Warhammer: Striving to Be a Grinding Man

Chapter 98 Lucius 939.M41

The mottled gray hull of the Black Pearl and the crimson armor of the Truth slid out of their berths at the same time, while the star of Garros had already sunk to the edge of the dome.

The two ships left long trails in the beams of their guide lights, the Aletheia following the Black Pearl to the right rear, the distance precise to the meter. The formation's wakes traced two parallel arcs across the starry sky.

The fleet's formation training has come to an end. In just a few months, building a fleet from scratch, being able to get the ships into position, fire accurately, launch torpedoes in salvos, and withstand high-intensity interference on the communication links is already considered an extraordinary achievement by the standards of the Imperial Navy.

Dome 30 is located on the southeastern edge of the equatorial plain. A transparent canopy two hundred kilometers across the sky reflects a cold, white light under the starlight. There, the final batch of elite combatants undergoes neural interface surgery and armor-wearing training. Over 40,000 capital ship combatants have completed the entire process from operating table to warship, and 2,400 elites, under Relano's tutelage, have begun to master advanced combat skills.

"Captain." Marcus walked up behind him, the blue halo of his right mechanical eye slowly expanding and contracting on the holographic projection platform. "Dual-ship formation route entered. Mandeville point coordinates confirmed. Subspace engine self-check complete. All departments are in normal status."

Cohen turned and sat down in the commander's seat. The preparations in Garros were complete. Fleet training was over, the defense forces were in place, immigrant convoys continued their journeys, and the city under the dome was growing. Everything was on track.

"Departures."

Thrusters ignite. The Black Pearl leads the way, the Aletheia follows.

The armored cover on the porthole remained in place. Vera Nazari's holographic image was projected from the communication channel; her light brown ponytail was neatly tied, and she held a data tablet in her hand.

"Cohen, the Truth will be docked in Lucis for a few days to resupply before I leave. The shipping lanes around Amegiddon and here have become less peaceful lately. I'll rest for a few days before setting off on escort missions."

Cohen nodded. "We'll talk about it when we get there."

Communications were cut off. The two ships headed towards Mandeville. The star of Garros gradually shrank outside the porthole, eventually disappearing into the background of the starry sky.

The routine voyage lasted less than a day when the ship shuddered, and a purple chaos surged into the boundary of the Geller Field. The two-ship formation maintained spacing in subspace. The voyage proceeded uneventfully for weeks, the Black Pearl's Geller Field readings drawing an almost straight horizontal line on the dial, and the Truth's signal came steadily and clearly from behind.

In the private workshop, during the third week of warp travel, a servo skull with an adamantine shell hovered above the workbench, projecting a complex structural diagram through an optical lens—the original Astartes mental barrier architecture peeled from the depths of Rellano's brain.

He repeatedly deduced the process in higher dimensions. This was human modification, but it didn't involve gene seeds, organ replacement, or changes to physiological structure; it simply involved embedding a chip within the forehead bone plate. The chip simulated the core algorithm of that defense line: filtering subspace whispers and shielding against the pressure of chaotic psionic energy. Additionally, a layer of neural signal amplification circuitry was superimposed to slightly shorten the reaction time of consciousness.

He then pulled up the brain structure diagram of the green-skinned Gigabyte—the Gigabyte that had been dismantled deep within a space wreckage, its neural synapses exhibiting a crude parallel redundancy design. Not more precise, but more resistant to interference. He extracted the logic of that redundant filtering, compared it layer by layer with the original architecture, and then superimposed it onto the silicon-based circuit, adding a coarse filter before the precision filtering layer.

The module's outer shell is made of medical-grade titanium alloy. During implantation, it replaces the soldier's frontal bone plate, conforming to the skull's contours. A micro-data interface is pre-installed on the inner side, connecting in parallel with neural interfaces in the back of the head and spine. The outer side can be covered with autologous skin or left unpainted. He preferred to leave it unpainted, not for aesthetics, but to let the soldiers know that an extra layer of defense had been added to their brains.

He marked on the blueprint: "Mental Barrier, Psionic Filtering and Reaction Enhancement Module. Shell Material: Medical-grade titanium alloy."

Based on the Astartes architecture, and drawing inspiration from the Green Skin parallel redundant filtering. Priority: Highest.

Rellano was able to last ten thousand years mainly because of that barrier in his brain. Mortal soldiers don't have it. Cohen wants to turn that barrier into a chip and embed it into the forehead of every warrior. It's not something that can be done today, but the direction has been set.

He shut down the blueprint for the mental barrier and retrieved another document from the database—a piece of biological code extracted from the cultivation data of the Garros servant wet component production line. During the cultivation process, the wet component core produces a natural metabolite that can significantly increase the upper limit of the human nervous system's tolerance to mechanical signals in a short period, allowing the wearer to further increase the power output of the power armor. However, this effect is deliberately suppressed by the nutrient solution formula of the production line to prevent the wet component from excessively consuming energy before it is sealed.

Cohen extracted the code, reverse-engineered it, and designed a resistance-enhancing injection for human use. The formula is a synthetic protein carrier carrying nerve signal catalysts and muscle fiber stabilizers. Injected directly into the carotid artery, it takes effect within thirty seconds. Its effective duration is three hours, enough to sustain a high-intensity battle. During this time, the power armor's built-in system can increase the output multiplier several levels above the default safe threshold—not due to the armor's limitations, but because the human's neural limits are temporarily raised. After the effects wear off, a brief period of weakness lasts about a day, after which the user returns to normal. Not perfect, but sufficient.

He marked on the blueprint: "Resistance Enhancement Injection - Power Armor Multiplier Increase. Based on reverse analysis of wet component metabolites. Effective duration: three hours. Side effect: weakness for 24 hours afterwards. Priority: high. Requires further optimization."

He pushed the data panel back onto the table and closed his eyes. In the higher dimension, the structures of the medical titanium alloy cover and the injection formula were still being stacked layer by layer, and the circuits and molecules for signal filtering, neural amplification, and resistance enhancement were being repeatedly verified in his consciousness.

Cohen spent relatively less time in the private workshop. He spent more time sitting on the bridge, watching Marcus handle daily affairs, listening to Sierra report navigation parameters, and occasionally glancing at reports sent back from Garros. Immigration data, dome progress, defense force training—everything was proceeding according to plan.

At the jump point on the edge of the Lucis system, the Black Pearl appeared precisely on time. The Truth followed closely behind, quickly restoring formation spacing. The routine cruise by both ships lasted for a day. The outline of the spaceport slowly magnified outside the portholes—the massive metal frame gleamed with a cold gray sheen in the starlight, the berths stretched along the tracks, and the shuttles glided silently on them.

Lucis's spaceport is a microcosm of the Forgeworld's millennia-long industrial accumulation. The massive hexagonal main port is surrounded by hundreds of storage tanks and control towers, their surfaces adorned with industrial Gothic decorations dating back to the Empire's founding. Hydraulic hatches line both sides of the berths, concealing defensive laser arrays beneath the hatches—standard equipment for Forgeworld spaceports and an extension of the Empire's control over this star system. Guidance lights in the berths are neatly arranged, and service aircraft stand in formation at the jet bridge entrances. The massive hydraulic hatches reflect a cold, grey sheen in the starlight. The port control announcements are brief and professional.

The Black Pearl and the Truth berthed side by side in succession.

Cohen stood at the porthole on the bridge, watching the ships passing by. Marcus walked to his side, the blue halo of his right mechanical eye slowly expanding and contracting.

"Captain, Lucis seems a little different."

"What's different?"

"The ship traffic is significantly higher than last time. The merchant ship berths are almost full, and there are also several naval patrol vessels. It doesn't seem like a regular rotation. When they entered the port, the controller's tone was also a bit more urgent than usual."

Cohen didn't speak. He looked at it for a while, then looked away.

"Perhaps the situation in Amighadoon is starting to affect this place."

97

Marcus didn't reply. The two stood in silence for a moment.

The communications panel lit up. A holographic image of Vera Nazari was projected, sitting in the captain's chair on the Aletheia, clutching a data panel in her hand.

"Cohen, we've arrived. The Atrume will need two days to replenish supplies, then it'll leave. What about you?"

Cohen turned around. "I'm going to your house tomorrow to meet your father. Is that convenient?"

Vera's lips twitched slightly. "It's fine. He'll wait for you. Don't be late tomorrow at noon."

"it is good."

Communications were cut off. Marcus turned and walked toward the tactical console.

Cohen stood by the porthole for a while longer, then returned to the commander's seat and sat down. He didn't disembark. The Black Pearl's captain's cabin was behind the bridge, and the corridor lights were already switched to night mode. Outside the porthole, the lights of the Lucis Spaceport shone through the armored glass, casting a cool, shimmering light on the floor.

The next morning, dressed in the deep red robes of a fifth-order sage, he stepped out of the Black Pearl. The space elevator car descended from the berth area.

Through the transparent panels of the cabin, the spire of Lucis's hive unfolded beneath my feet. Descending from the spaceport, the first thing that came into view was the cluster of Gothic spires—towering spires piercing the thin upper atmosphere, flying buttresses extending like skeletons from either side of the towers, casting interlacing shadows in the starlight. The spires were connected by suspended arcades, and in the abyss below, shuttles left long trails, silently traversing the gaps between the buildings. The exterior walls were inlaid with brass gears and wrought-iron roses, and each arched window was a stained-glass panel depicting images of the wise men of the Mechanicus throughout history.

The glowing cooling towers stand like giant spears at the edge of the building complex, with exhaust pipes extending from the pillars to discharge industrial waste gas into the high atmosphere.

The elevator continued its descent. The outline of the spire gradually shifted from a blurry outline beneath our feet to something within reach. A decorative dome, forged from refined gold, unfolded, bearing the rust of sulfides accumulated over millennia. The battle-hardened terracotta walls, densely packed with blast-proof windows, gazed back at the starry sky with countless tiny lights. Huge artificial light columns lined the edge of the spire, bathing the entire area in a cool glow.