As the fragment fell into his inventory, Roya pulled up the book of knowledge interface.
A new entry vividly surfaced.
[contemptor-pattern dreadnought Fragment] [Description: Collect ten fragments to synthesize a manufacturing blueprint.] “Ten pieces.” Roya rolled the number around in his mouth, his brow furrowing before relaxing again.
He knew a bit about this stuff—the contemptor-pattern dreadnought originated from the Dark Age of Technology, equipped with built-in energy field generators and various lost technologies.
All surviving units were classified as Chapter relics.
Once he got the blueprint in hand, it meant this lost technology could be directly mass-produced.
Looking across the entire Imperium, something the Adeptus Mechanicus couldn’t restore even after rummaging through countless STC fragments would only require him to collect enough fragments, stand before the workbench, and click—out it comes.
“Sweet.” Roya gave it a high score in his heart.
“It’s just that the required quantity is ridiculous.
I’ll need to farm a few more big guys later.” Before the thought even settled, a dull mechanical roar sounded behind him.
The ground began to vibrate.
Roya turned around.
That Mega-Armoured Nob was charging straight at him.
Unlike other Mega-Armoured Nobs, it didn’t charge in thrashing wildly.
Instead, it stayed low, dragging its power claw at its side, eyes fixed on Roya as if waiting for the right moment.
“This one has some tricks up its sleeve.” Roya tightened his grip on the iron sword.
“Judging by its moves, this guy is a sneaky bastard.” Both launched forward at the same time.
Roya didn’t waste words, swinging his iron sword directly at the opponent’s left ribs.
The Mega-Armoured Nob slid to the right, avoiding the strike, and casually hooked its power claw onto Roya’s shoulder.
The force was light, holding back as if testing his weight.
Roya pushed off with his back heel, leaping backward to reopen the distance.
Two swings, and the opponent hadn’t taken either head-on, relying entirely on footwork.
None of the nearby Lamenters or Astra Militarum engaged in battle came over to interfere; they had already seen how Roya handled things—interfering would only get in the way.
Roya delivered his third strike, intentionally half a beat slow this time.
The Mega-Armoured Nob’s eyes lit up.
It took a step forward, opening its power claw and aiming the central metal opening straight at Roya’s chest— *Boom!* Flames spewed forth.
At such close range, Roya had no time to react at all.
The red hearts at the bottom of his vision were emptied instantly.
White smoke billowed up.
…
Beside the bed, Roya opened his eyes.
He remained silent for two seconds before cursing, “That thing had a flamer hidden inside its power claw.
How damn sneaky.” As soon as he finished speaking, two beams of light flashed to his left.
Titus and Foros respawned one after another, landing beside Roya.
Clearly, the two of them had also been taken out by that Mega-Armoured Nob later on.
Titus touched his helmet, his expression hard to maintain.
“My Lord, it spews fire.” “I know.” Roya was already managing his inventory.
“Shields.
I kept forgetting to craft those before.” As a player who loved building and farming, he rarely bothered making shields.
*Click.* Three square block shields appeared on the workbench, and Roya tossed one to each of them.
“Take them.
Hold the shield in your left hand to block the fire, and I’ll handle the head.” Roya picked up his iron sword and kicked off the ground, leaving a shallow pit in the floor as he catapulted forward.
…
The Mega-Armoured Nob was still in the same spot, residual heat still wafting from the nozzle on its claw.
Seeing the three humies pop up again, it raised its power claw and fired directly.
Titus was at the front, raising the shield in his left hand to block.
The flames slammed onto the surface of the block shield and were blocked back cleanly, without even touching Titus’s armor.
The Mega-Armoured Nob narrowed its eyes.
That brief squint cost it half a second.
Roya stepped onto Titus’s shoulder and leaped forcefully, launching himself straight into the opponent’s face.
His iron sword struck downward at an angle, slamming into the side of its neck.
*Bang!* A heavy thud exploded out as the Ork Warboss’s massive head, spurting dark green blood, rolled to the ground with a dull thud.
Roya landed and clapped his hands, waiting for the corpse to flash and shatter.
However, that massive headless body remained standing.
Not only was it standing, it was still moving.
Even without a head, its arms continued to swing, its power claw sweeping across in an arc with accuracy as if it had eyes on its back.
Roya dodged to the side and looked down at the head that had rolled far away.
The head was off, but the body was still fighting!
“…Body instincts are still fighting?” Roya’s mouth twitched.
“It lost its brain and can still fight.
What kind of nervous structure do these Orks have?” “How many weird genes did the Old Ones add to this guy anyway?” Roya kicked away an Ork Boy that charged up, his voice tinged with clear confusion.
He charged at the headless body, striking twice with his iron sword, targeting its right shoulder joint specifically.
Foros flanked from the left, holding down that wildly flailing left arm with both hands.
Titus lunged forward, tackling the legs and pulling down hard.
Working together, the three pinned the massive, still-struggling body to the ground.
Over the next dozen seconds, a series of rough dismantling sounds echoed across the battlefield.
Finally, the body stopped moving and began to flash violently.
Turning into specks of light.
What hit the ground were two fragments glowing with a grayish-white metallic sheen, slowly rotating in the dim Underhive.
Roya squatted down, grabbed one piece in each hand, and stored them in his inventory.
A notification tone sounded.
[contemptor-pattern dreadnought Fragment, Currently Held: 3/10] “Three pieces now.” Roya stood up, his lips curling upward.
“Good progress.” As this boss fell, the wave of Ork offensive dissipated with it.
The remaining Ork Boyz, deprived of the Waaagh Field’s boost, began pushing and shoving each other, retreating messily into the depths of the ruins.
Roya waved his hand.
“Foros, Karn, Titus, take a squad to give chase.
Don’t let this batch of Orks run back to regroup.” The three received their orders and each led a squad, charging into the retreating crowd of Orks.
…
Roya turned around and looked at his experience bar.
The green number rested at “35”.
He scanned the Astra Militarum still stationed behind him, picked out seven nimble, steady-eyed veterans, and raised his finger to point.
“Step forward.” Golden light flashed, and grass block icons appeared above the seven men’s heads.
Once the light faded, their eyes turned clear and fanatical.
Roya pointed at the pile of Terminator armor stacked like a small hill nearby.
“Put these on, then follow the pursuit team to support them from the rear.” The seven said nothing, rushing forward to grab armor for themselves, moving as fast as people snatching hot buns from a steamer.
Capetown-3 stood by, watching the seven Terminator figures swiftly finish gearing up.
His optical lens scanned frantically as a string of binary muttered from his mouth.
Roya ignored him, long accustomed to the priest’s daily freezes.
The squad set out.
Roya watched them disappear around the corner of the corridor before shifting his focus back toward the Witch Hut and Mob Grinder.
Resources were still being produced continuously.
He had three Contemptor fragments now, with seven left to go.
This couldn’t be rushed; he had to wait for more big guys to spawn.
Just as he was planning the next expansion for the Mob Grinder, Silas jogged over from the rear passage with a grim expression.
“My Lord,” Silas lowered his voice significantly.
“The signalman just intercepted an Adeptus Mechanicus frequency.
Something went wrong on their end.” …
Deep in the Underhive, in the Waste Fluid Pipe Zone, about a hundred kilometers from Roya’s position.
Dim yellow lights chopped the area into patches of light and shadow.
Swarms of Nurgle’s Plague Zombies surged from cracks in the pipes, their bloated, pus-leaking, nauseating figures flooding the entire corridor.
Withstanding this tide on the other side was a squad from the Adeptus Mechanicus.
Their Servitors loudly chanted hymns as chainswords and heavy guns wove an unstable line of defense.
The lead Magos’s voice burst through his vocal emitter, packed with clear urgency: “Hurry!
Hurry!
Don’t let those things touch it!” Behind him, a dozen Servitors surrounded a temporarily welded metal frame encased in heavy insulation layers, yet even through the thick wrapping, a massive rectangular outline was recognizable.
It was a contemptor-pattern dreadnought.
Just excavated from underground.
Its Machine Spirit had been dormant for uncounted centuries; although rust spotted its exterior, its skeleton was intact and its structure whole.
The lead Magos glanced at the coordinates on his communicator and signaled forward.
“The retreat route has been cut off by Walking Corpses.” A nearby Tech-Priest turned back, his voice trembling: “Tech-Priest, we’re surrounded.”