Warhammer: Striving to Be a Grinding Man

Chapter 151 The Planning of Iron and Fire

Enpu Shakra sat in the center of the casting hall deep within Wangshu. Thousands of data cables extended from the backrest and armrests of his adamantite chair, reaching upwards to connect with the data bus on the dome. More than seventy percent of his body was mechanical; only his face retained the outline of a human—dark gray skin and tightly closed eyes.

Cohen's consciousness had just withdrawn from Enp's body. Hours earlier, he had been inside that body, transforming the blueprints from higher dimensions into data layer by layer and feeding them into the uplink interface of the computing hub. This was the so-called "Pronoris Casting World Technological Heritage exported by the Great Sage Enp during his lucidity."

The Great Sage Enpu's periods of lucidity are irregular, sometimes lasting one or two months, sometimes longer. Whenever new blueprints emerge from the data bus deep within the Forge Hall, the Tech Priests know that the Great Sage has completed another round of data export: turret response time program optimization, architectural summary of the shipborne Thinker array, transmission and formula analysis of armored vehicles, constraint cavity geometry parameters of plasma projectiles, and focusing crystal technology for various laser weapons. Today's achievement is the complete blueprint for the heavyweight Odysseus-class combat transport ship, based on 70% of the original design, and now ready for construction after being completed by the Great Sage, involving nearly ten thousand blueprints.

These drawings are archived, cataloged, and encrypted, and each one requires points and permissions to access.

This points system was designed by Vera and Ellis: the Temple Council deliberated on the rules for points allocation, with Cohen remaining uninvolved in the details, as long as the results were valid. And the results were indeed valid. This not only appeased the regular Mechanicus monks from Lucis, but more importantly, it attracted the wandering, unaffiliated Tech-Priests—Mechanicus monks adrift on the fringes of the Empire, without a fixed affiliation; survivors of small industrial worlds crushed by the Orks or war; and marginalized artisans discarded by the Forgeworld. Garros offered workstations, blueprints, and a stable, safe environment. Once inside the Garros system, according to Mechanicus rules, they were incorporated into the Temple's official organizational structure, moving in a one-way flow with virtually no chance of escape. This was necessary for technological secrecy and risk management.

As the shipping routes matured, the number of tech priests flocking to Garros continued to rise. Technology was their sustenance, and power was their thirst. Nothing was more attractive to them than a newly discovered forging world with a rich historical heritage.

Cohen stood up from his chair, straightened the collar of his dark gray casual suit, and walked out the door. The corridor lights were as cold and white as ever, and twilight filtered in from the transparent armor plates of the dome, casting a thin layer of dark gold light on the terrazzo floor. He took the private elevator to the first floor, walked through the arcade, and headed towards the circular conference hall.

There were still figures moving about in the corridor on the second floor of the side hall—the technical priests from Lucius were organizing documents, and someone was pushing a trolley with data boards stacked half a person high on it. As Cohen passed by, a few people stopped, their optical lenses flashed briefly, and then they continued with their work.

The circular conference hall was already full of people waiting for him.

The representative of the Garros fleet sat in the middle of the left wing, alongside the captains of dozens of ships and Marcus. The old naval lieutenant commander's right mechanical eye shone steadily in the reflection of the holographic display. The representative of the Phoenix Battle Group sat at the far left wing, with Rellano in the shadows, the pale gray eyes of the millennia-old veteran gleaming coldly in the dim light. The officers of the Apostolic Guard sat in the front row of the right wing, with Cole at the head, his dark gray uniform revealing a faded scar on his left eyebrow. The high-ranking technical priests were scattered in the arc-shaped front row, the points of light from their optical lenses merging into a single, cold glow.

As Cohen entered the meeting hall, a brief commotion erupted in the curved seating area; hundreds of people rose from their seats simultaneously. The sounds of dark gray robes, crimson robes, and the friction of terracotta armor blended into a low, resonant tide beneath the dome. The friars officers pressed their right fists against their left chests, the technical priests clenched their right fists against the gear and skull insignia, and the civilian delegates were a beat slower, but everyone stood.

Cohen walked through the aisle between the seating areas to the slightly higher seat behind the podium. Vera was already standing behind the central podium, her deep red robe buttoned up tightly, the insignia of a fourth-order technical priest gleaming dullly in the cold light. She turned and glanced at him. After he sat down, the people in the curved seating area returned to their seats.

"Today's topic," Vera said softly, but the circular hall's layout evenly distributed her voice to every row of seats, "is the organization of the fleet and the Phoenix Battle Group."

The holographic display lit up.

She drew a line on it, and the outline of the ship and the organizational chart were spread out above the podium.

"All ships in the Galos Fleet, including capital ships, frigates, destroyers, logistics ships, and combat transport ships, will be transferred to the Mechanicus Forge World's organization," Vera said. "The captains and first officers must be technical priests."

Marcus's voice came from the left, calm and steady: "Captains and key officers of capital ships will all be promoted to fourth-tier technical priests. Captains of frigates, destroyers, logistics ships, and combat transport ships will be at least third-tier apprentice technical priests. All technical positions, from engine room to communications to weaponry, will be filled by mechanical clerks. Apprentices and above will be required to work independently."

A high-ranking technical priest on the right wing lowered his data panel, his optical lens aimed at Marcus: "Are all current captains qualified to become mechanical monks?"

Marcus didn't look at the data panel: "According to the rules set by the Director, everyone is now being converted into Mechanicus monks. Of course, they still need time to supplement their knowledge of the Mechanicus fleet and the basic Mechanicus rituals."

Another technical priest from the industrial sector spoke up, his voice carrying the dryness characteristic of mechanical monks: "Can those captains continue to command operations while they're getting their training? We absolutely cannot allow Garros to remain undefended."

Marcus glanced at him. "Of course. The extra lessons are part-time. They command from the bridge during the day, and at night they catch up on the corresponding knowledge of the Mechanicus fleet, followed by basic doctrines and ritual procedures." He paused, his gaze sweeping across the room. "The quality and technical level of our Garros fleet's personnel have been fully proven in war. Our fleet will be a qualified Mechanicus fleet. The iron will of the Om Messiah is never measured by the thickness of rituals."

No one in the meeting room asked any further questions.

Vera scrolled to the next page on the holographic platform. The Phoenix Battle Group's organizational chart unfolded in the cold light.

"The Phoenix Battle Group has been reorganized into the Phoenix Legion of the Guardians," she said. "As the mobile force of the Garros Forging World, it is not subordinate to the fleet and reports directly to the Forging Temple."

On the holographic platform, the operational plan unfolded line by line: a Mars-class battlecruiser, under construction, assigned to the Phoenix Legion. A crew of 100,000, including skilled craftsmen and apprentices, supported by several Thunderbolt fighters, several Bald attack aircraft, and several Thunderhawk transport aircraft. The Phoenix Battle Group's original 15,000 elite combatants would be retained without being split or reassigned. Two heavy armored companies would be added, equipped with Rhinoceros and Razorback fighters, operated by combatants wearing CMC-300 power armor.

Rellano sat in the shadows at the left flank, saying nothing. But everyone present saw his fingers, resting on his knees, pause for a fleeting moment when he heard the words "Phoenix Legion." It was so brief that it would go unnoticed unless one looked closely, but those present were veterans, and they saw it.

Marcus continued, "The Mars-class is already under construction, with the keel being laid. It is expected to take nearly two years to complete, giving us ample time to prepare the crew and key personnel."

A technical director from the industrial division put down his data panel: "The blueprints for the Mars-class aircraft were obtained through an exchange with Lucis using Pronoris's legacy archive. The cost was enormous, and they are incredibly valuable. Since they're being assigned to the Phoenix Legion, their equipment configuration can't be compromised. My question is, where did the Phoenix Legion's equipment come from? I couldn't find the blueprints for the Rhinoceros and Razor Whale aircraft in the archive."

Cohen glanced at him: "No need for production. The armored company's heavy vehicles are stockpiled in the underground industrial area. As for the blueprints, they haven't been archived yet. I'll retrieve them when needed."

He paused for a moment: "The Thunderhawk transport aircraft is a special-purpose model, directly modified from existing Thunderhawks to enable it to transport heavy armored vehicles. The number is small, so it doesn't require a dedicated production line. It won't interfere with the original production schedule."

The technical supervisor paused for a moment with his optical lens, then looked down, made a note on the data board, and didn't ask any further questions.

A high-ranking technical priest in the front row on the right wing—responsible for Titan Order liaison affairs—put down his pen, and his speaker emitted a short hum.

"Since we're discussing organizational structure, the deployment of the Titan Legion and the Intelligent Control Legion should also be finalized."

Cohen glanced at him, signaling him to continue.

"The Garros Titan Legion is currently stationed in the hangar of the Fireseed. The Fireseed is moored at the outer berth of Wangshu, and routine maintenance and calibration are carried out on board. This plan is fine in the short term—but the Fireseed is an expeditionary ark, not a fixed base. If the next war requires the Fireseed to leave port for a deployment mission, the Titan Legion will have to follow. What will happen to the defense of Wangshu then?"

He paused for a moment. "When Lucis's inspection team left, they promised to vouch for the Sage Enpu and the Titan Legion to Mars. It was a political endorsement, but also a responsibility. If Garros can't even hold the defenses of Wangshu, and this Titan Legion runs into trouble in the rear, Lucis will have no way to explain themselves to Mars. My suggestion is: have the Fireseed permanently docked at Wangshu. Its foundry can produce Titan parts, and recently some—" He paused for half a second, the optical lens tilting slightly, "—spare parts left over from the time of Punorius. Using these resources, we can gradually assemble a new batch of Titans, expanding the legion's size. And these Titans will be permanently stationed at Wangshu to guard it."

When the word "discovery" came down, Cohen's gaze lingered for a moment on the edge of the podium before shifting away. It was brief, as if his attention had been drawn to something insignificant, and then he paid it no further attention.

The Tech Priest continued, "The currently discovered stockpile of spare parts can assemble two Warlord-class, three Marauder-class, and six Warhound-class. Although the forging capacity is limited, it can be increased gradually. At the current pace, we can have a second Expedition Titan cluster in twenty years—of course, a cluster without the Emperor-class." His optical lens turned to Cohen, "provided that the Fireseed remains in Wangshu and is not frequently moved."

Cohen sat up straight: "The Fireseed is docked at the outer berth of Wangshu, the casting bay is operating continuously, and the production and assembly of Titan parts are proceeding simultaneously. If there is a large-scale expedition requirement in the future, we will reassess the situation. Until then, the Fireseed will not leave the Galos system."

The Tech Priest's optical lens tilted slightly upwards—a confirmation signal. He quickly jotted down a note on the data panel, then put the pen down. No one questioned the origin of the spare parts. The Deep Warehouse was the domain of the Archsage Enp; the items he brought from Punoris had drifted in the warp for ten thousand years—massive hulls and countless compartments. For the time being, no one could accurately count their numbers. The occasional "discovery" of a batch was logically consistent.

The senior technical priest in charge of Titan apprentice training took over: "Regarding the Titan apprentices, the pilots and technical priests sent by Lucis have been training them, but progress is slower than expected."

Cohen turned to him: "The reason?"

"The apprentices themselves are not lacking in quality. The training time is prolonged because Garros lacks sufficient experience in interacting with Titan Souls. Most Titan Souls were already accustomed to establishing deep neural connections with their pilots during the Great Crusade, while new apprentices need to learn how to communicate with Souls from scratch. Lucis's pilots say this is a normal adaptation period, and it will take at least another year before the first batch of apprentices can operate independently."

Cohen's fingers paused on the armrest for a moment: "One year. How many people can be produced in the first batch?"

The tech priest fine-tuned the focus of his optical lens, as if making a calculation: "Fifty to eighty people. It depends on the availability of subsequent training equipment."

"Then let's proceed as planned. A one-year adaptation period will allow the apprentices more time for simulations, ensuring they have a solid foundation before formally engaging with the Machine Soul. You draft the specific training plan and submit it directly to me."

Another senior technical priest in the front row on the right wing put down his data panel, and his speaker emitted a short buzz: "Director, there's one more thing."

Cohen glanced at him.

"Our plan to expand our Apostolic Guard to three million will stand out starkly in the Martian archives." The Tech-Priest's voice paused, as if waiting for a filter to pass through. "Mars only has three million registered standing Apostolic Guards. While the actual total is far higher, that's been built up layer by layer over ten thousand years. We've only been upgraded for less than a year, and our figures on paper are incompatible with the scale of a Class I forging world. Lucius will see that number, Mars will see that number. Forging Director, I'm not against expansion. I'm asking: Does the Garros archive need a more moderate foothold?"

A moment of silence fell over the curved seating area. The officers on the left wing didn't move, but some exchanged glances. The civilian delegates looked down at their dashboards, making no notes.

Cohen leaned back in his chair, looked at the tech priest for a few seconds, and then said, "Your considerations are correct."

The Tech Priest's optical lens shrank back slightly, clearly not expecting this opening.

"But our expansion plan is a long-term goal. The three million standing missionary corps is just a projected need. We can expand immediately if needed, depending on future developments. It's just a plan. We need to start training more junior officers now, so we don't need to publicize this plan."

Cohen paused for a moment: "What we really need to pay attention to is our plan to stockpile a huge amount of weapons and equipment so that we can have them immediately in an emergency."

The Tech Priest's optical lens remained fixed. After a moment of silence, he spoke: "So the official figure is a million-strong frigate force, not three million?"

"right."

The Tech Priest's optical lens twitched slightly, but he didn't press the matter. He lowered his head and picked up the data panel again.

Vera gestured across the holographic display: "There's also the fleet's ever-growing shortage of technical personnel."

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A set of figures appeared on the holographic platform: "The existing fleet technical personnel are already stretched thin, and temporary adjustments are simply insufficient to meet the service requirements of several capital ships per year. This means that all positions need to be recruited from outside and then intensively trained."

Marcus continued, "The training plan has been drafted. The first batch of 6,000 people will be selected from existing skilled craftsmen and undergo four months of full-time training to quickly fill the technical gaps on the capital ships. The second batch will be selected from future apprentices, with a longer cycle, but that's a long-term plan."

The senior technical priest in the front row on the right wing asked, "Is it just a technical position? Command expertise is more important, Captain..."

First mate, gunnery officer—these positions cannot be filled by external recruitment indefinitely; that would lead to chaos within the fleet.

“You’re right.” Marcus turned to Cohen. “I suggest we establish military academies as soon as possible to systematically train the personnel we need.”

Cohen glanced at Marcus: "Where will the military academy instructors be transferred from?"

"Key personnel were drawn from various fleets and the Christian Guard."

"What about the training program?"

"I'll draft it. The first draft should be submitted within two weeks."

Cohen nodded: "The Temple of Garros will take the lead; this is a priority. We will immediately begin establishing military academies, focusing on the fleet and the command system of the Guardians of the Faith. This is a long-term plan; we aim to establish a robust mechanism within five to ten years."

In the conference hall, the optical lenses flashed briefly.

Vera stood behind the podium, waited two seconds, and then announced: "The Phoenix Legion's organization is confirmed. The fleet's organization is confirmed. The Titan Legion's deployment plan is confirmed. The Intelligent Control Legion's deployment plan is confirmed. The military academy plan is confirmed."

She paused for a moment and looked at Cohen.

Cohen stood up. His gaze swept over the hundreds of faces in the curved seating area. His voice wasn't loud, but everyone in every row could hear him: "Proceed with these plans individually, and then review them again in three months." He paused. "After you return, each of you should make your own arrangements for implementation. Meeting adjourned."

The curved seating area began to move. People in dark gray and crimson robes filed out of the aisle, some conversing in hushed tones, others scribbling rapidly on data tablets. Marcus stood up and exchanged a glance with Cohen, said nothing more, and turned to leave. Rellano rose from the shadows, his light gray eyes flashing briefly in the light before the holographic platform dimmed, then he turned and walked out of the conference hall, his steps as silent as when he arrived.

Cohen sat on the platform, waiting until the circular hall was empty before rising. The holographic stage was already dark, except for the cold white light strips still illuminating the dome. Twilight filtered in from the transparent armor plates of the dome, mingling with the lights and spreading a layer of grayish-white light along the metal edge of the platform. The optical lenses of the dozen or so servo skulls floating around them were gradually shutting down, their recording and archiving completed.

He stepped down from the platform, walked through the empty seating area, and left the conference hall. The corridor was lit by cold, white lights, and the terrazzo floor gleamed evenly.

When he returned to his office on the top floor of the side hall, the door closed behind him. Cohen didn't look out the window, nor at the starry sky. He sat down at the desk, opened the data panel, and began processing the next batch of documents. This was more worth his time than anything outside the window.

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