"How was the Imperial Coin harvest this trip?"
Cogboy pulled up a System interface.
"In terms of Imperial Coins, the total scrapped steel salvaged from demolishing Bordeaux Town is eleven thousand three hundred tons. Based on the System salvage rate of one thousand two hundred coins per ton, the total value is thirteen million five hundred and sixty thousand."
"Add the black iron ore warehouses in Merida Town, plus the preliminary survey report on the Merida black iron mines. The vein reserves are conservatively estimated at over a thousand tons."
He paused, then delivered the summary. "If we include Red Town, the preliminary total revenue from your expedition is... twenty-five million Imperial Coins at the absolute minimum."
"Twenty-five million..."
Even Paul couldn't help but raise an eyebrow at that number.
Just a month ago, the five thousand of them had been crammed into an abandoned manufactorum, stressing out over a daily survival tax of 0.3 coins per person.
Now, a single combat expedition yielded an eight-million-fold return.
This was the logic of the Warhammer world: you either struggle at the absolute bottom waiting to die, or you climb up over mountains of corpses and seas of blood.
"What about the population?" Paul asked.
"Whatever number you brought back is the number I added to the ledger." Cogboy closed the hologram. "But I need to remind you, Paul. The base's current food reserves will only feed twenty thousand people for thirty-five days—and that's even factoring in the first projected harvest from the potato fields."
"Furthermore, we have a severe housing shortage."
"The existing barracks can hold a maximum of eight thousand people. The remaining ten thousand-plus are going to have to sleep in the work sheds or pitch tents."
"Medical resources are even scarcer. We only have one hundred and seventeen players with basic medical knowledge, and no one has gone into the Apothecary class path yet..."
He rattled off seven or eight major problems in one breath, each one striking at the core of their survival.
Paul listened quietly, then nodded. "I'm aware."
He turned to look toward the interior of the base.
"There's no need for further expansion in the short term." Paul said, his voice perfectly calm. "Our current population is sufficient. It's actually a bit overloaded. There are still a few small mining pits outside those three towns that can probably yield another ten million Imperial Coins or so. We can just send a few players to slowly scavenge them every day."
He paused, his tone growing serious.
"Right now, the absolute priority is increasing our strength."
"The Aru Group suffered a massive loss in the industrial zone."
"They're temporarily bogged down by Chaos, but once Chaos is purged or driven back, the four major factions will eventually notice us."
"A migrating column of twenty thousand people walking across the wasteland for a full day and night... You can't hide a disturbance that massive."
Cogboy and Blood Angel exchanged a glance, both seeing the gravity of the situation in the other's eyes.
"You mean..." Blood Angel ventured.
"Prepare for war." Paul spoke the words heavily. "For the next month, all resources will be prioritized into three areas: Armament, Training, and Fortifications."
"We need more heavy weapons, more Power Armor, and more players completing basic physical augmentations."
"We also need transport trucks, self-propelled artillery, gunships, and other heavy equipment. This is the Warhammer world. If our individual flesh and blood can't match a Primarch, then our equipment cannot fall behind."
"The player base needs at least three thousand men at Type-III Physique, six hundred fully cybernetically augmented, and three hundred formal Psykers."
"The walls need to be raised and reinforced. The outer perimeter needs to be laced with mines and proximity sensors. The watchtowers need heavy machine guns and rocket launchers."
"And finally..."
He looked at Blood Angel. "The ideological work cannot stop. Among these twenty thousand new residents, there will definitely be those who hold the mindset that loyalty not absolute is absolute disloyalty. You need to use the shortest amount of time possible to make them accept the ideals of Crimson Dawn, voluntarily commit to labor, and voluntarily join the Aurelian Youth League."
Blood Angel took a deep breath and nodded firmly. "Don't worry. Leave it to me."
A pale gold psychic light flashed in his eyes—the hallmark of a formal Psyker.
Two days ago, his psychic level had jumped from Low Psyker (2/12) straight to Official Psyker (3/12).
"Through practicing on the original two thousand workers, I've already figured out a complete mobilization pipeline. Combined with my psychic breakthrough, I can now perform shallow subconscious guidance. I can amplify their yearning for a better life and their instinctual resistance against oppression." Blood Angel explained. "Paired with collective labor, ideological classes, and promoting model citizens as examples, give me ten days at most. I guarantee that at least seventy percent of these twenty thousand people will sincerely identify with us from the bottom of their hearts. Helovia is the most classic example of this."
Paul nodded, thinking of the little girl who had fallen into a coma to save Tax Bro. "If she hadn't intervened this time, Tax Bro's side would have definitely taken catastrophic losses at Merida Town. Tax Bro himself might have even been killed in action."
He looked at Cogboy. "How is her condition?"
"Stable, but she hasn't woken up yet." Cogboy pulled up a medical report. "The psychic overexertion was far too severe. Unleashing the full power of an S-Rank talent put way too much strain on her eleven-year-old body. I injected her with a High-Efficiency Cellular Stimulant and a Psychic Stabilizer. Her vitals have stabilized, but her consciousness is still in deep recovery."
Paul remained silent for a moment.
"Do everything possible to treat her. Requisition whatever resources you need directly." He said, "Tell me the moment she wakes up."
"Understood."
Paul looked back outside the wall.
The migrating column had reached the base of the wall, and the players were organizing the residents to enter in batches.
The men and women from the three towns wore faces etched with a complex mix of exhaustion, trepidation, and a tiny sliver of hope.
They looked up at the walls, at the players wearing mismatched armor but brimming with vigor. They looked at the cooking smoke rising from within the base, smelling the scent of cooked food.
"For now, hand the cooking duties over to the elderly and women from the original two thousand workers… to prevent any unnecessary accidents."
"Got it."
Cogboy made a note of it.
Paul looked at Blood Angel.
"I'm leaving the education of these nineteen thousand people entirely to you. Within one month, I want to see at least fifteen thousand Imperial citizens born from this crowd who genuinely identify with us and from those fifteen thousand, we will select the first batch of official members for the Aurelian Youth League."
Blood Angel straightened his back, an unexplainable fire burning in his eyes.
"Don't worry, Chapter Master. I will ensure that every potato, every cup of water, and every chant of 'Labor is Glorious' becomes an ideological brand stamped directly into their bones. I will make them understand that the working citizens of the Imperium are the greatest of all. I will make them understand what it truly means to be alive."
Paul patted him on the shoulder, saying nothing more.
Below the wall, the column began filing into the base in an orderly fashion.