying the new gear's practicality. Why spend money when you can shear the sheep?"

That afternoon, Fu Haoran headed straight to Ivan's temporary lab.

Ivan was tinkering with his new suit, not looking up. "What? Want to build an Iron Suit too?"

Fu Haoran slid the design sketch over.

Ivan opened the file, snorted, and tilted his toothpick. "You call this power armor? Tony's Mark III could dismantle it for a toy!"

"Don't compare it to Tony. I need something for rapid mass production." Fu Haoran's tone was flat.

Ivan was full of contempt but finally shrugged. "Got it. Three days for a finished blueprint. Don't tell anyone I made this. Embarrassing."

Stark Industries, Factory Zone 7.

This production line was originally for heavy excavator arms.

A five-axis CNC machine sat quietly in the corner, precision laser calibrators glowing standby blue. But the roaring noise now came from the heavy hydraulic press beside it.

Bang!

The press slammed down. A Plasteel plate was stamped into a sharply contoured chest piece, edges rough with burrs.

A mechanical arm grabbed the plate and moved it to the welding station.

A Servo-Skull floated nearby, scanning the plates with high-precision optical lenses before beginning to weld—this was the only segment of the entire line that could be called "high-tech."

Next, workers wheeled over old-fashioned CO₂ welding machines; blue-white sparks flew with a sizzling hiss as someone wielded a rivet gun, da-da-da nailing down quick-release buckles, while pipelines were welded directly into the reserved slots on the frame.

An old Stark technician crouched at the end of the assembly line, tapping the stamped burrs on the chest plate with a wrench, curling his lip and shaking his head.

A report with attached photos was sent to Obadiah's office.

Obadiah glanced at the photo of the angular steel components with their stamped burrs, let out a sneer, and casually tossed the report into the trash.

"Just a bunch of outland bumpers, only good for rough work."

Obadiah waved a hand at his subordinates: "Keep a close watch. Don't let them touch the precision equipment. As for these tin toys... let them play."

Late into the night, the stamping presses in Stark Factory District 7 still roared with a clanging din, the thud of hydraulic rams mingling with the da-da-da of rivet guns, lights piercing the darkness.

No one knew that in this factory district, scorned as a "bumper workshop," the warehouse was piled high with Plasteel inserts, hydraulic frames, and quick-release buckles—a steel tide quietly gathering, about to shake the world.

[Worldline Deviation Rate: 26.7%]

[Special Unit: Iron Skeleton Heavy Power Armor (First-Generation Modular Variant) Unlocked]

But a new problem arose: how to mass-produce it quickly?