115: Chapter 115 The Initial Training of a Tool Person and the Feasibility of the Oglin Space Marine

Fu Haoran had to admit that Genestealer cultists were perfect tools.

In just a few days, rows of neat prefabricated houses had risen in the originally dilapidated shantytown area.

They also spontaneously organized themselves to maintain neighborhood security; the previous chaos of wandering refugees and rampant gangs was nowhere to be seen.

The lifeless Underhive had completely come back to life.

"I didn't expect you to have some administrative talent."

Lucifelle appeared behind him at some point, her tone indifferent, but a flicker of approval flashed in her emerald eyes.

She didn't admit it out loud, but in her heart, she had formed a new evaluation of her partner's abilities.

Fu Haoran smiled upon hearing this, calmly accepting the evaluation that was half-mockery and half-recognition.

Of course, he didn't mention that he was copying the 'homework' of the Soviet Union during World War II.

"What do you plan to do next?" Lucifelle turned around to face him. "Are you going to use them directly as cannon fodder?"

Her thinking wasn't exactly wrong.

To the Imperium, Genestealers were unstable heretics to begin with; throwing them onto the battlefield as consumables brought a hundred benefits and not a single harm.

Moreover, these Genestealers were fearless of death, naturally making them the best suicide squads and most qualified cannon fodder.

"No, that would be too wasteful." Fu Haoran shook his head. "What I want was never a one-time suicide squad, but a management system that can operate long-term, continuously extract value, and firmly control risks."

"These Genestealers don't need wages or pensions, just food. So I'll first use them as free labor to complete the Underhive transformation."

"Anyway, there's nearly a year before the Adeptus Arbites come to collect the tithes, and the old noble rebels need time to prepare. We still have room for a buffer."

Lucifelle said no more, which was a silent agreement to his plan.

Fu Haoran turned and asked, "Is Moriah here?"

"Your little xeno fangirl has been waiting outside for a long time."

A faint silver light of living metal flashed at Lucifelle's fingertips. Her tone remained cold, yet it carried a trace of subtle territorial possessiveness.

Fu Haoran didn't think much of it and raised his hand to have Moriah called in.

Three minutes later, the Genestealer Magus Moriah walked quickly into the office, her arms slightly tucked into her wide robes. She kept her posture extremely low, not even daring to lift her head.

Over a month of stable life had caused her to completely drop her guard against this human The Agent.

Previously, her clansmen hid in tunnels gnawing on rotten meat and drinking dirty water, constantly on guard against Adeptus Arbites purges or being coerced by Chaos cults.

Now they had houses to live in, clean water to drink, and sufficient energy bars. They didn't have to hide everywhere. All of this was given by the The Agent.

"My Lord, you were looking for me?" Moriah's voice carried a hint of constraint.

"Two things." Fu Haoran pushed two printed documents toward her. "First, the 'Management Regulations for New Creed Subjects of the Hive City' will be officially implemented starting today."

On the surface, these regulations were written with high-sounding rhetoric: New Creed Subjects and Imperial citizens are all followers of the Emperor, enjoying equal rights to residence and labor; the Governor's Palace guarantees the basic survival needs of all subjects.

The promises were grand enough to make all the Genestealers let down their guard.

However, the hidden pages of the document clearly listed three iron rules:

First, all members of the Genestealer group will settle in the southern industrial zone of the Underhive. No one may enter the Mid-Hive core area without official approval from the Governor's Palace.

Second, all able-bodied men must participate in one hour of basic military training daily after completing their factory production quotas, with lessons unified by the Defense Force.

Third, group reproduction and personnel movement must be reported to the Governor's Palace in advance. Newborns will be unifiedly registered, raised, and educated by the Governor's Palace.

It gave the Genestealers the sweetness of survival while placing shackles on them through rules, quietly laying the military foundation.

Once war broke out, these people would be the first to pick up weapons and go to the front lines as trench-fillers.

Moriah finished flipping through the documents. There wasn't the slightest resistance on her face; instead, she was full of gratitude.

To her and her clansmen, these rules didn't feel like constraints at all. Instead, they provided a guarantee for a stable life. There was no reason to refuse.

"The second thing." Fu Haoran looked up, his tone flat. "Screen those with management experience from your group to form a Labor Supervision Team. They will be responsible for daily production and training management, with separate management quotas allocated monthly."

This was the second layer of checks and balances Fu Haoran had prepared.

Supporting a management layer within the Genestealers to have them manage their own people would reduce the management costs for the human Defense Force and create internal division of interests among the Genestealers, ensuring they would never unite against the Governor's Palace.

When the time came to form combat units, these people would be ready-made junior officers.

But in Moriah's eyes, this was an immense display of trust!

Previously, they could only sneakily infiltrate units and carefully disguise themselves.

Now, they could fight openly for their ideals and beliefs!

Moriah immediately knelt on one knee, her arms crossed over her chest, her voice trembling. "Thank you for your grace, My Lord! My clansmen and I will swear loyalty to the death!"

Fu Haoran shook his head and said, "You are mistaken. This is not for me, but for the Great Cause, for our common pursuit, and for the God-Emperor."

Fu Haoran shook his head and said, "You are mistaken. This is not for me, but for the Great Cause, for our common pursuit, and for the God-Emperor."

And for my free labor and a future cannon fodder army that can be consumed at will.

...

After dismissing Moriah, Fu Haoran had just sat down to drink some water when a guard outside hurried in to report: "My Lord, Brother Danteoche has arrived."

Fu Haoran immediately stood up and went out to greet him personally.

This Warsmith of the Iron Warriors was the person he needed to win over most at the moment.

The Warsmith walked in, the lenses behind his cage-like mask glowing red, followed by two Iron Warriors veterans.

During this period, the Genestealer laborers Fu Haoran sent had cleaned the mine he wanted perfectly, laid the fortifications' foundations neatly, and even completed details not considered in his blueprints according to his habits.

"Your people work well," Danteoche said bluntly. "What do you want?"

[System Prompt: Danteoche's current favorability is 70, meeting the basic completion conditions]

[Mission Reward: You can obtain benefits from Danteoche through negotiation]

[PS: Host, don't just stand there. Now that you've farmed enough favor with the civil engineering bro, hurry up and fleece him. You won't get another chance like this.]

What? It's not given directly?!

Fu Haoran was somewhat dissatisfied, but thinking about it, it was normal. The Reincarnation World wasn't a game; the system only told the Reincarnator how to obtain hidden rewards, it didn't grant them directly.

Just like some previous equipment rewards, it only told Fu Haoran the secret location, and he had to go get them himself.

After realizing this, Fu Haoran didn't beat around the bush. "The Astartes transformation surgery."

Danteoche fell silent instantly, the red light in his lenses flickering.

Favorability was high enough, but rules were rules.

He shook his head and said stiffly, "No. You have already passed the optimal transformation age of 16. For an adult to forcibly have a Gene-seed implanted, the probability of genetic collapse exceeds 70%. I cannot perform this surgery on you."

Fu Haoran breathed a sigh of relief. The other party only said the failure rate was high, not that it couldn't be done.

Fu Haoran wasn't surprised by this. He tapped to open the encrypted communication records of the Astropathic Station and pushed them in front of Danteoche.

"This is a message received by the Astropaths not long ago. The Iron Warriors Legion sent an order requiring our Hive City to serve as a logistics node to provide supplies for a new Great Crusade. At the same time, it requires us to monitor your every move and report your location regularly."

He paused and spoke the name that only Danteoche himself would know: "The order was signed by Barban Falk."

Danteoche's body stiffened suddenly.

Barban Falk—this name was impossible for outsiders to know. The man was his former adjutant, now occupying his position.

He stared at the communication record for a full half-minute before suddenly looking up at Fu Haoran, his voice carrying suppressed anger: "Why are you helping me?"

Fu Haoran decided to take a gamble.

He didn't mention the Horus Heresy or say that the Iron Warriors would rebel. This news was still top secret, and traitors wouldn't broadcast it everywhere.

Fu Haoran only said one sentence: "Because their ultimate goal is the holy capital of humanity, Terra."

He left the rest to Danteoche's own imagination.

Sure enough, Danteoche fell silent instantly.

He might be at odds with his gene-sire, but he knew the Primarch's character and thoughts all too well.

That campaign had caused his gene-Father's personality to change drastically, making him more irritable and prone to anger.

With that increasingly twisted personality, he wouldn't be surprised by any outrageous actions.

As for what they were going to Terra for, Danteoche didn't know, but if Barban Falk was really coming, he had to prepare in advance.

In any case, the fact that his former adjutant had issued an order was an undeniable truth. He had to prepare for the worst.

The aging of his body and years of constant warfare had long since smoothed Danteoche's sharp edges, making this rigid man flexible for once.

He sighed and said helplessly, "I only have a very small number of Iron Warriors Gene-seeds in my possession. I cannot risk using them on you."

Danteoche felt this reason was enough to make Fu Haoran back down.

But when Fu Haoran heard this, he was delighted.

No refusal meant it was a good sign.

He directly took out the three Gene-seeds he had prepared and placed them on the table.

"I have the Gene-seeds, you don't need to worry about that."

Danteoche looked at the three Gene-seeds on the table, his lenses almost widening. "Three? You want to do it for three people?"

"Me, Ronan, and Tychus." Fu Haoran pointed to one of the Thousand Sons Gene-seeds. "This one is for Tychus."

Danteoche felt unwell all over.

He looked at that Thousand Sons Gene-seed, his voice changing pitch: "You want to implant a Thousand Sons Gene-seed into an Ogryn?! The seed of the legion that values psychic talent and erudition most?"

"Aren't you afraid the Thousand Sons will find out and come looking for trouble?"

He had lived for nearly five hundred years and had never seen anything so preposterous.

Danteoche only felt his heart was weary. He waved his hand, completely giving up.

"Fine, I agree. However, you've passed the optimal age. Even with my technology as a safety net, the full process will take at least 5 years to complete."

"We don't have that much time at all."

At that moment, Lucifelle spoke up: "Hand the technology over to me. I can be the lead surgeon."

Fu Haoran's scalp instantly went numb.

Letting a former Necrons who disregarded life perform a chest-opening gene-modification surgery on him?

Fu Haoran's heart almost jumped out of his chest. He frantically winked at Father Kallun nearby, casting a look for help.

Father Kallun's mechanical eye flickered twice, and he lowered his head with a face full of helplessness.

He was a Tech-Priest, proficient in cybernetic implants and mechanical modifications, but he knew nothing about biological gene surgery. He was truly powerless to help.

Lucifelle looked at Fu Haoran's resistant expression, a very faint smile curling at the corner of her mouth. She stepped forward and directly grabbed him by the back of his collar, her tone rarely carrying a trace of "tenderness":

"Before my slumber, I dissected countless organisms." Her tone was as flat as if she were saying the weather was nice today. "With the technology of us Necrontyr, stuffing an Astartes seed into a mortal body is simpler than repairing a rusted Scarab."

"So, darling, you won't refuse, will you?"

Fu Haoran looked at the Phase Sword glowing with eerie green light behind her, then at the non-negotiable look in her eyes, and finally nodded in humiliation.

However, based on the principle of 'better a dead friend than a dead me', he immediately added: "If we're doing it, do it for Tychus first. He's been looking forward to this day for a long time and is very enthusiastic."

Just then, the awakened Tychus happened to hear this sentence and jumped up on the spot:

"Bullshit! I didn't! I don't want to! I'd rather go carry ore in the mines for three years than become an Astartes!"

Four or five Servitors nearby quickly stepped forward to apply more anesthetic to prevent the patient from breaking free.

Danteoche leaned against the wall, watching this preposterous scene. He only felt a headache and waved his hand. "Fine, I will only provide technical support and organ cultivation. I'm not responsible for the surgical process. You can mess around however you like."

Anyway, during the Great Crusade, there were plenty of instances where various legions privately modified mortals. The 30K Imperium wasn't that strict; if the sky fell, the tall ones would hold it up.

With the matter settled for now, Fu Haoran had just breathed a sigh of relief when Jarvis's projection popped up.

"Sir, your cash flow is about to break."

Fu Haoran's brow furrowed instantly. "Be specific."

"The construction of the World Yellowstone Shipyard has already spent 78% of the budget. Prepaid wages for shipyard technicians, relocation fees for American shipbuilders, and research collaboration payments for domestic shipyards have cumulatively consumed 830 million US dollars."

"R&D costs for the car factory spent 1.5 billion dollars, the Super Factory cost 1 billion dollars, shipyard construction cost 100 million dollars, employee..."

Dense financial reports jumped onto Jarvis's projection, the numbers eye-searingly red. "Based on a comprehensive assessment, your existing funds can support you for three months at most."

Fu Haoran rubbed his temples.

If he had known shipbuilding burned money like this, he wouldn't have made it so grand at the start.

But then again, without burning money, how could he build a ship capable of running away?

"Sigh, money really doesn't last. How am I going to trick someone out of more money?"