Ilia took a deep breath, but couldn’t suppress the intense heaving of her chest.
She stared wide-eyed at the golden waves of wheat swaying in the wind before her, then looked down at her empty palms, her mind going completely blank for a moment.
It wasn’t just her; the six Battle Sisters behind her looked like they had seen a ghost, unconsciously rubbing their eyes, with someone even secretly pinching her own thigh.
In these Underhive ruins filled with toxic fumes, engine oil, and death, where even the hardiest mutant fungi struggled to survive, a plot of perfectly growing crops had actually sprung up in just a few seconds?
Just as the sisters began to wonder if they were trapped in a Warp hallucination, they suddenly noticed that Foros and the others from the Lamenters Chapter were all completely calm.
These heavily armored Astartes didn’t even raise an eyebrow, as if everything happening before them was as natural as breathing or drinking water.
Roya ignored the sisters’ shock; he stepped forward and swung his fist directly at the ripe wheat.
“Pop!
Pop!
Pop!” Accompanied by a series of crisp sound effects, the golden wheat blocks instantly shattered, turning into a miniature bundle of wheat and brand-new wheat seeds, which fell into Roya’s inventory.
Holding the new seeds, Roya turned and clicked them back into the soft farmland blocks.
Immediately after, he reached into the mob spawner tower’s chest, pulled out a handful of bone meal, and scattered it unsparingly.
Green sprouts broke through the soil, sprouted ears, filled out, and turned golden.
“Pop!
Pop!
Pop!” Such a brute-force cycle that completely ignored biological common sense allowed Roya to farm over a hundred wheat and a large pile of seeds in less than two minutes.
Roya turned around and walked over to the workbench nearby.
With a slight thought, he arranged three stalks of wheat horizontally across the bottom row of the 3×3 crafting grid.
“Clack!” A Minecraft-style loaf of bread emitting a rich, baked wheat aroma dropped into his hand.
Roya clicked rapidly with his fingers, crafting over a dozen square loaves of bread in one go, lining them up on the metal floor.
“Foros,” Roya ordered without looking back, “go bring over the brothers who were seriously injured in the battle earlier.
Find a few who are still conscious.” Foros immediately took the order and turned to run toward the temporary medical area behind the defense line.
In less than half a minute, several Lamenters Space Marines brought three wounded on makeshift stretchers.
The armor of these three was tattered and broken; one had his left arm severed at the root, the flesh at the cut sealed off with basic coagulant.
Another had a large hole torn through his abdomen by a power claw, his writhing internal organs visible through the temporarily stitched wound.
Their breathing was faint; if not for the Astartes’ vitality far exceeding that of ordinary mortals, they would have returned to the Golden Throne long ago.
Roya picked up three block loaves of bread, walked over to the stretchers, and shoved one into each of their hands: “Eat it.” The three dying Lamenters warriors forced their eyes open, staring blankly at the peculiarly shaped food in their hands that emitted a mouthwatering aroma.
However, under Roya’s absolute aura and the underlying obedience rule of “Villagers,” they did not hesitate for a second.
They opened their mouths and devoured the bread in a few gulps.
Then, a scene that made everyone’s hearts pound took place.
As the MC system determined an increase in saturation, the health regeneration mechanism was forcibly triggered!
“Crack, crack, crack…” An extremely dense sound of bones grinding and flesh sprouting rang out from the three men.
The warrior whose abdomen was pierced saw the granulating tissue at his wound weave together wildly as if possessing a mind of its own; within seconds, it scabbed over and sloughed off, leaving his skin as smooth as before.
As for the warrior whose left arm was severed, he watched in utter disbelief as the bones extended and muscles reorganized at his shoulder, an entirely new, intact arm forcefully “growing” out!
The three warriors who had been waiting for death suddenly sat up from their stretchers, full of vigor and bursting with vitality.
“This…
this is impossible…” The Lamenters Chapter Apothecary standing nearby held up his Auspex, staring fixedly at the wildly changing data on the screen, his voice shaking uncontrollably.
He lunged toward the chest of the warrior who had just regrown an arm, disregarding etiquette entirely as he ripped open the man’s undershirt, slamming the scanning probe hard against his neck and chest.
“Brother Apothecary, what’s wrong with you?” Foros asked, frowning.
“Chapter Master!
It’s not just their injuries that recovered!” The Apothecary snapped his head up, uncontainable madness and ecstasy showing beneath his red tactical visor.
“These three brothers have only served for two or three years!
But the data just now shows…
the gene-seeds in their bodies…
have all matured!” At these words, all the surrounding Space Marines fell into a dead silence.
Foros was struck as if by lightning, his massive body swaying violently as he grabbed the Apothecary by the shoulders: “What did you say?!
All matured?!” Inside every Space Marine’s neck and chest cavity, two glands are implanted for extracting genetic material.
In common Warhammer sense, the neck gland takes a full five years to mature for harvesting, while the chest gland requires a long ten years to reach maturity.
The scarcity of gene-seed has always been the greatest trammel limiting the size of Space Marine Chapters.
And now, after eating a single piece of bread grown with bone meal…
a cycle of five to ten years was compressed into ten seconds?!
“Yes!
Chapter Master!
Fully mature!
Ready for harvesting surgery at any moment!” The Apothecary roared like a madman.
Foros trembled all over, a physical reaction brought on by extreme excitement.
With such a divine item, the recovery and cultivation of gene-seeds would no longer be a problem at all.
The Lamenters Chapter could even explode in numbers by hundreds or thousands of initiates in an extremely short time!
Or even…
even more.
“By the Emperor…” Plop!
Ilia and the six Battle Sisters could no longer remain standing.
They all dropped to their knees in unison, forming the Aquila sign across their chests with their hands, pressing their heads deeply against the blood-stained metal floor.
Bringing the dead back to life, restoring flesh to bone, and instantly maturing Astartes gene-seeds—if this wasn’t the Emperor’s divine power, what else could it be?!
Roya stood in place, nodding subtly on the surface without revealing anything, while inwardly blooming with joy.
“This MC food health regeneration check not only restores health points, but even fills up the development deficit of the gene-seed to the max?” Roya couldn’t help but sketch an extremely wild blueprint in his mind.
Have the existing Space Marines eat bread to mature the seeds, harvest them, and implant them into initiates on a massive scale.
The initiates eat bread to instantly pass the rejection phase and developmental stage, and finally, as long as this batch of quick-built initiates is converted into his “Villagers”…
As long as the EXP points and iron blocks keep up, he could pull an army of Space Marines wearing terminator power armor out of thin air—ones that don’t drop items on death and respawn infinitely at the spawn point!
This was simply an absurd, ultimate army-duplicating assembly line!
“Foros.” Roya suppressed the smile tugging at the corners of his mouth and pointed to the wheat plot surrounded by water.
“Pick a few careful men from your company.
They don’t have to do anything else.
Did you see what I did just now?
Punching to harvest, planting, applying bone meal, making bread.
I want this process to become one of the Chapter’s core production lines.” “By your command, my Lord!” Foros dropped to one knee, his booming voice capable of shaking the ceiling, looking at that plot of land with an expression even more fanatical than if he were staring at a relic of the Chapter.
At this moment, Ilia raised her head, looking at Roya with a face full of piety and resolve: “My Lord!
We have witnessed the Emperor’s miracle.
Squad 17 of the Order of the Martyred Lady begs to follow by your side and purge all heretics for you!” Facing these fanatical Battle Sisters, Roya had no reason to refuse and nodded directly: “Very well, follow along.
Once we clear out the trouble ahead, I’ll get you a set of better armor.”