Crimson Dawn Base

Three days passed quietly in the Warhammer universe.

However, for the Crimson Dawn base, these seventy-two hours could be written into the Fourth Calamity Infrastructure Construction Manual.

Before the morning mist had fully dissipated, Wang Zhong climbed up the watchtower—which had been completely repaired and even fitted with a simple rain shelter—to look down at the area below.

His first thought was: Is this really the same hellhole from three days ago, where there were ruins everywhere and we had to dig our own latrines?

Around the perimeter of the base, a stone wall three and a half meters high and nearly a meter thick encircled the entire area.

The stones were quarried from nearby mountains; the surfaces were rough, but they were stacked tightly, with the gaps filled using cheap adhesive purchased from the shop.

Every twenty meters along the top of the wall stood a wooden sentry post, eight in total, each manned by two players holding laser rifles bought from the shop, scanning the eerie jungle outside the wall with vigilance.

Inside the walls, the space was clearly divided into five zones.

The East Zone was the territory of Crimson Fist, and the most eye-catching feature was the training ground built from raw logs, covering an area the size of a football field.

At this moment, over a thousand muscular men were engaged in all sorts of bizarre training inside:

Some were doing squats while carrying tree trunks half a meter in diameter, some were testing their strike resistance by beating each other's reinforced bodies with iron rods, and some were even gathered in a circle while two players in the center engaged in primitive wrestling, their muscles bulging as if they were about to explode.

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

"These guys treat nutrient paste like it's their main meal."

Tax Brother's voice came from beside him. He had also climbed onto the watchtower, wearing only a sleeveless work vest, revealing arms thicker than Wang Zhong's thighs, with a metallic luster faintly flowing beneath his skin.

This was a sign that his Type II reinforcement completion rate had exceeded 50%.

"Yesterday, one idiot ate fifteen tubes of nutrient paste in one day and ended up with indigestion, squatting in the latrine for two hours."

Tax Brother grinned, "In the end, Oil-Guy had to force-feed him half a bottle of lubricating oil just to get it out."

Wang Zhong's eyelid twitched: "...As long as you guys are happy."

The West Zone was the encampment of Crimson Wind.

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

These vehicles were purchased by the warband through crowdfunding, costing 8,000 Imperial Coins each. Their performance was comparable to standard Imperial Guard models, though the appearance was a bit shabby, with various graffiti spray-painted on the bodies:

"Speed is Justice."

"Deja Vu!"

"I reckon this car can fly."

Did White Scars speed today was currently leading dozens of players in tinkering with one of the vehicles, attempting to install simple jet thrusters bought from the shop.

"Theoretically, it's feasible!"

White Scars' voice could be heard from far away, "Although these thrusters were originally for single-person hoverboards, if we add a few more, we might actually be able to get the car off the ground for a short time!"

A player nearby asked weakly: "What about landing?"

White Scars waved a hand dismissively: "Landing? That's a technical problem for the next phase! For now, let's solve the issue of whether it can fly!"

Wang Zhong: "..."

"Have these people's brains been fried by the neural reflex and sensory sensitivity modifications?"

The central area was the mixed encampment of Crimson Spirit and Crimson Machine, and also the most civilized place.

A two-story stone-and-wood structure that had been reinforced and moisture-proofed served as the public canteen and meeting hall, now jokingly referred to by the players as the Dawn Hall.

Next to the hall were several relatively clean and tidy wooden huts, respectively labeled "Psionic Meditation Room," "Mechanical Workshop," "Medical Station," and "Supply Warehouse."

What comforted Wang Zhong the most was the public latrine built with stone slabs and a simple sewage system next to the warehouse.

Three days ago, the players were still digging holes in the open to relieve themselves; now, they finally had a relatively decent place, even if the smell was still a bit moving.

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

Schrodinger's Loyalist had climbed up at some point. He was wearing a washed-out work jacket with mysterious stains on the cuffs, and his eyes were even more... unfocused than three days ago.

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

Xue Brother said, raising his right hand, palm upward.

A faint energy with a pale blue halo swirled at his fingertips, outlining a simple geometric pattern.

"Psionic control progress: 12%."

He withdrew his hand, and the halo dissipated, "The B-rank talent is alright, it's just that every time I finish meditating, I feel like Tzeentch is banging drums in my head, trying to sell me his knowledge packages."

Wang Zhong frowned: "Is there any danger?"

"Not for now."

Xue Brother shrugged, "I have the defensive methods from the basic meditation techniques and the basic protection provided by the game system."

"Although it's very crude, at least it allows me to distinguish between Warp whispers and my own random delusions."

He paused, then added, "By the way, my current psychic level is (1/12) Weak-grade. By Warhammer standards, that's roughly equivalent to... the level of being able to light a cigarette?"

"That's not bad either."

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

Wang Zhong patted him on the shoulder, "It's still better than being snatched up by the Empire to pay taxes as an unregistered psyker."

The North District is the residential and planting area.

The residential area consists of neatly arranged wooden and stone huts, each housing eight to ten people; though cramped, it at least provides shelter from the wind and rain.

The planting area is a plot of cleared and tilled land, about ten acres, where tender green sprouts have already emerged.

"Potatoes."

Tax Brother pointed over there, "Improved seeds sold at the shop; the growth cycle is shortened to forty days, resistant to pests and diseases, though the taste is... well, about the same as nutrient paste."

"As long as it's edible."

Wang Zhong is very pragmatic, "It's better than eating synthetic nutrient paste every day. I suspect if I eat too much of that stuff, my intestines will turn into plastic tubes."

The South District, one of the most important assets of their base: the water treatment area.

A water channel, dug by those muscular men from fourteen kilometers away, winds its way here, ending at a concrete pool of considerable size.

In the pool, a machine with a clumsy but exceptionally sturdy design is humming as it operates.

[Basic Water Purification System (Heavy)], priced at 30,000 Imperial Coin, the largest public investment by the Crimson Dawn chapter.

The machine swallows river water tainted with oil and suspicious colors at one end, and relatively clear liquid flows out from the other.

Although it still needs to be boiled before drinking, at least it's fine for washing clothes and bathing.

"Oil-Guy tested the water quality yesterday."

Xue Brother said, "Heavy metal content is still above the limit, but at least there's no obvious Warp contamination or mutated viruses."

"He said if we spend another 3,000 coins to buy a psychic purification module, we could drink it directly."

Wang Zhong smiled helplessly, "Money..."

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

Base construction cost a large amount of Imperial Coin: building materials, tools, vehicles, water purification systems, seeds, basic medical supplies...

Although the players all took out a portion of the Imperial Coin they earned in the industrial zone as a public fund, the expenses for 5,000 people are a bottomless pit.

Not to mention that everyone has their own enhancement needs.

Wang Zhong himself has already pushed his basic physical enhancement to Type II, and the Type I modifications for neural reflexes and sensory acuity are also complete, costing a total of 700 coins.

Now he is 1.85 meters tall, and his weight has increased by fifteen kilograms—all solid muscle and reinforced bone; standing there, he looks like a human-sized brute.

Tax Brother is even more exaggerated. Under his frantic training, his Type II completion rate is 51%, his muscle dimensions have grown a size larger, and he can now lift a two-hundred-kilogram stone with one hand.

The price is a skyrocketing appetite; he can eat five tubes of nutrient paste in one sitting.

White Scar follows the agility route, with his Type II neural reflex optimization at 40% completion and Type I sensory acuity at 25%; his reactions are now fast enough to catch flies with his bare hands.

Xue Brother's psychic talent test cost 100 coins, he spent 1,000 coins to awaken B-grade psychic talent, and basic meditation techniques cost 500 coins.

He still has to spend time meditating every day; he has no combat capability for the time being, but he can already faintly perceive the life aura and emotional fluctuations around him.

The players of Oil-Guy and Crimson Machine spent their money on knowledge.

The skill books in the shop regarding mechanical principles, basic electronics, and overviews of Imperial Standard Template Construct technology range from 20 to 300 coins each.

They bought over a dozen books and are now soaking in the workshop all day, studying and trying to modify those fifteen transport vehicles to be more practical.

"It's not easy for the brothers. In reality, after finishing meals and chores, they log into this game to move bricks and build."

"There's no help for it; this game is just too realistic—so realistic that I don't even know if we are truly in the Warhammer world. No one wants to log out."

Xue Brother patted Wang Zhong on the shoulder.

Wang Zhong sighed, "The main thing is that the 0.3 coin tax is still being deducted every day. Although everyone still has a little foundation in their accounts, sitting and eating away at our savings is not a solution."

As the temporary leader of this small base, Wang Zhong is actually quite worried.

He is like someone steering a small wooden boat, sailing through the raging waves of the Warhammer world; one careless move and the boat will be destroyed, sinking to the bottom of the sea.

5,000 people might be a lot in other worlds, but this is Warhammer...

Tax Brother, Xue Brother, and the others can actually understand Wang Zhong's worries. After all, this is no ordinary world; this is the Warhammer world. Among the Chapter Masters here, who isn't under immense pressure?

"For details, please refer to: Dante, Calgar, Gregorius, Azrael, Tu'Shan, etc..."

Wang Zhong looked at the jungle in the distance, shrouded in the morning mist, his eyes gradually becoming firm.

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