[System Prompt: The host's current constitution is insufficient to withstand the augmentation. Please undergo further enhancement before attempting again!]
The System prompt was like a bucket of ice water poured over the fire Zeke had just ignited.
He stared blankly for two seconds, then let out a helpless chuckle, stowing that gene-seed model—which radiated a warm, orange-red glow like flowing magma on the System interface—into his inventory.
"No good." Zeke turned and shrugged at his companions gathered around the conference table. "System says my constitution is too low. I have to upgrade it to a standard that can handle the augmentation first."
"What?" Tax Bro's rugged face fell, looking like a man who had waited all day for a feast only to be told it wasn't cooked yet. "You mean that million was spent for nothing?"
"Not for nothing," Bro G chimed in. "We bought the admission ticket, but we need to get in shape before we can enter the venue."
"Zeke, what's your progress on the Type-II Basic Physique Enhancement right now?"
Zeke pulled up his personal panel. Pale blue holographic data unfurled in the air:
[Player: Eternally Loyal to the Emperor]
[Type-II Basic Physique Enhancement: 67%]
[Type-I Heightened Senses Enhancement: 34%]
[Type-I Neural Reflex Enhancement: 31%]
[Remaining Imperial Coins: 892,370]
"That battle with the Razorhound pack at dawn bumped up the progress on all three of my enhancements by a good chunk," Zeke explained. "Especially my basic physique; it jumped straight from 42% to 67%."
"Combat really is the best catalyst." Bro G nodded, a flash of understanding in his eyes. "It seems the System's enhancement mechanics aren't just about dumping Imperial Coins to max them out. They also require practical application and stress stimuli to adapt the body."
He looked at Zeke. "At this rate, if you engage in high-intensity combat and training every day from now on, while continuing to pump Imperial Coins into your enhancements, your basic physique should hit Type-II 100% in a day or so. That should unlock the Type-III enhancement."
"Your senses and neural reflexes should be in the same boat—hitting Type-I 100% and then unlocking Type-II."
Cogboy began his analysis. "I ran the numbers. Pushing all three of these basic enhancements to Type-III will cost approximately... six thousand three hundred Imperial Coins."
"Plus the ten thousand Coins for the first phase of the Astartes augmentation surgery."
"And that's just the beginning," he added. "With nineteen implantation surgeries in total, none of them are going to be cheap."
"Conservatively speaking, building Zeke into a complete Salamanders Astartes is going to cost no less than three million Imperial Coins."
A collective gasp echoed through the conference room.
Three million.
That number dropped a heavy weight on everyone's shoulders.
"So we need to tweak our plan a bit," White Scars tapped the table. "We can't just rely on Zeke getting stronger. We all need to get moving."
"On one hand, we farm for money; on the other, we boost our own combat power."
"Agreed." Zeke stood up, his gaze sweeping over the group. "Starting tomorrow, we split into two forces."
"The main force, led by me, Tax Bro, and White Scars, will head to the mining pit to the northeast."
"On one hand, we assess the value of the ore veins. On the other—" He looked at Tax Bro. "Didn't you say the mutant beasts there were packed as tight as a wet market? We'll go there to grind mobs."
"We can farm Imperial Coins and accelerate our enhancement progress through actual combat."
Tax Bro's eyes lit up. "Hell yeah! My hands have been itching for a fight!"
"The second force." Zeke looked at Bro G and Cogboy. "You two will hold down the fort."
"Bro G, you're in charge of continuing Helovia's psychic training. Also, take some time to look into those unknown tech tree items in the System Shop. You might find something useful."
"Cogboy, base defenses and vehicle modifications are on you."
"Also, if possible, try to manufacture some weapons and ammo ourselves. Constantly buying them from the shop is burning a hole in our pockets."
The two nodded in agreement.
"Oh, right, Blood Angel," Zeke suddenly remembered something and looked toward [Blood Angels' Second Emperor], who had been quietly listening in the corner. "You awakened a B-Rank psychic talent. Judging by the trait description, it leans towards belief resonance and willpower reinforcement. It's kind of like..."
He paused, searching for the right words. "...Kind of like the path of an Imperial Commissar or a Chaplain in Warhammer lore."
Blood Angel raised an eyebrow. "So?"
"So I think you have the potential to be Crimson Dawn's... well, ideological officer."
Zeke laughed. "When you log off, go look up some classic literature on inspiring people, building collective unity, and speech techniques."
Blood Angel was taken aback for a moment before laughing too. "What a coincidence. I actually have a few of those at home. How the Steel Was Tempered, Records of Tavern Speeches, and a few pamphlets on organizational mobilization."
"My dad used to be the union bookworm at his factory, left a whole bookshelf of that stuff."
"Then it's settled," Zeke finalized the plan. "Everyone log off early and get some rest today. Tomorrow morning, we officially get to work."
–
Real-world time, 11:00 PM.
Zeke stood up from his five-year-old computer chair and stretched. His cervical spine popped with a soft crack.
He walked to the window and pulled back the curtains. Outside was the neon glow of the city night. Scattered lights still burned in the distant office buildings—fellow corporate wage slaves working overtime, just like he used to do.
Zeke gazed out into the night.
The shadows of the mother and daughter in Red Town, Aska's calloused hands, Helovia's milky-white eyes when she awakened her psychic powers... these images flashed through his mind.
"It's not a game..." he muttered softly to himself, then shook his head and headed for the bathroom.
As the hot water washed over his body, he suddenly recalled what Blood Angel had said: "In this world, that stubborn streak of yours will definitely come in handy."
Maybe.
–
In-game time, the dawn of a new day.
When the sun over the Redblaze Wasteland of Aurelian IV rose above the horizon, the Crimson Dawn base was already wide awake.
The players bustled about like a colony of ants.
Ten transport trucks, fully modded by Cogboy, were parked inside the stone gates.
Detachable machine gun mounts were welded to the roofs, makeshift bulletproof steel plates were bolted to the sides, and the tires had been swapped for off-road treads better suited for the wasteland terrain.
Hitched behind each truck was a crude trailer loaded with digging tools, spare parts, medkits, and a massive stockpile of cheap ammo exchanged from the shop. It was mostly black powder rifle rounds—you could buy twenty of those for a single Imperial Coin, making them cheap and plentiful.
"Is everyone here?" Zeke asked over the regional channel.
"Crimson Strike, sixteen hundred members total! Twelve hundred present! Four hundred left at the base for rotating guard duty and local recon!"
"Crimson Wind, one thousand one hundred and nineteen members total! Eight hundred present, the rest are on mobile patrol!"
"Crimson Spirit and Crimson Machina each left two hundred technical core members behind! The rest are deploying with the convoy!"
A grand total of several thousand players piled into the ten transport trucks and over twenty cheaper large cargo trucks. Though called cargo trucks, they weren't much different from tractors. But they were incredibly cheap at only seven hundred Coins a pop. They were slow, but as long as they ran, it was fine.
"Roll out!"