American Evil God, starting with the American rebel leader raising poisonous insects.

Chapter 127 is about taking a break from work to prepare for war? Good. (A massive 4000-word chapter!)

Karl stood on the observation platform on the second floor of the factory building, his hands gripping the rusty railing.

Below are six production lines that are already running at full speed.

Gears meshed, conveyor belts rolled, and the press made rhythmic, dull thuds.

People dressed in uniform gray overalls were busy at their respective workstations. Men operated machine tools, women assembled parts, and even children over sixteen years old were learning to use vernier calipers in the quality inspection area.

The air was filled with a mixture of smells from engine oil, metal shavings, and sweat.

This is Workshop 3 of the former Ford Motor Company plant in Detroit, now converted into a small arms production line.

Over the past month, they have repaired the power supply system, cleared the collapsed roof, and dug out usable equipment from the rubble.

Today, the first batch of domestically produced M1911 pistols passed testing.

"It's basically functioning normally now."

Carl watched the gun barrels slide along the assembly line, his voice so low it was almost a soliloquy.

He stood for a full four hours, from the morning shift change until the lunch break bell rang.

The workers leave their posts according to the schedule, collect their meals in the canteen, and then have a half-hour break.

According to the regulations he established, the military training would begin at 2 p.m. and last for two hours.

But Carl noticed that less than a third of the people went to the training field today. Most chose to stay in the workshop and continue working, or simply find a corner to sleep in.

They were exhausted, working twelve hours a day, training for three hours, and having very little time left after eating and sleeping.

Even faith can't sustain something for that long.

"The holy war that will begin next year—"

Karl released the railing, his right hand unconsciously reaching for the cross on his chest.

The metal edges had been polished smooth, gleaming with a dull sheen under the workshop's overhead lights.

He knew very well what this meant.

Even now, when New Canaan controls the entire state of Michigan, its total population is only about 400,000.

The number of men who can actually hold a gun is at most 100,000, and that includes veterans over 50 and teenagers under 18.

What they will face is a federal government that still possesses nuclear weapons, an air force, and a complete industrial system.

The more pressing issue is food.

Nearly 40% of Michigan's farmland was abandoned in the chaos, and the remaining yield was barely enough to feed the population.

Once war breaks out, labor will be diverted, transportation lines may be cut off, and supplies of fertilizer and fuel will be disrupted.

Carl had David calculate in private that, with the current reserves, they could only last for a maximum of one month in a full-scale war.

A month later, they would either starve to death or surrender.

"Fight to the death, to die for the Lord."

Carl closed his eyes, and the image of his son Mike's wide-open eyes before he died, and his daughter Erica's face on the cold operating table flashed through his mind.

The Lord gave him the power of revenge and the authority to cleanse his sins; now it is time for him to repay his debt.

Let us cleanse this nation of its sins with a magnificent martyrdom, with the blood of all the people of New Canaan.

"Lord, you will forgive me, won't you?"

"My Lord! Look!"

The sound of hurried footsteps came from the stairwell.

Carl opened his eyes and saw David Miller practically rushing onto the observation platform, holding a smartphone in his hand.

This young man, who was once half-crippled by an explosion, is now covered in solid muscles. His body, enhanced through the Iron-level pathway, allows him to run like the wind.

"What's wrong?"

Carl turned around.

David didn't answer; he simply opened the video on his phone.

David opened the video on his phone. On the screen was a man in overalls speaking to the camera: "—So you see, I'm pouring all this Gundam powder, water, and these additives into this inlet, and then waiting thirty minutes."

The camera pans to a metal box that is about half a person's height.

The box emitted a low hum, and the indicator light on top changed from red to green.

The man pulled open the drawer below and took out five yellow cuboids, each about 20 centimeters long, 10 centimeters wide, and 3 centimeters thick.

"This is a high-energy nutritional block, each containing two thousand calories, with a shelf life of at least two years. The cost of the raw materials is practically zero."

The man placed one of the pieces on the table and tapped it twice with the hammer, producing a dull thud.

"It's hard enough that it doesn't break easily. You can eat it directly or soak it in water to make it into a paste."

"Two pieces a day can meet the calorie needs of an adult male."

The video ends.

David swiped the screen, and there were more than a dozen similar videos below:

Some people use the same black box to produce simple water purifiers, some produce solar panels, and some even produce small diesel engines.

"This thing seems to be more than just a good browser."

"And—Sir," David said, panting, "you'd better come and see for yourself."

Without waiting for Carl's response, he turned and walked downstairs.

Karl followed, his military boots clattering on the iron stairs.

They walked through Workshop 3 and into the adjacent Factory Building 5.

This used to be a warehouse for storing semi-finished vehicles, but now a huge black metal box stands in the center of the empty space.

The box is about ten meters long, four meters wide, and its height is close to the truss at the top of the factory building.

The outer shell is made of brand new steel plate with smooth welded joints. There are no markings or control panels on the surface, only a half-meter square feed port on the side and a discharge port of the same size.

James Jones stood beside the crate, wearing a faded army uniform.

Upon seeing Karl enter, he raised his hand in a military salute.

"Karl".

"What is this?"

Karl walked straight to the box and reached out to touch the outer shell.

The steel plate was cold, but a faint vibration from the mechanical operation could be heard from deep within.

"Besides the food production machine, we also used this Noah AI to create this."

As James spoke, he nodded to Aaron beside him.

"They're all scraps, Your Excellency."

Aaron explained, "We collected them according to the list provided by Noah AI."

He opened the feed hatch and began throwing in the metal blocks.

The cast iron ingots struck the inner wall of the box with a dull thud.

After the last piece of tungsten steel was loaded, Aaron closed the hatch and pressed the green button on a temporary control panel next to him.

The vibrations inside the box suddenly intensified.

A deep rumble came from deep within the steel plate, like a giant engine starting up.

Carl felt the concrete ground beneath his feet tremble slightly, the air temperature began to rise, and faint thermal ripples even appeared on the surface of the metal casing.

"Wait a moment for it to warm up, about half an hour."

Aaron pointed to the display screen on the control panel.

Several lines of data are displayed above:

Current status: Material smelting in progress. Estimated completion time: 00:27:14

Current temperature: 1347°C

Energy consumption: 342kW

"What is this?"

Karl asked again, this time addressing James.

"AK rifle automatic production machine"

James said calmly, "David, didn't you show that video to His Holiness the Saint?"

"Yes, but isn't that a food production machine? And the food that comes out looks like bricks."

Carl stared at the fluctuating temperature numbers on the display screen. "So this was also manufactured according to the instructions of this Noah AI? A complete black box?"

He deliberately emphasized the words "black box".

Through this steel plate, no one knows what the structure inside is.

Were those metal blocks actually melted down and recast, or were they transported to some other place?

How could Noah AI provide blueprints for this device out of thin air? What exactly does it want?

An instinctive sense of vigilance rose in Karl's mind.

His intuition, honed through years of military service, told him that any gift that seemed too good to be true always came with a hidden price.

"Well, once it's sealed off, we can't be sure what the internal condition is like."

James didn't deny it, "But Karl, it doesn't matter anymore."

He walked over to Karl and lowered his voice: "The military has already approached Noah Technologies and obtained a sub-model for the research and development and production of various weapons and equipment."

James said, "It's not just the Army; the Navy, Air Force, and Marine Corps are all testing their own dedicated models."

As someone who had been led down the path and Karl's former superior, he couldn't very well refuse Karl's request.

It would be pointless to tell him directly about Jian Guang's recent actions, but he must be informed about the changing times.

Karl remained silent for a long time.

He looked at the roaring black box, at the countdown timer on the control panel, and at the mountain of scrap metal piled up in the corner of the warehouse—the stuff he had originally planned for the workers to spend months sorting, smelting, and forging into gun parts.

"is that so----"

The countdown has reached its final five minutes.

The roar inside the box reached its peak, and the entire factory resonated.

Aaron was already standing next to the shipping outlet, holding an empty wooden crate in his hand.

"That's a good thing."

Carl suddenly spoke, his voice regaining its calm, "Let's see how it goes."

The countdown has reached zero.

The control panel emitted a "beep" sound, and the baffle at the outlet slid open automatically.

A wave of heat surged out, carrying the scorching smell unique to metal quenching.

Then, the first gun slid out.

Aaron took it, checked it, and handed it to Carl.

The gun was still warm.

It lacks wooden handguards and stocks, featuring an all-metal construction with a matte black rust-resistant coating.

Karl weighed it in his hand; a standard AK-47 weighs seven pounds and four ounces.

He pulled the bolt smoothly, as if it were oiled, the recoil spring exerting a uniform and powerful force.

"Bring the target."

David immediately moved an old tire from the corner of the warehouse and drew a bullseye on it with chalk.

Karl walked thirty meters away, raised his gun, aimed, and pulled the trigger.

"Bang!"

Gunshots rang out in the empty factory, their echoes lingering for a long time.

A neat round hole has been added to the center of the tire target.

Karl ejected the magazine, which contained only one test bullet, and then began disassembling the gun.

Remove the receiver cover, take out the recoil spring and bolt, and inspect the gas tube and piston.

Every part is so precise it's as if it's been measured with calipers.

The welds are smooth, the surface treatment is uniform, and even the rifling, which is most prone to problems, is engraved deeply and straight.

"The quality is really good."

Carl couldn't help but say.

The manufacturing process of AK is not difficult; countless illegal workshops around the world can produce them.

But he had only ever seen such a standard and neatly made AK on genuine US military equipment from the early years.

And those guns aren't that slippery.

"What are the proportions of the ingredients? What specific ingredients are needed?"

As Carl reloaded the gun, he asked.

He's not stupid.

Although this black box looks like a magical device, it is absolutely subject to the conservation of matter.

It can't possibly come from nothing.

"I haven't calculated it carefully yet."

James walked to the control panel and pulled up another set of data. "But the waste is indeed not much. The waste we just threw in weighs about 200 kilograms. According to the theoretical value given by Noah AI, it can produce 40 AKs, plus matching magazines and 100 rounds of ammunition."

He paused, then pointed to the thick-diameter cables hanging from the top of the factory building: "But this thing consumes both coal and charcoal, as well as electricity. The energy consumption in just half an hour is equivalent to the electricity consumption of a community of 500 people for a whole day."

Carl looked at the cable.

The insulation was already somewhat aged, and the exposed copper gleamed on the terminals.

He recalled the three existing coal-fired power plants in New Canaan: two were built before the war, and one was a small unit that they had repaired themselves. The total power generation was barely enough to support the existing industrial production.

"But at least it doesn't need rest like a two-legged sheep."

Aaron chimed in from the side.

"Alright, let's promote it then."

Carl concluded, "But you need to handle this carefully, James. Don't let everyone get into chaos; you also need to leave some production lines unaffected by these AIs."

He handed the unloaded AK to Aaron, then turned to face his former superior: "After all, this isn't our West, so we need to be careful."

"In case Noah AI stops giving us blueprints one day, or if these black boxes stop operating, we need to be able to manufacture guns and ammunition ourselves."

James nodded: "Shubai."

"besides."

Karl continued, his voice carrying far through the empty factory, "Once it's finished, announce the selections and begin building the Holy War Army."

"Those aged 18 to 45 who voluntarily apply and pass basic training and a faith test can join."

"We will recruit 5,000 people in the first phase."

"Yes, Your Excellency."

James straightened his back and this time used a more formal address: "I guarantee the mission will be a complete success!"

He no longer called him Karl, but Saint.

This is a promise made by a follower to a saint, a pledge made with faith and life.

Carl nodded, watching James lead Aaron away from the factory.

They were going to meet with the Heavenly Soldiers to discuss how to deploy this black-box production on a large scale.

David followed them out. Since a complete change of uniforms was about to begin, as the person in charge of internal affairs and coordination, he had to plan the labor transfer program in advance to avoid unrest caused by large-scale layoffs.

Soon, only Karl was left in the factory.

There's also the Black Box Forest, which has already completed production and entered the self-inspection and upgrade phase.

The internal rumbling didn't stop; instead, it transformed into a different, rhythmic sound, like the beating of a giant heart. The data on the control panel continued to scroll:

Self-inspection progress: 67%

System upgrade in progress, please do not call. Estimated remaining time: 01:42:36

Karl walked to the box and sat down against the cold steel plate.

The cement floor was cold, but he didn't pay attention.

"Are you a gift from God?"

He asked in a low voice, it was unclear whether he was asking about the box or someone else.

No one answered.

The only sound is the steady, continuous, and tireless roar of machinery.

Carl took the cross out of his pocket and held it in his right palm.

The metal edge pressed against the calluses on his palm, and the subtle pain kept him awake.

If this kind of black box approach can really be widely adopted, and if Noah AI can truly help them solve their production and resource problems—

Then the new Canaan will no longer need to worry about not having enough to eat, no longer need to worry about insufficient weapons and ammunition, and no longer need to worry about being worn down in a war of attrition.

They can dedicate Wu Duo's time to training, to building faith, and to preparing for the inevitable holy war.

In other words, the holy war that was originally a death march will become a true path of atonement fought for the Lord's mission!

Carl gripped the ten-posture brace tightly, the metal blades almost digging into his flesh.

"Lord, is this a revelation from you? I have been so lazy."

He always thought that the only thing he could do was to prove his faith with a magnificent defeat and to practice the path of atonement with the blood of all the people of New Canaan.

So he indulged his anxiety about resources and his worries about logistics, and even secretly hoped that this holy war would come and end soon.

Because he was afraid.

I'm afraid to see these people slowly starve to death, afraid to see the hard-won order collapse again, and afraid that in the end I won't be able to change anything.

Therefore, it is better to die on the battlefield, on the way to the charge, or in the honor of fighting for one's lord.

"I've been so lazy."

Karl closed his eyes, his forehead pressed against the cold steel plate.

The roar of machinery enveloped him, like some kind of ancient prayer.