Roya reached out and grabbed, and three fragments shimmering with a grayish-white luster fell into his hidden inventory.
The crisp system prompt echoed in his mind.
He immediately focused his mind and brought up the interface of the book of knowledge.
His gaze swept over the newly lit entry, and a piece of descriptive text clearly emerged: [indomitus-pattern terminator armour fragment, collect five to synthesize a manufacturing blueprint.] Roya exited the interface without a moment of hesitation, turned around, and strode toward the second metal storage box.
“01001000!
01100101!” Capetown-3’s mechanical vocoder suddenly erupted with an extremely sharp and harsh noise.
This military chaplain of the Lamenters Chapter completely lost control.
The two servo-mechanical arms behind him waved wildly, and his metal prosthetic limbs stomped heavy sounds onto the adamantium floor.
“You heretic who blasphemes the Machine God!
You are destroying the gift of the Omnissiah!” Capetown-3 roared hysterically, the red light in his electronic eyes glowing so brightly it was almost bleeding.
Roya didn’t even glance at him, lifting the cubic iron pickaxe high in his hand.
“Stop him!
Calculis!
This will invite divine punishment!” Capetown-3 tried to break through the Librarian’s obstruction.
“Bang!” Roya smashed a pickaxe down onto the second set of shattered terminator power armor.
Familiar black grid cracks instantly crawled all over the thick plasteel surface.
With a strange “pop” sound, this heavy armor carrying countless glories and history turned into a puff of smoke and dissipated.
Two grayish-white fragments floated in mid-air, slowly spinning.
Roya reached out and scooped them up.
Inside the inventory, the five fragments automatically assembled, and with a flash of light, they turned into a parchment icon with dark golden patterns.
[Acquired: indomitus-pattern terminator armour Manufacturing Blueprint].
Roya immediately clicked open the recipe details.
The interface showed that the arrangement of the Terminator was basically the same as ordinary power armor, with the only change being the center position of the chestplate and the middle position of the top row of the greaves—the slots that originally required iron ingots now became [Iron Block].
Nine iron ingots synthesize one iron block.
A set of Terminators consumes sixteen more iron blocks than ordinary power armor.
This small consumption was merely a drop in the bucket.
Roya backhanded a workbench out.
He walked up to the workbench, his mind mobilizing the inventory, and iron ingots, iron blocks, and redstone dust rearranged themselves like flowing water within the 3×3 grid.
“Click!” The first piece of equipment was formed.
Roya threw it directly onto the ground.
Followed by the second and third pieces.
In a mere ten seconds, five heavy, massive, and suffocatingly grayish-white metallic-lustered armor parts were neatly stacked in the open space.
That was the indomitus-pattern terminator armour.
There were no scratches on the surface, no weld seams from thousands of years of patch-ups, and the servo-motor interfaces were as brand new as if they had just been born from the core furnace of a Forge World.
The open space was dead silent.
Capetown-3, who was frantically outputting binary curses, abruptly stopped his voice.
His mechanical jaw made a slight bearing friction sound due to being opened too wide.
His red electronic eyes locked onto the armor on the ground, and his scanner emitted several beams of light, scanning back and forth across the armor’s surface.
“By…
By the Machine God above…” Capetown-3’s synthesized voice began to tremble violently.
Roya ignored the chaplain’s shock.
He stepped forward and applied the Terminator parts on the ground directly onto his body.
A flash of light passed.
Roya’s originally worn dark blue ordinary power armor was replaced and put into the inventory.
Replacing it was an extremely terrifying set of heavy armor.
The towering shoulder guards and exaggeratedly thick plasteel chestplate made him look like a mobile iron fortress as a whole.
In the common sense of the Warhammer universe, mortals simply cannot bear the weight of a Terminator.
Even Space Marines who have completed full augmentation would sacrifice a lot of flexibility wearing it, only serving as a powerful assault weapon for position warfare.
However, this had no effect on Roya at all!
He casually twisted his waist, raised his thick steel arms, and threw two straight punches into thin air.
The wind of his fists howled, tearing the air.
Under the forced adjudication of MC rules, he only gained the ridiculously high armor value of this divine gear, and the weight penalty was completely wiped out.
“Now everyone can change equipment.” Roya said at this moment.
“My Lord, it is unrealistic for everyone to change equipment.” Calculis quickly calmed down and gave a professional judgment, “Without Your Divine Grace’s protection, ordinary brothers will still have their tactical mobility affected by the weight of the Terminators.
But we can select the most elite close-combat veterans to form an absolute assault spearhead!” “Feasible, you can pick suitable candidates later.” Roya thought to himself that they were still short of people!
They needed to build more mob grinders!!!
“Thud!” Without any warning, Capetown-3’s double knees smashed heavily onto the floor.
His upper body prostrated completely on the ground, his metal prosthetic limbs making a harsh friction sound.
“01011001!
01100101!
01110011!” Capetown-3 raised his head, frantically blurting out a series of rapid binary codes from his mouth, his voice permeated with extreme fanaticism and piety.
Roya listened and frowned directly: “Calculis, what is he mumbling about?” Calculis gave a weird dry cough and translated: “My Lord.
The chaplain means…
You are the Omnissiah, the living incarnation of the Machine God.
He asks for your forgiveness for his previous stupidity and blasphemy, and requests to serve by your side for generation after generation, wiping this sacred creation for you.” A faint smile was pulled at the corner of Roya’s mouth.
He looked down at the cyborg kneeling on the ground, his tone flat: “Get up.
I am not short of people who kowtow here, but people who work.
Since you want to serve, stay and contribute effort.” “Praise the Omnissiah!
Praise your mercy!” Capetown-3 was so excited that engine oil leaked out.
Roya didn’t waste any more time; he turned his head to look behind him: “Titus!
Silas!
Kahn!
Foros!
Come over here!” The four quickly gathered.
“Nurgle’s Plague Zombies are spreading upward.
Conventional firepower cannot suppress those disgusting things.
We need stronger hard assault capabilities.” Roya spoke extremely fast, “Titus, Silas, you continue to keep a close eye on the mob grinder and witch tower, and transport all produced iron ingots and redstone into the container here.
Kahn, you are responsible for organizing the Astra Militarum and knocking down all usable scrap metal pipelines in this ruin!” “Foros, make indomitus-pattern terminator armour with me!” “As you command, my Lord!” Several people acknowledged the order in unison, and immediately turned around to put themselves into operation.
Roya looked at Calculis: “You go pick people from the Chapter.
Pick those veterans with the strongest physical fitness who can control the Terminators.” Calculis performed an Aquila sign and strode away.
Resources poured in steadily.
Roya first taught Foros, and once he learned, the two went all out to work.
The “click” sounds were endless.
Piece by piece of heavy grayish-white armor was rapidly synthesized, piling up like a mountain.
In just over ten minutes.
At this time, Calculis selected eighty Lamenters veterans from the Chapter.
Looking at the brand-new Terminator armor all over the ground, burning flames of fanaticism danced in their eyes; their Lamenters Chapter had never been so wealthy before.
Assisted by Capetown-3 and several Techmarines, this group of weathered elites quickly completed their equipment change.
Eighty sets of indomitus-pattern terminator armour, holding Bolters and power fists, stood quietly in front of Roya like an insurmountable iron city wall.
The sense of oppression brought by their massive bodies was enough to make any enemy shudder in fear.
Capetown-3 stood aside, the red light in his electronic eyes flickering violently, chanting binary hymns nonstop in his mouth.
Roya looked at this troop with satisfaction.
With this heavy assault spearhead, flattening this Underhive was definitely not a problem.
But his brow did not completely unknit.
Nurgle’s plague.
This was the trickiest trouble.
As long as the flesh and blood of the Astra Militarum touched a trace of corruption, they would instantly turn into Walking Corpses.
Roya turned around, his gaze sweeping across the dim depths of the ruins.
Suddenly, his gaze stopped beside a metal platform at the edge of the toxic pool.
There appeared out of thin air a patch of extremely discordant shimmer.
As the light dissipated, a square-headed, black-and-white pixel-patched creature was slowly stepping on the rust-covered deck.
It lowered its square head, sniffed at the deadly industrial waste liquid beside it, and then casually let out a long cry: “Moo!!” Roya’s pupils shrank violently, and his heart skipped half a beat.
A cow spawned right in his face!
His luck had exploded!
In the underlying rules of MC, no matter what deadly poison you are hit with, what negative status you get, even Wither’s death erosion—as long as you drink a bucket of milk, all poison effects are instantly cleared!
“Just what I needed.” Roya grinned and smiled silently.
With a flip of his wrist, an empty iron bucket appeared out of thin air in his palm.
Carrying the iron bucket, he took heavy steps wrapped in the Terminator armor, and strode towards that cow.