Warhammer: Rebuilding the Golden Age Starting with Farming.

Sisyphus took the box, glanced at the number on it, nodded, and turned to leave.

This kind of transaction happened more than a dozen times in the next two hours.

At an underground chemical plant, Sisyphus threw away five barrels of high-purity industrial acid in exchange for a box of rare catalysts.

At an illegal weapons workshop, he traded ten boxes of antibiotics for a sophisticated rifling process.

Bartering is permitted, accepting only high-level industrial resources and avoiding the depreciating imperial currency.

Through this seemingly primitive trading method, Sisyphus is using his technological advantage to frantically siphon resources from the Middle Nest, gradually moving the industrial essence accumulated here over hundreds of years back to the Bottom Nest refuge.

But Sisyphus knew very well that the reason he could act so arrogantly here and have these usually fierce gang leaders bowing and scraping to him was all because of Andy.

Andy not only gave him the goods, but also provided him with military support.

If anyone tries anything funny, Andy's Happiness Car will probably be blocking his door the next day, and he'll be given a reasoned talk with a heavy logging gun.

This overwhelming power inflated Sisyphus's ego to an extreme degree, while also instilling in him a deep sense of awe for Andy.

In no time, the cart was empty.

Sisyphus casually pushed the broken-down car into the roadside garbage heap; the thing was useless now.

He patted the heavy tactical backpack on his back.

It was filled with chips, blueprints, and rare metals, making it priceless.

"Let's go to the last stop."

Sisyphus straightened his collar and, with two bodyguards, made his way through the crowded market to the heart of Zhongchao—District 10.

In an instant, the style of the scene changed drastically.

No longer are those messy, illegal buildings, but towering, industrially aesthetically pleasing cooling towers and forging workshops.

The chaotic noise in the air disappeared, replaced by a uniform, heart-beating mechanical roar.

A huge gear logo hangs above the main entrance, gleaming with a cold metallic luster under the searchlights.

"Gear Heart" Industrial Park.

One of the most prosperous areas in Zhongchao, and also the true technological mecca of Zhongchao.

The owner of Gearheart is none other than Sisyphus's old friend, "Zor Creek."

Zol is a true high priest of the Mechanicus, the kind with Martian certification.

He commands hundreds of highly modified fighter servants and owns dozens of fully automated production lines.

It's fair to say that he represents the pinnacle of technology at Zhongchao.

Sisyphus stood at the front door and took a deep breath.

Two months ago, he wouldn't even have been qualified to enter this place; at most, he would have had a drink with Zor's stewards on the outside.

But today, he comes on behalf of Andy.

He wanted to talk to this eccentric high priest about the "starship wreckage".

Chapter 46 The Ninth Forbidden Zone (3K8! Please continue reading!)

At the heart of the Gear Heart Industrial Park stands a 200-meter-tall gear tower.

"You two stay here and wait. I'll be right down."

Sisyphus ordered the two Storm Squad soldiers, who were like gatekeepers, to guard the base of the tower.

He straightened his collar and pushed open a large brass door engraved with exquisite gear patterns.

Although geographically it is undoubtedly the core area, this place is not just a command center; it is also Father Zor's home.

The interior of the tower is extremely luxurious, completely unlike the dirty and chaotic feeling of the factory outside with its oil stains everywhere.

The floor was covered with thick sound-absorbing carpet, and the walls were covered with intricate blueprints from various foundry worlds.

Although most of them are decorative replicas...

The air was filled with an expensive incense scent. This fragrance not only masked the smell of engine oil but also soothed restless nerves, earning high praise from engine oil enthusiasts at Zhongshangchao.

Father Zor sat on the Life-Sustaining Throne in the center of the hall.

The old man's body was mostly mechanized, with countless data cables extending from the throne and inserting directly into the back of his head and spinal interfaces.

As before, what was presented to Sisyphus was the daily life of a high priest in the Mid-Chow Chow.

They don't need to leave their homes at all; as long as they connect to a data cable, they can keep track of everything happening in the entire industrial park.

If they wanted to know which lathe was running slowly, which machine operator was slacking off, or even which toilet was clogged, there would be no secrets.

This feeling of "winning battles from afar without leaving home" is indeed very addictive and can easily make people lazy.

Zor didn't even bother to open his eyes; he was surveying his territory through the perspective of those hundreds of servo skulls.

Until Sisyphus slammed that heavy tactical backpack onto the table.

"Splash—"

The backpack zipper was open, and thirty brand-new boxes of "Andy Biochemical No. 1" were scattered on the mahogany table.

Zor's still relatively intact electronic eye suddenly lit up, causing the data cable connected to the throne to tremble twice.

He unplugged a data cable, and the servo arm behind him nimbly reached out, grabbed a box of medicine, and looked delighted.

"Oh, old friend, you always manage to surprise me."

Zoll's voice, processed by the sound unit, has a smooth, metallic quality.

“Recently, all those illegal clinics down there have run out of stock, but your place is still getting a steady stream.”

Although the Mechanics movement advocates physical suffering and weakness, that is only true for themselves.

For the senior technicians under his command who are not yet qualified to carry out comprehensive transformation, their bodies are still the foundation of their work.

If a skilled machinist were to have a limb amputated due to a malignant disease, it would be a real financial loss for Zor.

Therefore, antibiotics are a necessity for Zor.

Previously, he could only reluctantly buy Helios's expensive medicine, and when he was really desperate, he had to buy Dr. Birdbeak's Green Feather Soup.

The other quack doctors' remedies are even worse and more indescribable than Bird Beak Doctor's!

In the last two months, Dr. Birdbeak has apparently latched onto someone powerful, resulting in a significant upgrade to his equipment.

With Sisyphus as a reliable and affordable supplier, he would have already blacklisted all other suppliers.

Sisyphus pulled up a chair, sat down, and crossed his legs.

He is very confident now because he is the client.

"Father Zor, I've brought you the medicine."

"Same as always, I need you to build something for me."

As Zor fiddled with the medicine box, he asked casually:

"Tell me, what kind of contraband are you going to manufacture this time?"

"The lens assembly of a high-powered laser cannon? Some kind of optical cloak capable of bypassing Imperial surveillance?"

"Anything is negotiable except for Titan."

Sisyphus looked at Zor and said in a relaxed tone:

"I want to build an orbital dock."

"..."

The air suddenly became quiet.

The only sound was the humming of the server fans behind the throne.

The medicine box in Zoll's hand fell onto the table with a "thud".

The electronic eye's aperture shrank to its smallest size, staring intently at Sisyphus, as if looking at a madman who had just escaped from a mental hospital.

"What did you say?"

“Orbital dock,” Sisyphus repeated, “the kind that can dock starships and perform vacuum repairs and resupply.”

Zor took a deep breath and shook his head with amusement:

"Sisyphus, did you take the wrong medicine when you went out today?"

"Or did you stay in the bottom nest for too long and get your brain damaged by radiation?"

Do you know what you're saying?

Zor stood up, his mechanical tentacles waving behind him, clearly agitated.

"Orbital docks are massive projects that only a planetary governor or a casting general could approve."

"Even if we get the permit, we will still need millions of tons of special steel, an anti-gravity generator array, and a vacuum force field shield."

"This isn't a technical problem at all; it's a resource problem!"

Often, people have a misconception about industrial manufacturing, thinking that as long as the technology is there, anything can be manufactured.

actually not.

With the current technological capabilities of Gearheart, relying on its hundreds of tireless machine servants, tens of thousands of highly skilled technicians, and the advanced technology blueprints in Zol's hands, it is technically entirely feasible to create a small-scale orbital dock.

But the problem is, it's not worth it!

Building that thing requires a huge investment, and the payback period is frighteningly long.

Moreover, the planet Forge-7 has been in a semi-closed state since a subspace storm that nearly disrupted trade routes.

The industrial output here is mainly produced and sold locally; only the local gentry can transport it out via the few remaining smuggling ships.

In this situation, spending tens of billions to build a shipyard would be a complete waste of money.

More importantly, this thing is too conspicuous.

You can run a shady factory underground, fine, but why the hell do you hang a shipyard in the sky?

What kind of interstellar joke is this?

The next day, the court will have to come down in a shuttle to check your accounts and ask what you're trying to do!

Are you planning a rebellion? Are you planning to run away?!

Zor isn't stupid enough to engage in such a brainless business deal.

“I’m not joking,” Sisyphus said without changing his expression. “My boss has plenty of resources, all you need to do is provide the technology and the people.”

"Your boss?"

Zor sneered and sat back down on the throne.

"Could it be another nouveau riche who popped up out of nowhere?"

"Don't be ridiculous. Even if your boss monopolized all the black medicine in Zhongchao, he still couldn't put together the main keel of the orbital dock."

"Besides, I don't take this job."

Zor waved his shiny mechanical hand.

"The risk is too great."

“I’m doing very well now. I sell parts every day, collect rent, and occasionally take on a few small projects. I’m doing quite well.”

"Why should I risk being targeted by the court for your project?"

Zor started spouting nonsense.

"Besides, even if I were willing to do it, you wouldn't be able to finish the approval process."

"Those bloodsuckers at the Zhongchao Management Committee could bankrupt your boss with just the stamping fees..."

He kept talking about the courtroom, the management committee, the maintenance of the aircraft, and then the wind direction in Shangchao was wrong.

In short: this job is too hot to handle, I wouldn't do it even if I got paid more.

He knew perfectly well what was going on.

Sisyphus's sudden decision to build a shipyard must be because that mysterious boss wants to run away.