Once again, the conference room fell utterly dead silent.
[Don't Ask Me My Orky Senses Tell Me It'll Work] was the first to jump up. "Are you shitting me?! In a hundred years, the Primarchs will all be dead! What the hell is even the point of playing then?!"
[God-Tier Mechanic] quietly chimed in. "Not dead. Carved up by the four Chaos Gods. By that time, the Horus Heresy will be over, the Siege of Terra will be done, and the Emperor will already be glued to the Golden Throne... and we'll just now be scraping together enough cash for one Primarch?"
[I'm Not the Regent I'm Just Passing By Guilliman] slumped in his chair, staring blankly at the ceiling. "In a hundred years, I'll be nothing but dust."
Tax Bro dragged a hand through his hair, his power fist scraping harshly against his helmet. "A hundred years of grinding in the mines... Is this a fucking mining simulator?"
[Selling Flatbread at the Gates of the Imperial Palace] spoke up from the sidelines. "It's fine, bro. It's not like we didn't grind rocks when we first spawned in. You were happily swinging a pickaxe back in the Aru Industrial Zone."
[The Last God of Gamblers of the Imperium of Man] glared at him. "Are you seriously comparing the two? We did that to survive! What are we doing this for?"
[Selling Cola at the Gates of the Imperial Palace] answered flatly. "For the Primarch."
[The Last God of Gamblers of the Imperium of Man] opened his mouth, only to realize he couldn't even argue with that.
[The Last Mechanical Scourge] silently opened the System Shop, navigated to the [Multi-Purpose High-Efficiency Pickaxe], and read the description underneath:
[Utilizes recovered Dark Age of Technology schematics. Significantly increases mining efficiency and reduces stamina consumption.]
[Price: 500 Imperial Coins]
"I suddenly feel like following Paul to Laeran was a great idea," [Selling Flatbread at the Gates of the Imperial Palace] murmured. "Sure, I got vivisected alive by that old bastard Fabius, but hey, at least I didn't have to mine rocks."
"You don't want to mine?" [Selling Cola at the Gates of the Imperial Palace] gave him a side-eye. "Then why were you just fighting for the Primarch spot?"
"Because if I'm the Primarch, I don't have to mine!"
"Even Primarchs have to grind for gear." Schrödinger Bro's voice drifted over. "You think that exclusive three-piece artifact set is a free giveaway? What about your Primarch fleet? Your Legion of Astartes sons? Do you guys honestly think being a Primarch is a walk in the park? For Crimson Dawn, this is our very first Primarch. For all the people of Aurelian, this will be the first demigod to watch over them. True power isn't just about individual strength; it comes bound by immense duty and responsibility."
[Selling Flatbread at the Gates of the Imperial Palace] fell silent.
An eerie quiet settled over the entire conference room.
Blood Angel leaned back in his chair, a faint smirk tugging at his lips as he took in the expressions of the squabbling clowns. He spoke slowly, his voice calm but piercing. "Actually... a hundred years is the extraction time for ordinary people."
Tax Bro blinked, taken aback. "What do you mean?"
Blood Angel's gaze swept slowly across every face in the room, finally coming to rest on the Astartes players clad in their power armor:
"We can't rely on conventional mining methods. Normal people need rest," his voice was steady. "They work eight-hour shifts, they need to eat, sleep, and recover their stamina. Naturally, the pace won't be very fast. But..." He paused, his tone taking on a profound, meaningful edge. "Those of you who have undergone Astartes augmentation can work for forty hours straight without resting. The ones with mechanical augments can operate twenty-four/seven. And as for those piloting Dreadnoughts..."
He glanced toward the Contemptor Dreadnought looming in the corner.
Two crimson lights flared to life within [I Want to be a Steel Behemoth]'s sarcophagus.
"I can mine for a solid year without stopping," his voice boomed through the Dreadnought's external vox-casters, carrying that distinct, resonant mechanical thrum. "As long as I get regular promethium refuels."
The conference room fell silent for two seconds.
Then, Tax Bro snapped his head around to look at Schrödinger Bro. "Schrödinger Bro! Recalculate!"
Schrödinger Bro's fingers were already dancing across his datapad. A few seconds later, he looked up.
"If we increase the workforce, have all of Crimson Dawn's augmented units handle the extraction, and equip everyone with high-efficiency mining gear from the Shop..." He paused, a subtle smirk creeping into his voice. "We can compress the extraction time down to... about five years."
[Don't Ask Me My Orky Senses Tell Me It'll Work]'s eyes bulged like saucers. "Five years?!"
"Right, five years," Schrödinger Bro nodded. "And that's a conservative estimate. If we increase the headcount even more, funnel some of the Axiomite Crystals into researching psionic energy extraction, and develop specialized mining rigs... we can compress that timeline even further."
[Don't Ask Me My Orky Senses Tell Me It'll Work] was the first to leap to his feet. "Holy shit! Blood Angel, you aren't seriously telling us to become miners, are you?!"
[Execute Old Man the War Criminal] looked equally appalled. "We are Astartes! Space Marines! The absolute ace trump cards of Crimson Dawn! And you want us to go hit rocks?!"
[Guilliman's Little Blueberry] chimed in, "I literally just survived a goddamn warzone out there, and now you want me to go mine? Blood Angel, does your conscience not hurt?!"
"Does Blood Angel even have a conscience?" [I'm Not the Regent I'm Just Passing By Guilliman] muttered gloomily.
"No," [Have You Been Loyal Today?] replied flatly.
"Absolutely none," [Grandfather Nurgle Loves All Sentient Beings] agreed.
"Man's better at ruthless exploitation than us Paradox Interactive players," [Paradox Player Not a War Criminal] added.
Blood Angel looked at the wailing players, a gentle smile gracing his face. "Now, why would I do that? I'd never force you guys into anything." His tone was light, as if casually deciding what to have for dinner. "Since you don't want to do it, we'll just pass on the Crimson Drake Starflame Primarch. It's fine. The Horus Heresy is kicking off in a few years anyway. When the time comes, Crimson Dawn can just slack off and watch the nine Traitor Primarchs sweep across the galaxy with their Legions. And hey, if one of those Traitor Primarchs gets bored, notices our two little backwater dirtballs, and casually wipes us out of existence..." He paused, his gaze drifting over everyone in the room. His voice remained light, but his words sent a chill down everyone's spine. "Faction fails, everyone's account gets permanently deleted. That'll save us a lot of trouble. No mining required."
Dead silence filled the conference room.
Tax Bro opened his mouth, then snapped it shut.
[Selling Flatbread at the Gates of the Imperial Palace] shot up from his chair. "Whoa, whoa, whoa! Let's not be hasty, Blood Angel! I never said I didn't want to do it!"
"Yeah, exactly!" [Selling Cola at the Gates of the Imperial Palace] also jumped up. "We're down! We are extremely down for this! Mining is great! It builds character! Great cardio!"
[Don't Ask Me My Orky Senses Tell Me It'll Work] nodded frantically. "Hell yeah it is! What's wrong with a mining simulator? We played it all the time when we first spawned in! It's the classic vanilla experience!"
[Have You Been Loyal Today?] chimed in, "I've been dying to experience the rugged life of the working class anyway! There is glory in labor!"
Tax Bro watched his fellow players—who were just whining a second ago—now stumbling over each other. His mouth twitched.
Then, he stood up as well. "Fine, fine! We'll mine the damn rocks!"
Looking at the resigned players, Blood Angel suddenly burst out laughing. It was a hearty, bright sound, carrying a rare sense of relaxation. "I'm just messing with you guys. Like I'd ever make you mine alone."
He waved his hand, his smile gradually fading into an expression of absolute seriousness. Walking up to the holographic projection, he swiped a finger across the star map.
Aurelian IV and Planet Dal—the two worlds blinked steadily on the display.
"Jokes aside, the direction is correct. For the next five years, we won't have the luxury to care about anything else," Blood Angel declared, locking eyes with everyone present. "This is Crimson Dawn's First Five-Year Plan. We must go all-in on extracting the Axiomite Crystals from Planet Dal. Within five years, we will fund Crimson Dawn's very first Primarch Legion."
Tax Bro's expression turned serious. "Five years?"
"Yes, five years," Schrödinger Bro took over, his voice calm. "The Fall of Davin happens in 005.M31. The current year is 000.M31. We have five years on the dot."
He brought up the star map and drew a line between Laeran and Planet Dal. "Blood Angel and I will return to Aurelian IV. We'll mobilize all personnel, supplies, infrastructure, and equipment from Aurelian and ship everything to Dal." Schrödinger Bro looked over at Paul. "We're going to need you to personally lead the fleet for that. Navigating the Warp is only truly safe when you're at the helm."
Paul nodded. No problem.
"Once we're back on Aurelian," Schrödinger Bro continued, "Blood Angel, and I will figure out a way to stall Sanguinius and Guilliman. Those two Primarchs could arrive at any moment. They won't be easy to fool, but as long as we act fiercely loyal and perfectly cooperative, we shouldn't have any issues in the short term."
Blood Angel turned to the rest of the players. "As for you guys... you are all staying on Planet Dal. Objective one: mining. Objective two: planetary reconstruction. You are going to turn Planet Dal into a second Aurelian IV. Let the civilization of Crimson Dawn shine upon this soil once more." His tone grew solemn. "The humans we just saved... the survivors of Planet Dal... they need leaders. And you guys are going to lead them."
The group sat in silence for a few seconds.
Tax Bro was the first to speak, his voice deep and resolute. "Understood."
White Scars nodded. "No problem."
Then [I'm Not the Regent I'm Just Passing By Guilliman], [Execute Old Man the War Criminal], [Grandfather Nurgle Loves All Sentient Beings]... one by one, everyone nodded in agreement.
Watching the scene unfold, a flicker of gratification flashed deep within Paul's dark gold eyes.
He slowly stood up.
His three-point-eight-eight-meter golden frame looked especially majestic bathed in the glow of the holographic projection.
"Schrödinger Bro and Blood Angel's arrangements are solid," Paul's voice was calm, carrying a reassuring weight. "Time is tight, so we move fast. I will personally command the fleets traveling between Planet Dal and Aurelian IV to accelerate the flow of personnel and resources for the planet-wide reconstruction. Buy every piece of equipment and machinery in the Shop that boosts mining efficiency. If we're short on Imperial Coins, I'll cover the difference."
Tax Bro broke into a grin. "Paul is throwing around that cash."
Paul ignored him and pressed on. "As for the other planets in this system... I'll take a detachment and conquer all of them in my spare time. We'll see if we can dig up any more unexpected surprises."
He pulled his gaze away from the starry void beyond the window and surveyed the room. "We're on the clock, so I'll keep it short." He slammed his right fist against his breastplate, the deafening clang of metal echoing off the walls. "Move out."
"Understood!" dozens of voices roared in perfect unison.
The moment the order dropped, all of Crimson Dawn sprang to life like a well-oiled machine.
Directives flew across the comm-channels. Transport engines roared through their warm-up cycles, while Thunderhawk gunships lined up neatly on the landing pads.
The Dawn Defense Force soldiers, who had only just walked off the battlefield, didn't hesitate for a second when they received their new orders. They slung their lasguns over their shoulders, accepted the multi-purpose high-efficiency pickaxes distributed by the Legion, and marched out toward the mining zones under the command of their officers.
A gray tide of men flooded through the valleys of Planet Dal, washing over the very soil that had just been soaked in blood.
Surprisingly...
No one complained.
In fact, many of the soldiers had smiles on their faces.
[Region Channel (Crimson Dawn)]
[How Many Floors Can A Bag of Rice Carry]: "Holy shit, look at the expressions on these Dawn Defense Force guys. Why are they smiling like they just hit the lottery?"
[Optimus Prime I'm Gonna Handle You Hard]: "Didn't you hear what the DDF drill instructors told them? 'This is to transform Planet Dal into Crimson Dawn's second home. A second home for the Aurelian Youth League.'"
[You Ashe I Soraka]: "Yep, yep. They even have a new rallying cry: 'Labor for sustenance, effort for dignity.' Honestly, calling them drill instructors feels like a stretch, they act more like..."
--
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