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Chapter 17 - Gathering

"Choo-choo..."

The locomotive of the transport train spewed thick black smoke, and its enormous mechanical gears roared under the drive of the internal combustion engine, heading towards the miners' gathering place.

"I always feel a huge sense of disconnect. Kiavahr already has a civilization capable of interstellar travel, yet the iron lump we're sitting on is still an internal steam engine, which ignited humanity's first industrial civilization..." Swain thought to himself. Before crossing over, he thought the technological disparity between planets in the Warhammer universe was absurd, but he didn't expect that upon actually arriving, he'd find it was just the tip of the iceberg; even within the same planet, the technological gap was not small.

The most absurd thing was that even though the entire galaxy was constantly at war, military technology not only didn't advance but actually regressed. Technological progress still relied on archaeology, which was utterly preposterous.

The group squeezed onto the packed steam train, moving along the railway. At each station, people constantly boarded or disembarked.

Half an hour later, Swain and his group finally arrived near their camp. After disembarking, the group worked together to hand over the mined ore to their waiting companions, who would transport it by cart to the storage area within the camp.

Meanwhile, the companions who had been mining, dragging their tired bodies, headed together towards the camp. If they were lucky, and the companions responsible for loading the ore were fast, they might even catch a ride. If not, they would have to walk back to the camp on their own two feet.

The group, a surging mass, advanced towards their camp, looking like a crowd of refugees pouring into the camp's gate. In fact, the miners, exhausted from a full day's work, were indeed no different from refugees. The only thing better than refugees was that they still had a relatively stable "home" in this cruel world.

"Ah... that feels good!" Swain, who had been lying on the stone bed like a salted fish for several hours, sat up and stretched his arms, letting out a big yawn. He listened to the crackling sounds in his body, like popping beans, and said with great satisfaction.

After gnawing down an entire corpse starch bar, Swain went to sit on a stone bench outside the room, closing his eyes and quietly waiting for something to arrive.

"Boss, Shadow Assassin can be fully assembled by tomorrow." Nekser's figure emerged from the darkness and reported to Swain.

"What about the intel?" Swain didn't get up, only opening his closed eyes to ask.

"It's been thoroughly investigated. The perpetrators are a raider organization from the west called Broken Skull. Most of their members are composed of vicious criminals from Kiavahr, and they've only recently drifted into this area."

"According to the information received, this organization not only raids teams exchanging goods like food and other daily necessities but also attacks small camps, plundering their stored minerals and young women."

"Broken Skull has set up their camp in an abandoned small mine shaft to the west, which is easy to defend and difficult to attack."

Nekser handed the detailed information to Swain and waited silently for his decision, like a wooden stake.

"A few hundred raiders dare to provoke us? Have they forgotten what happened to that gang called Wild Wolves before?" Swain slammed the stack of documents in his hand onto the stone table in front of him. The thick stack of documents, like Mount Tai pressing down, created a powerful airflow that cleared a large clean area of dust around the tabletop.

"Corax, how about we go see the true face of this world?" Swain turned to the Primarch he had just called over, extending an invitation.

Among all the Primarchs, Corax was considered very lucky; at least the world he descended upon was not one of those Death Worlds. Death Worlds are a classification of worlds within the Imperium; basically, these worlds have extremely harsh natural environments, such as Fenris, where the Space Wolves' Gene-Primarch fell.

The entire planet of Fenris is covered in extreme cold, a cold so severe it can crack high-speed rail. Besides the cold, Death Worlds also have frequently erupting volcanoes, highly toxic bio-weapons from ancient wars, frequent geological activity, and so on.

Apart from the inhumane slave owners on Kiavahr, Lycaeus was relatively habitable in all other aspects, especially since most of the miners there were kind. Kindness, on such a constantly exploited and oppressed mining world, was an incredibly rare quality, even a luxury.

But now, Swain decided to let Corax recognize the true nature of this world, and even this galaxy, early on: The strong prey on the weak! By planting a seed in the young Primarch's heart, perhaps this originally benevolent idealist could avoid some future tragedies.

"They tried to steal our food and killed our companions, so naturally, we cannot let this go unpunished." Corax readily agreed. Killing, for Corax, was no big deal at all; he could naturally tear off a foreman's head immediately after emerging from the amniotic sac.

Space Marines, built on the template of the Gene-Primarchs, were originally the main force of the Great Crusade. As the genetic progenitors of these genetically modified beings created for slaughter, Primarchs were uniquely gifted in this regard.

"Good, let's go choose weapons first," Swain stood up and led Corax towards the weapon storage on the second floor. Life is tenacious; no matter how barren the land, humans will always develop various things they need on it.

As a mining world that had existed for centuries, the miners' camps had also developed various complete industries from what was once barren land.

There were even various markets for mutual trade. As a large-scale camp in the surrounding area, the Saviors organization even had its own smelting workshop, capable of crafting ordinary cold weapons and even armor. Furthermore, due to countless generations of inheritance, the smelting and forging craftsmanship of the artisans here had become highly advanced.

However, they lacked various necessary electronic components, making it impossible to manufacture chainswords or power swords. No matter how finely crafted the cold weapons were, when facing chainswords or power weapons, the miners' resistance was still as fragile as paper armor. The slave owners on Lycaeus did not care about the existence of these cold weapons. After all, rebels would be riddled with laser gun fire before they even got close. Miner rebellions were nothing but a joke in their eyes.

However, these cold weapons were indispensable tools for the miners to protect their camps. On the stone tower of the Saviors' camp gate, miners were routinely on alert with crossbows.

"The weapons here are all fine products crafted by the camp's artisans. See which one suits you best," Swain casually picked up a 60-centimeter silver short sword and twirled it. The sword blade darted like a silver serpent, and the air emitted a series of 'hissing' sounds as it was cut.

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