Warhammer Survival Guide

Chapter 107 Inefficiency

The convoy sped across the wasteland.

Six hours later, the familiar windbreak wall of the eastern grain depot came into view.

Compared to the chaos and turmoil in the northern granary, this place appeared orderly after three months of Luo Wei's governance.

Searchlights swept across the surrounding area.

The defense patrol team proceeded along the predetermined route.

The convoy drove through the gate and stopped in the square in front of the administration building.

Bakla opened the car door.

Luo Wei got off the bus, looking refreshed.

Father Alpha and old John had been waiting for a long time.

"Supervisor," Old John greeted him, his face showing both anxiety and anticipation, "How did the trip go?"

Lo Wei nodded.

"Processing complete."

Upon hearing this, old John breathed a sigh of relief, and a smile spread across his wrinkled face.

Susan, one of the widows, was so moved that she shed tears.

They and the child labor group sacrificed a lot for Grey Mule No. 1.

Many people have suffered serious workplace injuries, and some have even lost their lives.

The mechanical tentacles behind Father Alpha also swayed lightly.

The group followed Luo Wei to his office on the top floor.

Lowe took off his coat, which was covered in industrial dust, and hung it on the hanger.

Then we arrived at the holographic map.

This equipment is quite old, and the projected light is somewhat shaky.

However, this does not prevent it from showing the full picture of the eastern granary.

Luo Wei stretched out his hand and drew an X on the red area representing test field A-3, instructing, "The harvesting of 'Grey Snail No. 1' in area A-3 is complete. The toxicity and heavy metal levels in the soil are severely excessive. This area is now a restricted zone; no one is allowed to approach."

Unlike the others, there was no joy of victory on Rowe's face.

He looked even more aloof than usual.

"Gentlemen, Grey Mule 1 was a gamble. We won, but that doesn't mean we can keep gambling forever."

Everyone nodded.

If it weren't for Lowe's wise decision, given the terror of Gray Mule 1, it would have already spread throughout the Seventh Agricultural War Zone, causing a global ecological disaster.

Lowe swept across large green areas on the map.

Areas C to F.

This large area is planted with millions of acres of ordinary wheat, using drip irrigation technology and deep tillage methods promoted by Luo Wei.

"Now, let's begin the second phase of the plan."

Luo Wei turned around and looked at everyone.

"Old John, notify all labor teams that everyone is on duty at six o'clock tomorrow morning. We're going to begin the regular harvest!"

"yes!"

Old John answered loudly.

In fact, he had been preparing for this day for a long time.

"Alfa, send out all the tractors you've repaired, along with all the regular harvesters. This time, no need for extreme measures, no need for overclocking, I need stability."

"Instructions received," the priest replied.

After saying that, Luo Wei sat back down behind his desk.

He placed his fingers together on the table and said in a gentle tone, "This is what I meant before: walk on two legs."

"Grey Mule-1" is our risk-hedging fund, an extreme strategy we had to take to achieve our quarterly target of a 20% increase in production through tithes.

"And these millions of acres of ordinary wheat are the cash flow that keeps the granaries running daily."

Luo Wei's gaze swept over everyone.

"I've carefully calculated the harvest, and it's even better than I expected."

With the addition of "Grey Mule No. 1" and this batch of ordinary wheat, our eastern grain granary will not only be able to meet this quarter's tithe tax target, but will also have a 5% surplus.

The office suddenly became quiet.

Immediately afterwards, everyone's faces showed ecstasy and relief.

Meeting the tithe target means survival.

Excessive tithes indicate affluence.

Old John couldn't help but sigh, "If Case were still the supervisor, he'd probably be arresting laborers and refugees right now, preparing to fill the fermentation tanks to make up the numbers."

"And now, no one will lose their head. Even those serfs who cursed because of excessive overtime will get extra concentrated green soup this month."

"Everyone's happy," Luo Wei concluded casually. "Go back to work."

The crowd departed, filled with the joy of a bountiful harvest.

The office door closed.

Lovi was all alone.

He didn't feel much joy from the harvest at that moment.

On the contrary, a sense of absurdity, originating from the depths of his soul, was enveloping him.

Lowe took a thick book out of the drawer:

Imperial Ministry of Agriculture - Gothic Sector Yearbook

He found this among Case's belongings; it was stained with wine, but fortunately, the key data was still clear.

By the dim light of the table lamp, Luo Wei began to peruse the book.

"Fengrao No. 2, a first-class agricultural world, with 80% of the surface cultivated as arable land."

Total annual grain output: 18 million tons.

Luo Wei seemed to be deep in thought.

Eighteen million tons.

In his memories of his previous life, even in a year of famine, a major province in the Central Plains of the earth produced more than twice this amount of grain.

A planet with a complete ecosystem and an area comparable to Earth, employing tens of thousands of serfs and machine servants, produced less in a year than a single province on Earth.

In any civilization that pursues efficiency, this is an unforgivable disgrace.

However, here, in the Warhammer 40K universe, this is the norm.

Luo Wei picked up a quill pen and began to work on a deduction in his notebook that only he could understand.

He needs to do some accounting.

Basic data: Annual production of 1800 million tons.

Lowe wrote the first line on the paper.

"Deduction 1: Food rations, equipment energy consumption, and seed reserves for the local population of 120 million and tens of millions of servants."

"Deduction 2: Subspace transport losses. According to the yearbook average, this item is as high as 20%."

This is a despairing proportion.

In order to transport the grain out, the Empire must feed the greedy subspace.

One out of every five ships of grain will either be lost in a storm or rot during the long voyage.

"Deduction 3: Imperial tithe collection rate of 93%."

Luo Wei paused for a moment.

Excluding the three items mentioned above, this is the algorithmic logic behind Fengrao No. 2's annual grain production of 18 million tons.

Then, he quickly calculated the effective conversion rate.

A moment later, two cold numbers appeared on the paper.

"Astral Army's supply capacity:"

"It can stably support approximately 96 Ascendant soldiers in standard service; or approximately 74 Ascendant soldiers in high-intensity frontline combat."

Lo Wei took a deep breath.

The annual production capacity of the Fengrao II can only sustain less than a million soldiers at the front lines.

For interstellar battles that often involve hundreds of millions of troops, this amount of manpower might not even fill a single trench.

He then calculated the supply capacity of the nest city.

"It can independently support one medium-sized nest city with a population of approximately 1 million; or three small nest cities with a population of 3 million."

Conclusion: It is not capable of independently supporting any large or larger nesting populations.

Luo Wei closed the yearbook, leaned back in his chair, and his gaze cleared somewhat.

This is why the Abundant No. 2, despite its barrenness, has been able to exist peacefully for tens of thousands of years.

"Distributed systems are inefficient."

After thinking about it, he wrote the word heavily in his notebook.

Leaving aside the objective factors such as the decline of agricultural technology in the empire and the fact that the soil had been squeezed to the point of losing its fertility.

The empire has no need for a super granary with an annual output of one billion tons!

Because in doing so, this planet will become a torch in the darkness.

This will attract the Tyranid fleet.

Waaagh, who attracted the orcs.

This attracted a horde of vile plague.

The military expenditure required to defend such a massive grain depot would be astronomical.

Therefore, the empire chose the most ruthless, yet also the safest, strategy:

The production capacity was dispersed across tens of thousands of mediocre, inefficient, and unprofitable planets like Plenty II.

The Tyranids look down on the biomass here.

The orcs felt this place wasn't exciting enough.

Even if the Abundance II falls, it would only be a negligible loss for the Empire's vast logistics network.

The surrounding agricultural planets will immediately fill the gap.

This low production of 1800 million tons is itself a "lifesaver" for this planet.

Lo Wei recognized this underlying logic.

Therefore, he will not try to change the rules, nor will he simply pursue so-called super high productivity.

"However, this time is slightly different."

The 12,000 tons of "Grey Mule No. 1" were, after multiple conversions, valued at 360,000 tons of ordinary grain rations in the Executive Yuan's books.

These high-energy, high-calorie, and slightly toxic "fuel blocks" would never be issued to civilian staff in the rear, nor would they be sent to feed civilians in the city.

They only have one destination.

Luo Wei closed his eyes, and a star map appeared in his mind.

Based on the current situation in the Gothic Sector and the logistics priority logic of the Imperial Military Affairs Department.

He deduced the most likely destination of this shipment.

"Solar Starfield, Amegidodton War Zone."

This burning hell, near the Gates of Cadian, is known as the "Doomsday Meat Grinder."

That place is not only a paradise for the green-skinned orcs Waaagh who wreak havoc.

It is a cursed land shrouded in the shadow of the warp.

Hundreds of millions of Armageddon's steel legions are relying on the ruins of the hive city, while engaging in an endless bloody battle with the savage greenskin army and the twisted minions of Chaos.

The soldiers there had to march rapidly across the "ash wasteland" filled with industrial toxicity, and hold out for weeks in cold trenches surrounded by demonic whispers.

Ordinary starch blocks are simply unable to resist the bone-chilling cold and fatigue, let alone provide the heat required for high-intensity combat.

Only "Grey Mule No. 1" is available.

These black cubes, which can be boiled into a large pot of boiling oily soup with just a small piece, and whose consumption can burn blood vessels, are the most scarce life-saving supplies there.

As he calculated this, Luo Wei suddenly opened his eyes, and a touch of gentle warmth appeared in his originally cold gaze.

He can't build explosive guns, nor can he forge power armor.

But the food he grows will travel across thousands of light-years of space to be sent to the front lines.

A scene naturally surfaced in Luo Wei's mind:

In the war-torn trenches of Amighiddton.

A veteran of the Steel Legion, nearing his limit, tossed the tiny speck of Grey Mule No. 1 he had been assigned into his helmet and watched it dissolve in the murky water.

He greedily swallowed the thick soup that tasted of engine oil.

At this moment, the grain that Luo Wei produces is no longer just food.

It transformed into the soldier's courage to hold his ground, supporting him to stand firm amidst the roaring waves of green-skinned orcs.

This allowed him to use his body as a shield, even when facing the blasphemous whispers of warp demons, to deliver a fatal blow for the Emperor.

"At least, it can help them kill a few more enemies."

Luo Wei muttered to himself.

Only then did a genuine joy, a joy that belonged to him, rise in his heart.

In this hopeless universe, survival is certainly important.

Finding your own value is even more important, even if you are just a tiny cog in a machine.

But it is precisely these countless screws that have supported the human empire, this crumbling edifice!