Warhammer 40K in a box

Chapter 550

The metal doors of the "Anvil and Spark" tavern groaned heavily as they were driven by a hydraulic system, drawing in the hustle and bustle of Starport along with the distinctive sulfurous smell of the foundry world.

The man codenamed "Raven-7" huddled in the corner booth, his worn-out work clothes cuffs deliberately concealing the identification markings on his wrist guards. His rough fingers traced messy lines on the greasy tabletop—his coded memorization of key information.

The air was filled with a triple pungent smell: the chemical sweetness of cheap ghage, the unique aroma of incense and holy oil, and the lingering smell of sweat and machine oil from the working class.

Behind the bar, the optical sensors of the servo bartenders flash red lights as they push glasses of frothy synthetic alcohol toward customers, the metal arm joints making a screeching sound like misaligned gears as they turn.

Raven-7's gaze was like that of a bomb gun with a scope, precisely locking onto every figure entering and leaving the tavern.

In a corner, a low-ranking Tech-Acolyte in a red robe chanted a binary prayer in a low voice, while dockworkers complained in gruff voices about the cargo delays caused by the green-skinned pirates.

What he really cared about were the low-level technical servants (Technomats) with precision oil stains on their cuffs and data boards or tool belts around their waists—they were the "information conduits" flowing from the core foundry area to the periphery.

"Another one, the strongest, please." He gestured to the passing bartender, secretly sending three credits across his palm.

This was the fifth time he had appeared here in three days, each time ordering the same cheap Logue, but never taking more than three sips.

The trick to disguise is repetition, so much so that people around him become accustomed to his presence, like ignoring a peeling prayer on a wall.

The argument at the next table suddenly escalated, attracting the attention of half the tavern.

Two low-ranking technical priests, dressed in worn red robes, are engaged in a heated argument.

One of them, with a newly healed weld scar on his face, had a mechanical prosthetic eye flashing an evaluative red light, and a synthesized voice with a piercing buzz: "Logic error. The prototype's operating parameters are below expected standards. Waste disposal site log: Three batches of melted alloy substrates were output from the silent furnace zone. Residual analysis shows the presence of fragments from the energy buffer matrix component. Ohm Messiah above, the material matrix is ​​in an irreversible melted state, efficiency rating: slag level."

Another, younger tech priest, his brand-new data cable connector gleaming coldly under the tavern lights, spoke, his servo arm joints emitting a slight hissing sound under pressure: "Data link not synchronized. Correction: This is an Alpha stage prototype of the 'Fortress Shield' project. Design goal: To enable the Knight Mech to withstand the peak kinetic energy impact equivalent to that of the Greenskin War boss 'Skullbreaker.' Recent extreme test record: Three simulated impact sequences, shield field stability maintained at 98.7%. Confirmation: The adaptive flow-guiding coating successfully guided the kinetic energy impact vector to the preset heat sink array path."

The elderly priest's prosthetic eye glowed redder, and his synthesized voice rose a decibel, carrying a sharp, data-driven refutation: "Energy dissipation parameters exceed safety thresholds! Secondary servo array maintenance log feedback: In the test sequence, the main cooling conduit meltdown rate reached 67%! Resource consumption and efficiency output ratio do not meet the requirements of Chapter 1147 of the Mars Standard Efficiency Manual!"

The young priest's interface flashed rapidly with silver light, and a stream of data swept across the depths of his pupils: "This is a known technical bottleneck! The Sage Aurejana (may her logic endure) personally oversaw the iterations. Resource investment was a necessary sacrifice! The consumption of special alloys alone, after conversion, can meet the casting requirements of 0.5 units of Lemanrustank chassis. Once the heat accumulation problem is resolved after the rune array optimization, this relic will greatly increase the battlefield survivability of Imperial Knight units, in line with Om Messiah's ultimate blueprint for power enhancement!"

Raven-7's Adam's apple bobbed slightly as it swallowed the spiciness of the ghoul.

He slowly pulled out a data panel, pretending to check the freight manifest, but actually activated the audio encryption recording function.

"Fortress Shield," "Kinetic Impact Buffer," "Adaptive Fluid Guide Coating," "Thermal Energy Accumulation," and "Main Cooling Duct"—these keywords mesh together like gears, forming a clear intelligence profile: a new defense project targeting the Knight Mech, technically challenging, resource-intensive, and facing a critical thermal energy management bottleneck.

At 3 a.m. the following day, the maintenance corridor in the non-core research area was filled with a mixture of steam and ozone. Raven-7, dressed in the gray robe of a low-level maintenance servant, pushed a tool cart through the corridor filled with servo skulls.

His optical camouflage mask adjusted the color of his irises to the grayish-blue characteristic of the lowest-ranking servants of the Mechanic Church, and his gait mimicked that of a aging servant, with each step precisely landing in the blind spot of the surveillance cameras.

The tool cart, piled high with replacement pipe valves and cleaning brushes, provided perfect cover.

"...The seventeenth set of simulation data still failed." The synthesized voice of the Tech Priest came from the lounge, mixed with the tapping sound of data tablets. "The peak impact force of the Orc warhammer exceeded the material matrix's withstand limit by 15%, and the flow-guiding coating showed local carbonization failure at 6000 Kelvin."

“The stability of the energy conduction loop must be redone,” another voice responded, accompanied by a heavy electronic hum. “During last night’s extreme load test, the energy dissipation of node three suddenly went out of control, nearly breaching the secondary safety isolation layer. The Mechanicus are recalibrating the rune array and the angle of the heat sink fins.”

The Raven-7's utility vehicle rolled over metal scraps on the ground, producing just the right amount of noise to mask his eavesdropping.

His retina was rapidly recording information: 6000 Kelvin, uncontrolled energy dissipation, rune array calibration—these details perfectly corroborated the rumors in the tavern, making the intelligence puzzle of "Bastion Shield" even more complete.

As he pushed the cart past a low-privilege data node interface, a miniature decoder hidden in a secret compartment at the bottom of the cart quietly connected to the secondary network.

Three seconds later, a document labeled "Technical Discussion Minutes - Bastion Shield Project Bottleneck (Informal)" appeared in the encrypted channel.

The document was filled with hastily written formula derivations and oil-stained test charts. One of the thermal distribution diagrams clearly marked the "shield failure critical point," with a note written in binary code next to it: "Three redundant heat dissipation channels need to be added. Request additional Type VII titanium alloy quota - priority: high."

Raven-7's lips curled into a barely perceptible smile.

The document's rough edges and informal markings are precisely where its value lies—overly perfect intelligence is often questionable, while this flawed "internal discussion record" can make the recipient believe it without a doubt.

He bundled the document with the Ash Knight's standard supplies list that he had previously obtained from Lieutenant Valen. The list detailed the standard armor plate replacement batches and lubricant types for the past three months, which was enough to make the "Bastion Shield's" resource consumption data appear more credible without exposing core secrets.

As I left the research area, the morning light streamed through the observation windows of the starport onto the adamantite floor, reflecting a cold, icy glow.

Raven-7 tore off its camouflage mask, revealing sweat-soaked hair, and a faint signal confirmation vibration came from the encrypted communicator behind its ear.

He knew that this meticulously crafted intelligence would act like bait thrown into the warp, precisely attracting those overly sharp eyes—while the real prey had already quietly moved on in the shadows.

In this steel world where gears and prayers intertwine, information is like the most dangerous ammunition; it must hit the target without revealing the shooter's position.

Raven-7 straightened the wrinkles in its burqa and blended into the flow of people heading to their early shifts, as if it had never been part of this silent hunting game.

(End of this chapter)