Warhammer: Empire Reboot

The moment the right side lost its ability to resist, the fart demon on the left side pulled hard, fell backward, and sat up in horror as it looked at the corpse.

"Ok?"

Before it could even utter a sound, the Katachon's Fang had already pierced its throat.

The two farts ended their dispute over property ownership in completely different ways.

Lawson stood up, wiped the knife on the ground twice, and sheathed it.

Then he heard a familiar voice.

"Life Points +1"

"Life Points +1"

"Ok?"

Lawson paused for a moment.

Is this his system returning to normal, or a conspiracy of illusion created by Tzeentch?

Until a familiar semi-transparent holographic interface appeared in the corner of his field of vision.

The system is indeed back, but it has been drastically modified and is no longer recognizable.

The swarm intelligence network of the past has all disappeared.

The interface has become extremely rudimentary, even shabby.

The entire interface is divided into five isolated tabs:

[Death Squad Page], [Technology Page], [Armory Page], [Hall of Heroes], [Scrap Yard]

Four of them are in a grayed-out locked state.

The only thing that was lit up was the [Death Squad Page].

Lawson clicked on the page, which displayed several lines of data: 【Death Squad System Rebooting】

Current host status: minor injury.

Resource reserves:

Life Points Reserve: 2

Steel reserves: 0 cubic meters

Available redemption sequence: Basic Ground Unit (Locked) [Katachan Jungle Warrior]

(Currently the only usable blueprint: constructed based on the host's current genetic template, eliminating injuries and diseases, and ensuring 100% loyalty.)

Exchange requirements: [Life Points: 2 / 100] [Steel: 0 / 1 cubic meter]

Lawson frowned as he looked at the data.

"Oh, the emperor's shriveled testicles..."

P.S.: Brothers, it's the new book release period, so please feel free to leave your comments and feedback. Don't be shy, haha!

Chapter 2: The Orcs as the Flame

In the past, as long as he had a piece of land, he could create a loyal assassin.

What's this now? Is it getting harder?

Or is it that the underlying laws of the Warhammer universe are too rigid, squeezing the system's conversion efficiency to such an outrageous degree?

Killing a fart only gives you 1 life point.

That means he would have to tear 100 green-skinned people apart in this dangerous, abandoned spaceship in order to get a basic-level assassin.

As for that steel reserve...

Lawson lowered his head and looked at the Katachon's Fang in his hand.

As his gaze fell upon the knife, a small notification popped up on the system interface:

[High-strength carbon-containing metal composite (plastic/steel hybrid) detected.]

[Should the steel be absorbed and converted into refined steel reserves?]

[Estimated yield: 0.00024 cubic meters of high-quality steel.]

Without hesitation, Lawson chose "No".

What kind of galaxy joke is this?

He is now behind enemy lines, and this is his only lifeline. He gave his only weapon to the system to "eat" in exchange for a pitiful 0.00024 cubic meters.

He might as well just cut his own neck and die a quick death.

But he had to figure out the logic behind acquiring this refined steel.

This is a derelict spaceship, and the one thing it has in abundance is metal!

He strode to a huge steel support column next to him and placed his palm on it.

Nothing happens.

He then picked up a piece of scrap iron plate about the size of his palm from the ground.

[Common scrap iron/low-carbon steel detected.]

[Should we absorb and refine the material for steel reserves?]

[Estimated yield: 0.003 cubic meters of high-quality steel.]

The rules became clear instantly: only things that he could pick up by his own strength were considered his "possessions" and could be absorbed by the system.

He then carried a solid iron block weighing over 200 kilograms to verify it.

The system confirmed that it could absorb the waste, but only 0.007 cubic meters of refined steel were actually obtained. The scrap iron was significantly compressed and damaged during the refining process.

"absorb!"

The next second, the two-hundred-pound iron lump turned into a dense patch of gray light and disappeared.

The rules are clear, and the efficiency has been figured out; now is not the time to do math problems.

The danger is far from over.

This is the wreckage area of ​​Deck 77.

When the 88th Assault Unit launched its charge, his company was fighting in this area.

Back then, he was surrounded by his comrades-in-arms, but now they are all gone.

Just then, Lawson pricked up his ears.

Deep in the shadows, he keenly sensed some discordant sounds approaching.

"Waaagh...shrimp...smash it..."

"There are at least several dozen farts and orc boys wandering around this level."

Lawson made a judgment and then very quickly began to take stock of all the items he currently owned.

A Katachon's Fang.

Two fragmentation booby traps were cleverly attached to the inside of the belt.

A roll of monofilament rope, twenty meters long.

A piece of military rations as hard as a brick.

A water bladder half-filled with murky filtered water.

A tactical pouch at the waist, containing several meters of concealed fuse wire.

He had no idea what was happening in the void outside.

Are those three Imperial cruisers still around? Are there any other survivors from the 88th Assault Unit?

The chaotic footsteps grew closer.

The orcs seemed to smell the fresh blood in the air and were moving rapidly in that direction.

We cannot stay where we are.

Lawson quickly backed away, locking onto a ventilation duct located diagonally above his head.

The grating on the pipe had long since disappeared, leaving it dark and empty inside.

In the jungle, when faced with an invincible herd, the hunter must learn to hide better than his prey.

He slipped silently into the dark pipe.

Darkness is the oldest ally in the starry sky, and also its deadliest enemy.

Lawson, Cole Iron Serpent Lawson, peered down through a gap at the bottom of the pipe at the wreckage area of ​​Deck 77.

The first to emerge were more than thirty farts huddled together.

They dragged all sorts of spoils salvaged from human corpses or ruins.

Rusty gears, broken laser gun barrels, bloodstained helmets, and even a bloody section of thigh belonging to some unfortunate member of the Astral Army.

"Hurry up! You useless maggot-like slugs! Move along!"

Behind the group of scoundrels, two enormous figures emerged, cursing and swearing.

Those were two fully grown orc boys.

They are over 2.2 meters tall, and their dark green skin is covered with crisscrossing scars.

They wore tattered armor crudely riveted together from old tires and the shells of unknown aliens, and each carried a huge machete.

One of the orc boys had a huge Death Gun hanging from his waist, the barrel of which was thick enough to fit an adult's fist.

Lawson squinted inside the pipe.

He's waiting for a variable to occur.