Crimson Dawn Base

Three days slipped quietly by in the Warhammer universe.

But for Crimson Dawn Base, those seventy-two hours could have been written into the Fourth Calamity Infrastructure Construction Manual.

The morning mist had yet to clear when Wang Zhong climbed the watchtower, now fully repaired and even fitted with a simple rain shelter, and looked down at the base.

His first thought was: Was this really the same godforsaken place where, just three days ago, the ground was covered in ruins and they'd had to dig their own latrine?

Outside the base, a stone wall three and a half meters tall and nearly a meter thick encircled the entire area.

The stones had been quarried from nearby mountains. Their surfaces were rough, but they'd been fitted together tightly, with cheap adhesive bought from the shop filling the gaps.

A wooden watchtower stood atop the wall every twenty meters. There were eight in all, each manned by two players holding lasguns bought from the shop, vigilantly scanning the eerie jungle beyond the wall.

Inside the wall, the base had been clearly divided into five zones.

The East District belonged to the Crimson Fist. Its most striking feature was a training ground built from logs, covering an area the size of a football field.

At that moment, more than a thousand muscular men were putting themselves through all kinds of unbelievable training.

Some were doing squats with half-meter-wide tree trunks on their shoulders. Others were beating each other's augmented bodies with iron rods to test their resistance to impact. A group had even formed a ring around two players grappling in the most primitive fashion, their bulging muscles looking ready to explode.

The air was thick with the smell of sweat and burning protein.

"These guys eat nutrient paste like it's food."

Tax Brother's voice came from beside him. He'd climbed the watchtower too, wearing nothing but a sleeveless work vest. His exposed arms were thicker than Wang Zhong's thighs, and a faint metallic sheen rippled beneath his skin.

That was a sign that his Type II Augmentation was more than 50% complete.

"Yesterday, some dumbass ate fifteen tubes of nutrient paste in one day and got indigestion. He spent two hours squatting in the toilet."

Tax Brother grinned. "In the end, Oil-Guy had to pour half a bottle of lubricating oil down his throat before he could take a dump."

Wang Zhong's eyelid twitched. "...If you're happy, that's what matters."

The West District was the Crimson Wind's base.

There were no large buildings here, just rows of low but exceptionally sturdy wooden huts, with fifteen light transport vehicles parked in front.

The Chapter had pooled its money to buy the vehicles. Each one had cost 8,000 Imperial Coins, and their performance was on par with standard Imperial Guard models. They were just a little shabby-looking, with various slogans spray-painted on their bodies:

"Speed is justice."

"Deja Vu!"

"I reckon this thing can fly."

Did White Scars speed today was tinkering with one of the vehicles, surrounded by dozens of players. They were trying to install a simple jet thruster they'd bought from the shop.

"In theory, it'll work!"

White Scar's voice carried from far away. "The thrusters were made for single-person hoverboards, but if we add a few more, maybe we really can get the vehicle off the ground for a short time!"

A player beside him asked timidly, "What about the landing?"

White Scar waved a hand. "Landing? That's a technical problem for the next stage! For now, let's figure out whether we can get it flying!"

Wang Zhong: "..."

"Did those guys' brains get scrambled by their neural reflex and sensory sensitivity modifications?"

The Central District was shared by the Crimson Spirit and the Crimson Machine. It was also the most civilized part of the base.

A two-story stone-and-wood building, reinforced and treated against moisture, served as the public dining hall and meeting room. The players had taken to calling it Dawn Hall.

Beside the hall stood several relatively clean and tidy wooden huts, with signs hanging over the doors that read "Psyker Meditation Room."

"Mechanical Workshop."

"Medical Station."

And "Supply Warehouse."

What pleased Wang Zhong most was the public toilet beside the warehouse. It had been built from stone slabs and had a simple sewage system.

Three days ago, the players had still been digging holes in the open to relieve themselves. Now, at last, they had somewhere relatively decent to go, though the smell was still pretty overwhelming.

"After all, we can't afford the air purification technology of the Warhammer World yet."

Schrodinger's Loyalist had climbed up at some point. He wore a faded work jacket, its cuffs stained with something unidentifiable, and his eyes seemed even more... shifty than they had three days ago.

"But at least it's cleaner than Nurgle's Garden."

As Xue Brother spoke, he raised his right hand, palm up.

A faint energy with a light-blue glow rippled around his fingertips, outlining a simple geometric shape.

"Psyker control progress: 12%."

He lowered his hand, and the glow faded. "The B-rank talent's not bad. It's just that after every meditation session, it feels like Tzeentch is banging a gong in my head and trying to sell me his knowledge package."

Wang Zhong frowned. "Is it dangerous?"

"Not for now."

Xue Brother shrugged. "The basic meditation method has protective measures, and the game system provides some basic protection too."

"It's crude, but at least it lets me tell the difference between whispers from the Warp and my own random thoughts."

He paused, then added, "By the way, my current psyker level is (1/12), Faint. By Warhammer standards, I'm probably... good enough to light a cigarette?"

"That's still pretty good."

"Keep leveling up, and you'll get stronger sooner or later!"

Wang Zhong patted him on the shoulder. "It beats getting caught by the Imperium as an unregistered Psyker and being forced to pay taxes."

The North District was the residential and agricultural area.

The residential area consisted of neatly arranged wooden and stone houses. Each one housed eight to ten people. It was cramped, but at least they had shelter from the wind and rain.

The agricultural area was a cleared and tilled stretch of land, about ten mu in size. Tender green shoots had already sprouted from the soil.

"Potatoes."

Tax Brother pointed over there. "Improved seeds from the shop. Their growing cycle's been cut down to forty days, and they're resistant to pests and diseases. The taste, though... well, it's about the same as nutrient paste."

"As long as it's edible."

Wang Zhong was practical. "It's better than eating synthetic nutrient paste every day. I'm starting to think that stuff'll turn my intestines into plastic tubing if I eat too much of it."

The South District held one of the base's most important assets: its water treatment area.

A canal dug by those muscular men all the way from a river fourteen kilometers away wound its way to the base, ending at a sizable concrete pool.

Inside the pool, a clunky but exceptionally sturdy machine hummed as it ran.

[Basic Water Purification System (Heavy)], Price: 30,000 Imperial Coins. The Crimson Dawn Battle Group's largest public investment.

The machine sucked in river water tinged with oil and suspicious colors at one end and discharged relatively clear liquid at the other.

It still had to be boiled before drinking, but it was at least fine for washing clothes and bathing.

"Oil-Guy tested the water quality yesterday,"

Xue Brother said. "The heavy metal levels are still above the limit, but there's no obvious Chaos contamination or mutant viruses."

"He said if we spend another 3,000 coins on a psyker purification module, we'll be able to drink it straight."

Wang Zhong gave a helpless smile. "Money..."

At the mention of money, the three of them fell silent for a moment.

The base's construction had swallowed up a great deal of Imperial Coin: building materials, tools, vehicles, the water purification system, seeds, basic medical supplies...

The players had all contributed some of the Imperial Coins they'd earned in the industrial district to a public fund, but the expenses of five thousand people were a bottomless pit.

And that didn't even include everyone's personal augmentation needs.

Wang Zhong had already advanced his basic physique augmentation to Type II and completed Type I modifications to his neural reflexes and sensory acuity. It had cost him 700 coins in total.

He was now 1.85 meters tall and fifteen kilograms heavier, all solid muscle and reinforced bone. He looked like a hulking human tank.

Tax Brother was even more extreme. His Type II Augmentation was 51% complete, and his muscles had grown a size. He could now lift a 200-kilogram stone with one hand.

The price was an enormous appetite. He could eat five tubes of nutrient paste in one meal.

White Scar had gone with an agility-focused build. His Type II neural reflex optimization was 40% complete, and his Type I sensory acuity was 25% complete. He was now quick enough to catch flies with his bare hands.

Xue Brother had spent 100 coins on a psyker talent test, 1,000 coins to awaken his B-rank psyker talent, and 500 coins on the basic meditation method.

He still had to spend time meditating every day. He couldn't fight yet, but he could faintly sense the life signs and emotional fluctuations around him.

Oil-Guy and the players in the Crimson Machine had spent their money on knowledge instead.

The shop sold skill books on mechanical principles, basic electronics, and an overview of standard Imperial template technology, with prices ranging from 20 to 300 coins each.

They'd bought more than a dozen. Now they spent all day in the workshop studying, trying to make those fifteen transport vehicles more practical.

"It's not easy for everyone. They finish work and take care of things in real life, then log into the game to haul bricks and build."

"What can you do? This game's just too realistic. It's so real that I can't even tell whether we're actually in the Warhammer World. Nobody wants to log off."

Xue Brother patted Wang Zhong on the shoulder.

Wang Zhong sighed. "The main thing is, we're still being charged 0.3 coins in taxes every day. Everyone's got a little money left in their accounts for now, but we can't just live off our savings."

As the temporary leader of this little base, Wang Zhong was actually a little worried.

He felt as if he were sailing a small wooden boat through the raging seas of the Warhammer World. One wrong move, and it would be wrecked, sinking to the bottom of the ocean with everyone aboard.

Five thousand people might be a lot in other worlds, but this was Warhammer...

Tax Brother, Xue Brother, and the others understood Wang Zhong's worries. After all, this wasn't just any world. This was Warhammer. Which Chapter Master here wasn't under crushing pressure?

"See for examples: Dante, Calgar, Gregorius, Azrael, Tu'Shan, and so on..."

Wang Zhong looked toward the distant jungle shrouded in the morning mist, his gaze gradually hardening.

"It's time to go out and take a look."