The dim lights of the underhive flickered weakly.
Phoros approached with heavy footsteps, followed by four carefully selected veterans from the Lamenters Chapter.
Roya glanced at the experience level displayed at the bottom of his vision.
Level 20.
Without hesitation, he issued the command mentally.
Ten experience levels were consumed instantly.
Golden light erupted from Roya’s body, enveloping the four veterans.
A few seconds later, the light faded.
Tiny rotating Grass Block icons appeared above their heads.
The conversion was complete.
“From now on, this place is your responsibility.” Roya pointed toward the nearby wheat fields.
“Expand the farmland and keep production running.” “Understood, my lord.” Phoros immediately crouched beside the fields.
Despite being a Chapter Master who had survived countless battlefields, he patiently demonstrated every step.
“Harvest the mature wheat.” He punched a stalk.
The wheat instantly shattered into item drops.
“Collect the wheat.” “Replant the seeds.” He pressed the seeds back into the tilled soil.
“Apply Bone Meal.” Golden wheat instantly sprouted.
“Remember this process.” “It will become one of the Chapter’s most important production lines.” The four newly converted Battle-Brothers nodded solemnly.
Without asking a single question…
They immediately began working.
One harvested.
One replanted.
Two spread Bone Meal continuously.
Golden wheat repeatedly grew and disappeared among the ruined manufactorums.
Within thirty minutes…
A mountain of bread filled several large storage chests.
Heavy footsteps echoed from the far end of the passage.
Kahn and Titus returned.
Behind them marched Space Marines…
Imperial Guardsmen…
Thousands of rescued civilians…
Along with the surviving members of the Planetary Defence Force.
The surrounding Orks had been completely exterminated.
For the moment…
This district of the underhive was secure.
“Kahn.” “Titus.” Roya immediately began issuing new orders.
“Cancel all rest periods.” “Fill every empty area with Mob Farms.” “The materials are already stored in the chests.” “Build according to the plans.” “Yes, my lord.” Kahn immediately reorganized the workforce.
Cobblestone was placed continuously.
Water channels spread throughout the structures.
The once-abandoned underhive gradually transformed into an enormous industrial complex that completely ignored the laws of physics.
One day later.
More than one hundred Mob Farms stood proudly throughout the district.
Each tower measured twenty-two blocks in height.
Their collection chests overflowed with Rotten Flesh…
Bones…
Spider String…
And countless other drops.
Whenever Roya accumulated enough experience…
He converted more villagers.
At this point…
More than two hundred people had already joined the system.
But Roya still wasn’t finished.
He led Titus to an open metallic plaza behind the Mob Farms.
Wooden fences soon surrounded the area.
Inside…
Dozens of black-and-white Minecraft cows wandered peacefully.
“Feed them.” Roya handed Titus a stack of wheat.
Titus entered the enclosure.
Whenever two cows approached…
He fed one piece of wheat to each.
Hearts immediately appeared above them.
A few seconds later…
A calf materialized between them.
Titus’ expression twitched slightly.
Even after witnessing countless miracles…
Watching a calf appear literally out of thin air still felt unsettling.
Soon…
The herd multiplied rapidly.
Afterward…
Roya ordered the construction of ten Creeper Farms.
Unlike the Mob Farms…
These structures remained completely dark.
The ceilings were only two blocks high.
Designed specifically to spawn Creepers.
Gunpowder production immediately skyrocketed.
The ammunition production line operated at full capacity.
“My lord.” Silas hurried over carrying a military vox receiver.
“The distress signal from the Waste Processing Sector is still active.” “Magos Hades’ force is close to being overwhelmed.” “The Poxwalkers have trapped them inside a sewer junction.” Roya turned toward Titus.
“Take fifty veteran Lamenters equipped with Terminator Armor.” “Bring enough explosives.” “And enough milk.” “Rescue them.” “If the Magos dies…” “Bring back his body.” “Understood.” Five minutes later…
Titus departed with fifty heavily armored Terminators.
Waste Processing Sector 110 kilometers southwest The air reeked of acid and decaying flesh.
The vast sewer junction had become a sea of Poxwalkers.
Bloated corpses pressed against one another as they slowly climbed toward the central platform.
Only six members of Magos Hades’ Mechanicus expedition remained alive.
One Combat Servitor’s heavy stubber had long since exhausted its ammunition.
Its overheated barrel glowed red.
“Prepare the self-destruct sequence.” Magos Hades rotated his mechanical neck.
His left servo-arm had almost completely dissolved beneath acidic corrosion.
Sparks showered continuously.
Behind him…
Resting upon a reinforced transport cradle…
Stood an ancient war machine.
A Contemptor Pattern Dreadnought.
His entire expedition had died recovering it.
A Poxwalker reached the platform.
Its bloated stomach burst apart.
Corrosive bile splashed across a Servitor.
Its flesh rapidly liquefied.
“Omnissiah…” “Your servant has done everything possible.” Hades gently placed his remaining hand upon the cold ceramite leg of the Contemptor.
He prepared to activate the emergency destruction protocol.
Better to destroy the relic…
Than allow Nurgle’s corruption to claim it.
At that moment— BOOM!
The massive blast doors exploded inward.
Fifty-one towering Terminators stormed into the chamber.
They advanced in perfect formation.
No battle cries.
No unnecessary movement.
Only overwhelming efficiency.
Cyclone Grenade Launchers thundered.
Explosions tore apart dense groups of Poxwalkers.
Rotting limbs filled the air.
The Terminators’ Power Fists crushed dozens more into bloody paste.
Within moments…
A bloody corridor over ten meters wide had been carved straight through the undead horde.
Leading the formation…
Was Titus.
Stepping over ankle-deep corpses…
He climbed onto the central platform.
Magos Hades’ scanners immediately began processing.
Fifty-one Terminators.
Even many First Founding Chapters couldn’t casually deploy such a powerful assault force.
“Thank you for your assistance, Space Marine.” Hades inclined his head.
“I am Magos Hades.” “May I ask which Chapter you belong to?” Without looking back…
Titus calmly replaced the empty magazine in his Grenade Launcher.
“Ultramarines.” “Recruit Titus.” “The others belong to the Lamenters.” Hades’ processors briefly froze.
The Ultramarines…
That made sense.
But…
The Lamenters?
When had the Lamenters become wealthy enough to field fifty Terminators?
Before he could ask…
He pointed toward the Contemptor.
“Please escort this sacred relic to safety.” “It is a blessed gift from the Omnissiah.” Titus followed his gaze.
His eyes immediately narrowed.
A Contemptor…
Excellent.
Without another word…
He issued a command.
“Establish a defensive perimeter.” “Eliminate every remaining hostile.” “No survivors.” The Terminators instantly spread out.
Heavy weapons completely sealed every approach.
Only then did Titus put away his Grenade Launcher.
Instead…
He reached behind his back.
An utterly ordinary…
Square Iron Pickaxe appeared in his hand.
Magos Hades stared blankly.
“…?” What exactly was this Ultramarine doing?
Titus calmly walked toward the ancient Dreadnought.
Then— Bang!
The Iron Pickaxe struck the Contemptor’s chest.
Black Minecraft cracks instantly spread across the ancient ceramite armor.
“01001000!” “What are you doing?!” Hades’ mechanical neck emitted an ear-piercing screech.
Both servo-arms shot upward.
That was a priceless relic!
Ignoring him…
Titus swung again.
Bang!
The cracks spread further.
“Stop!” “This is blasphemy!” “This is sacrilege!” Hades drew his bolt pistol.
He aimed directly at Titus’ back.
But…
He never fired.
Several Terminators had already turned their Storm Bolters toward him.
Titus continued mining.
One strike after another.
Finally— Pop.
A crisp Minecraft sound echoed throughout the chamber.
The ancient Contemptor Dreadnought…
A relic preserved for thousands of years…
Instantly dissolved into white particles.
Nothing remained.
No wreckage.
No debris.
Only seven glowing metallic fragments slowly floated in the air.
Magos Hades’ bolt pistol slipped from his hand.
It clattered onto the floor.
His mechanical legs locked in place.
Every processor inside his skull flooded with error messages.
His relic…
Had disappeared.
Reduced to fragments…
By an Iron Pickaxe.
Titus calmly collected the seven floating fragments into his inventory.
He nodded with satisfaction.
Then turned toward the completely frozen Magos.
His voice remained perfectly calm.
“Magos.” “Please evacuate with us.”