Warhammer: Rebuilding the Golden Age Starting with Farming.

"Kill that tin can!"

A burly gang leader roared and fired a shot at Andy, brandishing a bomb pistol he'd picked up from who-knows-where.

"boom!"

The bomb exploded on the floor at Andy's feet, and shrapnel clattered against his leg armor, only scratching the paint a little.

The engineering alloys from the DAOT era were many orders of magnitude harder than these homemade explosives.

Before the gang leader could fire a second shot, Andy had already moved his gun over.

"boom."

The leader's hand holding the gun was broken off.

Andy deliberately didn't shoot the head because he saw that the guy had several fragmentation grenades hanging on his body that looked usable.

If we destroy it, it's a waste of resources.

At that moment, two bloodthirsty thugs rushed up to Andy.

Since a gun can't penetrate it, then use a knife to cut it.

Two chainsaw swords slashed toward Andy's neck with a piercing noise.

Andy didn't even put down his gun.

His left hand suddenly rose, so fast that it was impossible to see it.

"Click".

That was the sound of bones breaking.

Andy grabbed the blade of one of the chainsaw swords.

The high-speed rotating saw blades cut into Andy's palm, sparks flying and a teeth-grinding scraping sound, but they just couldn't cut through.

Andy clenched his fist tightly.

The drive shaft of the chainsaw sword was snapped off.

Immediately afterwards, he swung his hand back, and the thug, sword and all, was sent flying seven or eight meters away, crashing heavily into the wall and turning into a puddle of mud on the spot.

The other thug was terrified, unsure whether to slash or put away his knife.

Without any hesitation, Andy smashed the butt of his gun directly into Andy's Adam's apple.

The thug clutched his throat and collapsed to the ground, gasping for breath; he was clearly not going to make it.

Ten seconds.

Or perhaps fifteen seconds later, the hall fell silent.

All that remained was the petty boss with the severed hand rolling on the ground screaming in agony, and the wisps of smoke rising from the muzzle of the automatic gun.

Andy stood amidst the pile of corpses, his red electronic eyes slowly turning back to a soft blue.

He skillfully pressed the magazine release button, caught the empty magazine, and replaced it with a new one.

The movements were standard and fluid, without any unnecessary emotional outbursts.

It could even be described as somewhat boring.

For an Ironman with a complete database, this kind of battle is as simple as cleaning up junk files on a computer desktop.

Simply select it and then click delete.

A short while later, Gamma-9 poked its head out from under a table.

He looked at Andy with his one eye, then at the corpses scattered on the ground, his mouth agape enough to fit a light bulb.

He had witnessed fighter spies killing people; it was a violent, bloody scene.

He had also witnessed the purists commit murder, a kind of ritualistic escalation.

But he had never seen such carnage before.

Ruthless, efficient, without any nonsense or pity.

It's like... like a precision instrument undergoing calibration.

Andy slung the gun back over his shoulder and walked up to the small-time leader who was still screaming in pain.

He raised his foot and stepped on the guy's head.

The screams abruptly stopped.

Andy turned his head and looked at Gamma-9, who was still lying on the ground.

What are you standing there for?

Andy pointed to the corpses on the ground.

"This garbage is also a resource."

“Take off their weapons, ammunition, and all the metal pendants on their bodies.”

"Especially that grenade, handle it carefully, don't let it explode."

"With the great cause of farming above us, we are in dire need of supplies right now."

Chapter 6 Looting Corpses, Repairing Trash

Andy stood amidst the pile of corpses, watching the group of refugees cleaning up the battlefield, and his logic core almost overheated again.

These people were indeed touching the corpse, but what they were touching was completely wrong.

A sallow-faced, emaciated man was laboriously using a knife to cut off a necklace of human finger bones hanging around the deceased's neck, his face full of greed.

At his feet, in that pool of blood, lay a standard-issue laser gun battery.

Although the battery casing was a bit worn, the battery indicator bar on the side still had two bars remaining.

What is this concept?

At the bottom of the nest, a laser battery with two bars of power can be exchanged for two days' worth of food or a bottle of filtered water.

As for the human bone necklace, Andy couldn't think of any industrial value for it other than taking it home to make soup for calcium supplementation.

"Stop."

Andy walked over and kicked the guy in the butt.

The man shuddered in fright, and the bone necklace in his hand fell to the ground.

“Throw that bone away,” Andy said, pointing to the battery on the ground. “Pick this up.”

The man looked bewildered, clearly not understanding why he should pick up that cube that couldn't be eaten or ward off evil.

Andy was too lazy to explain.

In this dark universe, superstition is more terrifying than hunger.

These people would rather believe that a few bones can bring good luck than that a high-energy battery can save their lives.

Andy turned to look at Gamma-9.

Although this technical priest wasn't very bright, he at least recognized industrial products.

"Make everyone throw away the trash they have in their hands."

Andy gave the order.

"I need metals, electronic components, ammunition, and fuel."

"Pile everything that can be burned, exploded, or electrified to the left."

"Throw all bones, flesh, amulets, and scriptures into the incinerator."

Although Gamma-9 felt it was a pity to burn the human skins engraved with the symbols of chaos, as he thought they were excellent research materials, the lingering effects of Andy's shots from earlier still made him reluctant to disobey.

Soon, a small mountain of debris appeared in the center of the hall.

Andy went over to sort the items, a process that was sheer torture.

The logistical nightmare of Warhammer 40K is vividly demonstrated here.

This pile only contains a dozen or so guns, but they come in five different calibers.

There were automatic guns that fired live ammunition, with calibers ranging from 8 mm to 12 mm, and there was even a homemade gun that used iron nails.

There are standard rifles that fire lasers, but the energy interfaces of these guns are not interchangeable; some are snap-on, and some are threaded.

This is the consequence of a lack of standardization.

In the golden age, all ammunition was universal, and all parts could be interchanged through modularization.

Now, to get all these guns firing, Andy has to hand-roll the bullets for each gun individually.

He sighed, picked out a few still-usable automatic guns and the laser battery that still had power, and threw the rest into the recycling bin.

"These metals can be melted down and recast later."

Andy dusted off his hands.

Now that the inside of the shelter has been cleared, it's time to look outside.

Andy pushed open the door and walked into the passageway outside.

The vehicle that had just smashed through the gate was still there, its engine still running, making that sputtering sound as if the pistons were about to burst out.

It looks like a half-track truck.

Its chassis should be an old-fashioned civilian mining vehicle, with two wide rubber tracks added to the back and two solid tires in the front.

But this is not the point.

The key point is the car's appearance.

To demonstrate their brutality and intimidation, the skinners welded spikes and chains all over the front of the vehicle.

Three mummified corpses were hanging on the bumper, and several steel pipes with skulls stuck in them were stuck into the roof of the cab.

The whole car looks like a spiky iron hedgehog.

Looking at the car, Andy was struck by its astonishingly high drag coefficient.

These miscellaneous decorations added at least half a ton of dead weight, offering no tactical value other than increasing fuel consumption and reducing mobility.

If it hits a person, the spikes will actually get stuck on the body and obstruct the view.

Without saying a word, Andy jumped onto the hood of the car.

He stretched out his incredibly strong mechanical hands and grabbed the huge iron spike welded to the hood.

"crunch-"

A sickening metallic creaking sound rang out.

Andy snapped the wrist-thick steel pipe in half and tossed it aside.

Next came the chains, the skeletons, and the corpses.

He was scrubbing someone who hadn't bathed in a long time, frantically subtracting things.

Gamma-9 followed and saw Andy dismantling the car, which almost made him kneel down again.

"Sage... Sage!" Gamma-9 exclaimed, "You're breaking the killing intent of this tank! Those spikes are the fangs of the machine spirit. If you pull out the fangs, the machine spirit will become weak and feeble!"

Andy didn't even turn his head; he was holding a piece of dried human skin that was covering the windshield.

"Still thinking about your fangs? They're just a damn burden."

"This cover blocks 40% of the view. I just want to ask, is the driver blind?"

Andy tossed the human skin to Gamma-9, revealing the dirty bulletproof glass behind it.

Less than five minutes.

The truck, which was originally menacing and terrifying and full of post-apocalyptic punk style, has been transformed into a bare, ugly but practical flatbed half-track.

Although it looks ugly, at least it looks like a proper industrial vehicle.

Andy jumped out of the car, lifted the hood, and a plume of black smoke billowed out.

The STC interface immediately displayed the analysis results.