Starting to Lay Bricks

The sheer volume of information was overwhelming.

The players fell silent for a few seconds, digesting a set of rules that felt far from any game, instead brimming with the heavy, soul-crushing pressure of a corporate wage slave.

"Nine out, nineteen back—that's brutal! Is this system run by Khorne?"

"No, Khorne only cares about hacking and slashing. This actuarial style feels like a hybrid of Tzeentch and some tax collector!"

[Loyal But Broke] was the first to wail.

"Breathing costs money, resurrection requires taking out a usurious loan... I'm playing a game, yet I have to worry about bankruptcy and forced labor?"

[Want Crown But Want Money More] looked utterly despairing.

"Shouldn't the point be that we can do anything? And what about the mechs? Where are the promised mechs? What is this hoe?!"

[Schrodinger's Loyalist] had already followed the tutorial, successfully pulling a miner's hoe from the five-slot inventory that seemed to connect to another dimension.

The other players followed suit.

For a moment, the cabin was filled with the clanging of metal and a chorus of curses.

Every single person had pulled out the exact same tool: a miner's hoe.

Wang Zhong looked at the heavy, realistically textured miner's hoe in his hand, then down at his own rags, and finally up at this dim, dilapidated spawn point.

The sea of stars? Pioneered by me?

The image of that red mech from the CG, standing on a mountain peak and pointing toward the star-filled sea, flashed through his mind.

He looked at his surroundings again.

"...I think I've boarded a pirate ship."

Wang Zhong muttered, "A pirate ship that wears the sheep's head of sci-fi adventure while selling the dog meat of a hive city laborer simulator."

"The developer is definitely a Tau plant! Using false advertising to corrode our loyalty to the Emperor... wait, no, to the beauty of mechs!"

Complaints aside, the mission had to be done; after all, this game felt far too real.

1 Imperial Credit meant handing over 10 units of resources.

The 10 Imperial Credits rewarded, plus the 1 credit he earned himself, totaled 11. After deducting today's 0.3 breathing tax, he would have 10.7 left.

The players began to gather spontaneously to discuss.

Although their IDs were bizarre, everyone was currently wearing the same beggar's outfit and holding the same broken hoe, and a strange sense of working-class camaraderie began to sprout.

"This place looks like part of an abandoned factory. No idea what it's like outside."

"The mission mentions a 'surrounding safe zone,' but how is that defined?"

"The system didn't even give us a mini-map."

"Material identification guide? How do we use it?"

"I'll try focusing my intent to identify..." [Mechanicus Oil-Lover on the Run] stared at a piece of scrap metal on the floor. A moment later.

A faint, shimmering outline—visible only to him—appeared on the surface of the metal plate. Simultaneously, information flowed into his consciousness: [Low-quality galvanized steel scrap, approx. 0.05 standard units, recyclable, estimated value: 0.005 Imperial Credits].

"It works! But this is way too little! I have to pick up 20 pieces just to get 0.1 credits?"

"Better than nothing! Quick, let's go out and see!"

The crowd began to move toward the massive, sealed bulkhead that looked like the only exit from the workshop.

There was a simple mechanical lever next to the gate.

It took several players working together (their bodies' initial strength seemed decent enough) to pull it down with a grinding screech.

The heavy metal gate lifted, and more blinding light and complex odors poured in: industrial exhaust, dust, and the faint, rhythmic mechanical roar from the distance.

The players squinted as they stepped out of the workshop and stood on a protruding metal platform.

The view before them opened up, yet it was suffocating.

They were on the edge of a massive, bowl-shaped crater.

The rock walls of the crater had been carved into countless levels, each one riddled with honeycomb-like openings, extending pipes, rusted walkways, and precarious suspension bridges.

As far as the eye could see, there were abandoned mechanical wrecks, mountains of slag, and puddles of suspicious-colored water.

In the distance stood the silhouettes of gigantic structures piercing the gray-yellow clouds—the foundations of the main Arlu City hive, looming like countless iron peaks with an oppressive weight.

The sky was a murky yellow, obscured by polluted clouds, with a dim star barely providing any illumination.

No green trees, no clear water, no blue sky.

Only iron, rust, and ruins.

"This is the fucking sea of stars?"

[Soul of Cadia] gaped, "This is more like crawling into the sewage pipes of the sea of stars!"

"What about the promised mechs? Pilot a mech in this place? I'd be afraid of knocking down a building just by turning around!"

"I'm starting to think those bright, shining planets in the CG might be paid DLC..."

"Cut the chatter. See those shiny reflections from the mineral veins down there?"

"And all that scrap machinery! It's all money! It's all Imperial Credits! To pay off our breathing tax, charge!"

Before anyone knew who had shouted, the players surged like a flood down the rusted stairs and ropes along the platform's edge, brandishing pickaxes and hammers as they charged toward the massive abandoned mine.

Wang Zhong also took a deep breath of the rust-scented air and gripped his miner's pick tightly.

"Well, there goes the mech dream. Time to be a miner first."

"For Imperial Credits... no, for survival!"

"For... the day I can finally touch the control stick of a real mech!"

He chose a direction that looked less crowded and began walking down toward the lower levels of the pit along a relatively intact walkway.

His target was a few remnants of what looked like small drilling machines, half-buried in piles of ore debris. The metal content should be quite high.

As he walked, he couldn't help but grumble to himself again:

"The game designers are definitely hardcore Warhammer haters, simulating the daily grind of a 40K bottom-feeder with such realism..."

"Emperor preserve us, if this is truly Your trial, it's too stingy. At least hand out a lasgun!"

"However..."

He glanced at the Psionic Talent status in the corner of his vision—Inactive—and a strange feeling stirred in his heart.

"Inactive... that's still better than being labeled 'Psionically Sensitive' and fearing the gaze of demons, right?"

"At least for now, I'm just a miner who owes 0.3 credits in rent."

Meanwhile, deep within the Warp.

"Yes, that's the flavor..."

Lu Sheng felt a long-lost sense of satiety from the depths of his soul. Although he was still a long way from being full, it was finally not that dissipating hunger.

"A little more, just a little more..."

"Work hard at scavenging, my pilots."

"Every bit of your confusion, every ounce of effort, every complaint... is the nourishment for my growth!"

He watched the player light-dots scattering like ants across the abandoned mine, beginning to hammer away with a rhythmic clanging.

"System, mark those individuals who are particularly active and producing high emotional output."

"Focus on that one who is forever loyal to the Emperor; his complaining energy is quite sufficient. He's a high-quality leek... ah, no, a potential high-value player."

"During the newbie tutorial phase, emotions are primarily based on novelty and adaptation."

"Once they earn their first bit of money, unlock the shop, and see those real enhancement options and the unadorned prices of weapons..."

"The surging desire, the inner conflict, the painful struggle, and the subjective initiative that erupts for the sake of more Imperial Credits..."

"That is the real feast."

Lu Sheng happily made his plans.

"As for mechs?"

"They will come."

"Once you've dug out enough ore to fill a small starport."

"After all, mechs are very expensive."

"Whether it's manufacturing them, or redeeming them."