32: A review of the gains and the "Emperor" PPT

["Worker Ant" Transport Ship - Cargo Bay No. 3]

Inside the cargo bay, industrial noise wove a dense, airtight web.

The constant low hum of servo motors served as the background noise; the hiss of high-pressure gas welding torches was like sharp needle pricks, while the heavy impact of metal on metal was a death knell tolling from time to time.

Amidst this chaotic symphony, absolute silence reigned over all living things.

A Thunder Warrior, designated C-07, was sitting on an upturned supply crate.

He had removed his gauntlets, revealing muscular forearms, and was using a rag soaked in potent solvent to wipe the teeth of his Chainsword, one stroke at a time.

The deep blue alien blood had long since solidified, becoming like tough plastic, mixed with translucent tissue fibers that stubbornly filled every gap between the teeth.

A sickly sweet, nauseating stench spread as the solvent evaporated.

C-07 switched tools, using a long, narrow metal hook to probe deep into the teeth and pry with force.

A long strip of solidified fiber was pulled out with a snap, tensing in the air before breaking with a 'pop.'

He repeated this action expressionlessly; the cleaning work was mechanical and tedious, far more soul-crushing than the slaughter on the battlefield.

"Jammed again."

A barely audible complaint squeezed out from between his teeth.

He wasn't speaking to anyone; he was simply stating a fact.

He set down his tools and began to methodically disassemble the Chainsword's guard, preparing for a deeper cleaning.

Not far away, his comrade, B-11, was in equally bad shape.

He had taken off his helmet; sweat mixed with machine oil carved gullies across his scarred, young face.

He was using a large pair of hydraulic pliers to tightly grip a prominent dent on his breastplate, while his other hand held a heavy iron hammer.

Clang!

He struck down with all his might.

Clang!

The sound of the hammer hitting the Ceramite armor was dull and oppressive.

B-11 paused, squinting his eyes to carefully check if the rail next to the dent, used for hanging tactical gear, had been straightened.

After confirming it was correct, he raised the hammer once more.

To him, whether the armor was smooth or not was meaningless, but any faulty mounting point could become a fatal oversight in the next battle.

In the center of the cargo bay, a space had been cleared. The captured spoils of war were crudely piled there.

D-01 stood before the heap of junk like a statue; his very presence was a form of invisible supervision.

The giant blue crystal that had once served as the Elven command hub was now reduced to a core the size of a washbasin, placed inside a shockproof box, its last remnants of energy flickering faintly.

The ornate mithril reliefs that had once represented the exquisite craftsmanship of the Elven race were all crumpled into irregular silver metal spheres, tossed on the ground like a pile of scrap.

D-01's logic was simple: irregular spheres have a more uniform heating surface when smelting.

—Art is the least efficient form.

The most conspicuous was a pile of colorful gems and jewelry, shimmering with a cheap luster under the lights.

The ring Sarriel had stripped from a severed finger was also mixed in, looking utterly unremarkable.

D-01 crouched down, his movements precise and steady, the joints of his power armor emitting a faint hydraulic hiss.

He picked up a holographic pendant from the pile of junk.

Not because it was special, but simply because it had happened to roll to his feet.

With a flick of his thumb, he pressed the switch on the side of the pendant.

A slightly blurry projection of light and shadow was cast onto the scratched metal deck.

In the image was a young Elven couple, their faces brimming with happy smiles, holding a swaddled infant in their arms.

D-01's green eyepieces lit up as cold streams of data flowed silently across his retinas.

[Material Analysis: Low-value precious metal, trace amounts of energy crystal]

[Image Data Analysis: Biological units x3, non-combatants]

[Emotional Model Assessment: Affection, joy, sense of belonging]

[Final Strategic Value Assessment: Zero]

He stared expressionlessly at the frozen moment of the happy family for three seconds.

Then, he let go.

"Clatter."

The pendant fell onto the metal deck, making a negligible clinking sound.

He raised a combat boot covered in heavy Ceramite; the servo systems beneath his foot gave this stomp a weight and power far beyond ordinary imagination.

"Crunch."

A crisp sound of shattering rang out. The exquisite creation, along with the warm memories it carried—memories that were meaningless to this universe—turned into a pile of unrecognizable fragments.

D-01 didn't even look down again; he turned and gazed toward the closed alloy doors deep in the cargo bay.

He had finished the inventory and assessment; now, he needed his creator to issue new orders... [Holographic Cockpit]

Li Cang let out a long sigh of relief, leaning back in the cold ergonomic chair, even indulging himself in a stretch. The afterglow of victory still flowed through his body like a potent stimulant.

On the giant light screen before him, the words [GP Balance: 2900] shimmered with an almost sacred golden light.

He had never been this wealthy.

This massive sum was enough for him to expand the scale of his civilization several times over.

But just a few seconds later, when he pulled up another file, that heartfelt sense of comfort rapidly cooled and solidified, finally turning into heavy ice.

It was a routine physical examination report automatically generated by the life support system during the D-01 squad's return journey.

Li Cang had coldly named this report—"Asset Depreciation Table."

On the screen, a 3D model of D-01's genetic enhancements was slowly rotating.

Beneath his near-perfect muscle lines, strings of crimson data scrolled down like a waterfall, each line feeling like a thorn.

[Muscle Tissue Activity: 187% (Compared to baseline human)]

[Neural Reaction Speed: 245% (Compared to baseline human)]

[Cellular Necrosis Rate: 1.2% (Alert: This value is showing an exponential upward trend)]

[Metabolic System Load: 315% (Alert: Long-term overload will lead to irreversible organ failure)]

[Mental Stability: Mild manic tendencies (Alert: Logic suppression module showing signs of decay)]

[Estimated Full-Function Lifespan: 18.7 standard years]

"Eighteen years..." Li Cang tapped the cold metal armrest with his knuckles, his brow furrowed into a tight knot.

And that was D-01, who was in the best condition.

He clicked on another comparison report; it was the data for an ordinary soldier in the squad, whose estimated lifespan was less than ten years.

They were burning meteors: brilliant, powerful, yet destined to be short-lived.

This was not an army to be relied upon for the long term.

They were merely a batch of expensive, high-efficiency consumables that were rapidly heading toward decommissioning.

"I can't wait any longer," Li Cang muttered to himself, his voice carrying a hint of ruthlessness from being pushed to the edge of a cliff.

He closed the glaring physical report and, with a near-violent motion, pulled up the [Civilization Blueprint] interface he had long coveted.

A vast virtual star map unfolded before him, with countless grey nodes like dead stars waiting to be lit.

He had previously activated [Gene Alchemy] and [Extreme Militarism] as the foundations of his civilization.

And now, he finally had the capital to touch that node in the core area, one capable of turning the tide and changing the rules of the game.

His hands operated in the void, his movements swift and decisive.

First, he grabbed the golden number of 2900 GP, partitioned off exactly 1500 points, and slammed them onto a grey icon named [Gene Laboratory].

In the corner of the icon was a crude "Prototype" suffix, coldly reminding him that this was only the first step of a long march.

[Confirmed consumption of 1500 GP, unlocking T2 Civilization Building: Gene Laboratory (Prototype)]

[Warning: This building requires a massive amount of energy to maintain! Current civilization energy reserves judged as: Severely Insufficient!]

Li Cang ignored the warning.

With a backhand, he grabbed the loot icon containing the [High-Energy Crystal Core] and, like throwing a grenade, slammed it directly into the "Energy Interface" marked with a lightning symbol next to the laboratory's phantom.

[High-dimensional crystal energy detected. Energy issue temporarily resolved.]

[T2 Building: Gene Laboratory (Prototype) under construction... Estimated time: 24 standard hours.]

"Good." Li Cang let out a breath, but this was only the first step of a long surgery.

He clicked on the laboratory's sub-menu.

A giant and precise human anatomical diagram emerged, but it was filled with nineteen blank organ slots, like a sacred yet cruel exam paper waiting to be filled out.

The name of this exam paper was—the "Astartes Project."

His gaze swept over the blank slots one by one:

[Secondary Heart], [Ossmodula], [Multi-lung], [Hypnocassette]... Every time his cursor passed over an icon, a window would pop up listing astronomical GP costs and a series of rare material requirements he had never heard of.

With his current wealth, he couldn't even manufacture the most basic organ.

But he soon found a shortcut, or rather, the only feasible breakthrough—a starting project named [gene seed: Prototype Cultivation].

Its function was not to directly manufacture any single organ, but to first create a "progenitor" capable of carrying, replicating, and stably inheriting the genetic information of all nineteen enhancements—the gene seed.

Once he had this "seed," he could continuously "plant" new Space Marines into hosts through surgical procedures in the future.

And the requirements to light up this project, besides another hefty sum of GP, included a unique core material.

Li Cang's fingertip slid across the screen, pulling up the encrypted trump card he had kept hidden.

A special reward from the "Unification War" simulation that was almost like cheating.

It was a trace amount of golden blood suspended in a cryogenic force field.

[Material Name: Blood of the Emperor (Trace)]

[Rating: Mythic (???)]

[Description: Blood from a deity walking among Mortals. It contains genetic information and psychic imprints belonging to a high-dimensional existence that cannot be parsed by current technology.]

Li Cang took a deep breath; the only sound left in the cockpit was his own heartbeat.

With a slightly trembling hand, he slowly and firmly dragged the golden blood icon, which looked like liquid sun, into the empty starting petri dish of the "Astartes Project."

The moment the icon touched the petri dish, the entire interface seemed to be injected with high-voltage current!

A series of glaring red warning boxes popped up frantically at an unprecedented speed, and the sharp alarm almost pierced his eardrums!

["Mythic" grade genetic template detected!]

[Warning! Warning! Template energy level is too high! Severe rejection reaction with existing technology (T1 Gene Alchemy)!]

[System Error: Logic Conflict! Mythic-grade genetic information cannot be parsed by T1-grade biological compiler!]

["gene seed: Prototype Cultivation" project has triggered underlying protection protocols and is forcibly terminated!]

Li Cang's face darkened, and his heart sank to the bottom.

Not failure, but termination.

His theoretical level simply didn't match the god-tier material in his hands.

It was like a tribal shaman getting nuclear Fuel and trying to use it to start a campfire for warmth; the only result would be instant vaporization.

Li Cang stared at the glaring red warning on the light screen, silent for a full minute.

"Logic Conflict! Requires higher-level 'Biological Theory' for neutralization!"

This line of text was like a bucket of ice water, dousing the soaring ambition he had just ignited by gaining 2900 GP.

He felt like a lucky person who had just won a five-million-dollar jackpot and rushed to the bank to cash it in.

Only for the teller to smile and tell him: "Hello sir, due to an annual system upgrade, we currently only support small payouts under a hundred thousand."

The "Blood of the Emperor" was that five-million-dollar check.

And he, right now, was just an ordinary depositor who couldn't even get into the bank's VIP room.

"Damn it."

Li Cang cursed softly, leaning back against the chair and rubbing his brow irritably.

The feeling of having a god-tier material but being unable to use it was more torturous than being dirt poor.

But this was still within his expectations.

After all, it was only natural for the system to have safeguards against such an obvious loophole.

He forced himself to calm down and reassess the situation.

The main road to the "Astartes Project" was temporarily blocked, but that didn't mean he had nothing to do.

In fact, the backlog of troubles he had was enough to fill a long list.

And the first item on that list, in bold red with the highest priority, was—ammunition.

During the last "decapitation strike" against the Crystal Energy Federation, his D-01 squad had almost exhausted all the bolt shells they had brought out from the simulation world.

Those were one-time "legacies"; every shot used was one less they had.

He couldn't expect his Thunder Warriors to charge into close-quarters combat against enemy warships with nothing but Chainswords in the next battle.

That wouldn't be brave; it would be stupid.

"War, in the end, is about logistics," Li Cang murmured to himself.

"An army without logistics is just a group of armed vagrants wearing scrap metal."

He had to establish his own military-industrial system.

A production line that could continuously produce ammunition, one that belonged to him.

That was what he needed most and should be doing right now.

Having thought this through, Li Cang's eyes became sharp once more.

He shifted his gaze from the tantalizing anatomical diagram of the "Astartes Project" toward the construction interface for the military factory.

He needed a "manual."

A manual that would allow him to understand even one-ten-thousandth of the mysteries within this sacred blood.

Li Cang's gaze returned to the vast, boundless technology star map.

He began to frantically search at an unprecedented speed for all nodes related to "biology," "genes," "theory," and "science," not even skipping those auxiliary technologies he had previously looked down upon.

Finally, his gaze rested on an extremely remote node categorized under the "Sociology" branch, with exceptionally harsh prerequisites.

[T2 Sociology/Technology Node: Olympus Treaty (Mars Protocol)]

[Unlock Condition: Establish formal diplomatic relations with a sub-civilization rated as "Technology Specialized" with a social structure of "Machine Worship."]

[Effect: Unlocks the "Adeptus Mechanicus" related tech tree, grants support from a massive database of T1-T2 level basic scientific theories, and significantly increases equipment manufacturing and genetic modification efficiency.]

"Adeptus Mechanicus..." Li Cang's gaze became complex and sharp.

All the information about these half-human, half-machine fanatics flashed through his mind.

They were the cornerstone of the future Empire's technology, but also a group of the most stubborn, unreasonable lunatics who viewed flesh as weak.

They didn't believe in gods; they only believed in the "omnissiah."

And their massive knowledge reserves, originating from the Golden Age of humanity, might be exactly the "grammar book" he needed right now to parse the divine decree that was the "Blood of the Emperor."

Li Cang closed all the warning interfaces, leaving only the grey [Olympus Treaty] node, as if marking the next strategic objective that must be seized on a map.

He needed to find Mars.

But before that, he had to solve the pressing emergency at hand.

He still had 1400 GP left, and it had to be used where it mattered most.