Warhammer: Striving to Be a Grinding Man

Chapter 15 Pathways

In the following months, Liu En's life entered a new rhythm.

During the day, he went to the Temple's wrecked ship warehouse, and at night he returned to the workshop to organize information and atomic matter reserves, occasionally taking a stroll around the outer area of ​​the No. 79 Great Furnace. Vitellius helped him obtain a warehouse access permit, on the condition that he receive a share, plus submit a list of high-value parts at least once a week for the Temple to purchase on a priority basis.

The shipwreck warehouse was located on the eastern side of Fair Maxim's Upper Nest District, a closed space converted from a massive hangar. It was filled with ship debris towed back from the tracks—laser-pierced armor plates, twisted keel sections, melted propeller nozzles, and shattered ammunition magazine fragments. Most of it was scrap material from the Imperial Navy, but there were also pieces of alien ships, all locked in a special quarantine area inaccessible to Liu En.

Liu En's work methods seemed no different from those of ordinary dismantling workers. He wore power armor, accompanied by his mech servants, and moved through the wreckage, occasionally stopping to touch a fragment and manipulate it with his tools. No one noticed that the instant his fingertips touched the wreckage, a field of energy enveloped the entire fragment; his consciousness touched it, and the decomposition command was issued. The metal structure vanished silently, its atoms directly stored in a higher-dimensional space.

The warehouse manager only saw him going in and out, occasionally pushing a cart and bringing out a few small parts as cover. The truly missing pieces of debris still existed on the warehouse's books—since they were all scrap waiting to be disposed of, no one would bother to weigh every single piece.

Atomic reserves are growing. The accumulation of technological blueprints is becoming more substantial. Deposits have also increased from 70,000 to 150,000. The sale of high-value components is merely a cover; the real wealth lies in his information database and atomic reserves.

Vitellius would come to the workshop every week to take away a few small parts that Liu En had picked out. The parts had rust and wear marks on their surfaces, making them look like old junk dug out of a scrap heap—which they actually were, at least they were reconstructed using blueprints obtained from dismantling scrap heaps, and their aged appearance was flawless.

"The Temple's purchasing department is very satisfied with your goods," Vitellius said. "Acus asked if you could get more energy conduit components; they're currently refurbishing a batch of old generators and have a significant shortage."

"It depends." Liu En neither agreed nor refused.

That afternoon, Vitellius arrived as usual. Liu Enzheng placed a weathered, sculpted Thinker core on the workbench and began scanning it with a testing instrument. The probe of the instrument moved slowly across the core's surface, emitting a regular beeping sound.

Vitellius sat in the chair opposite him, legs crossed, a cup of synthetic coffee in his hand. Looking at Liu En's focused expression, he casually asked, "You're so busy every day, saving so much money, why don't you try to climb the ladder and get promoted? What's the point?"

Liu En didn't look up, the detector in his hand continued to move, and he said in a flat tone: "I want my own boat."

Vitellius nearly spat out his coffee. He put down his cup, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and chuckled. "Your own ship? You're just a second-tier craftsman; do you know how much it costs to build a ship?"

Liu En put down the testing device, turned around, and looked intently at Vitellius. "Vitellius, you're a third-degree novice priest, you've been in the order longer than I have, and you've seen more of the world. I've always wanted to ask you—if someone wants to acquire a ship, what's the most cost-effective way?"

Vitellius paused slightly, then leaned back in his chair, a smile playing on his lips. Liu En's tone carried a hint of flattery, which he found pleasing. Although there was only one level difference between a third-level novice priest and a second-level skilled craftsman, their status within the order was worlds apart—from craftsman to priest, it was a leap from "craftsman" to "clergyman." Vitellius had always considered himself superior to Liu En, though he never said it aloud, he was well aware of it. Now that Liu En had taken the initiative to ask for his guidance, he was naturally happy to show off his knowledge.

"The best deal? That's definitely the black ship." Vitellius flicked his cigarette ash. "Buying a new ship through legitimate channels starts at tens of millions, you could save up that much even if you died. Black ships are different—there are so many wrecked ships in space, salvage teams can tow them back, fix them up, change the identification code, and sell them. They're much cheaper."

"Identification code?"

"Yes, the identification code is the biggest hurdle." Vitellius lowered his voice slightly. "A ship without an identification code is essentially non-existent within the Empire. Ports won't let you dock, supplies won't be provided, and the Ministry of Justice's patrol ships will open fire on you. But with an identification code, everything is negotiable."

Liu En's eyes narrowed slightly. "Where could the identification code come from?"

Vitellius laughed. "Where would you get it? Buy it. The Empire is a quagmire, there are gaps everywhere. The port authority, the mechanical guild's field agents, even the purchasing officers of some small foundries, as long as you can afford it, they can fabricate one for you in the system. You can have whatever you want—retired ships of old models, the serial number of a ship lost in some remote star system, or even a completely blank new registration record, take your pick."

"Will the generated identification code pass the check?"

"It depends on how you use it." Vitellius took a sip of coffee. "The Empire's information is slow, even stagnant. Most ports won't bother with it as long as your identification code can be found in the system and the format conforms to the regulations. Those port officials handle thousands of ships a year; who has the time to verify whether your ship actually came from the dock? Besides, as long as you don't cause trouble in the port or show hostility, nobody cares where your ship came from. Hostile ships, no matter how genuine the identification code is, will be sunk with a single shot. Non-hostile ships, nobody will even give you a second glance."

He paused, then added, "Even if you sail into the Throne Solar System, it's no problem. The checks there mainly focus on whether you're chaotic, alien, or have ulterior motives. With a proper identification code and a reliable flight log, no one will stop you and interrogate your ancestors."

Liu En nodded thoughtfully. "Then what's the procedure for buying the black ship?"

"That's usually how it works—you get someone to handle the identification code first, then you use that code to buy the ship. Black market ship sellers don't provide the identification code; they only sell the hull. If you don't have the code, it's just a pile of scrap metal," Vitellius said, counting on his fingers. "But I have to warn you, the black market ship business is very complicated."

"How so?"

"First of all, black ships are unreliable." Vitellius's tone became serious. "Those wrecked ships have been drifting in space for decades or even centuries, some have even been in subspace. Their structures are aging, materials are fatigued, and their engines could break down at any moment. You spend a fortune to buy them, and while you're driving, a pipe might burst. If you're lucky, you can make an emergency stop and get someone to repair them. If you're unlucky and they break down in subspace—then you're doomed. We may be oil enthusiasts, but if you're not a professional shipwright, minor repairs are fine. But if you really need to dismantle the reactor for a major overhaul, the cost would be enough to buy a new ship."

Liu En was silent for a few seconds. "A high price? How much exactly?"

"A frigate-class black ship in good condition starts at tens of millions. A cruiser? That's over a hundred million. And that's just the cost of the ship itself." Vitellius held up five fingers. "A cruiser-class identification code wouldn't be less than 500,000 Throne Coins on the black market. And that's the cheapest kind, an older, decommissioned ship. If you want a newer one, one that won't attract too much scrutiny, it'll start at a million."

Liu En quickly went through the accounts in his mind. His current savings were 150,000, far short of 500,000. But he had the ability to build ships, the technical blueprints, and the capacity to acquire them without going through the market. In fact, he didn't need to buy other people's black market ships.

Seeing that he didn't speak, Vitellius assumed he was intimidated by the numbers, shook his head, and sighed meaningfully.

"Cohen, let me be honest with you. Even if you raise the money and get the identification code, you'll still face another problem—where will the ship come from? Buy a black market ship? Like I said, that's unreliable. And build one through legitimate channels? Do you know what building a ship means?"

He pointed out the window, and although the view of Zhongchao Street outside the window did not reveal the dock, his tone became serious.

"Take Lucis's shipyard, for example. Building a cruiser requires hundreds of thousands of mechanics working day and night to move, weld, and assemble. It requires several technical priests to be in charge—not the kind of priests you and I are at, but the kind who have been in the order for hundreds of years and hold several patents. It requires hundreds of apprentices and craftsmen to oversee every step, from laying the keel to laying the pipelines, from installing the reactor to riveting the armor plates, every process must be done without error."

He paused, picked up his coffee cup, and then put it down again.

"The materials? Tens of millions, hundreds of millions of tons of materials. Ceramic steel, plastic steel, adamantite, all kinds of rare alloys—where do these things come from? The casting world. Huge furnaces burn day and night, ore ships transport ore from all over the galaxy, refineries turn the ore into ingots, and forging plants turn the ingots into plates and profiles. Each step requires decades or even centuries of technological accumulation, and requires the protection of the god of machines. Without the favor of machine spirits, the ship you build is just a pile of scrap metal, falling apart on the first jump in warp."

He looked at Liu En, his tone implying that she was "too young."

"So you understand now? Building a ship isn't about money; it's about people, materials, technology, and divine favor—it's about an industrial system accumulated over hundreds or thousands of years. You, a second-tier skilled craftsman, could never reach that threshold by tinkering in a workshop your whole life."

Liu En listened quietly without arguing. He picked up his coffee cup, took a sip, and the bitterness melted on his tongue.

Vitellius was right. For ordinary people, shipbuilding is such a massive and seemingly hopeless undertaking. Hundreds of thousands of machine servants, several high priests, hundreds of craftsmen, tens of millions of tons of materials, the furnace of the world, and the protection of the god of machines—all are indispensable.

But he is not an ordinary person.

He possesses the ability to decompose and reshape atoms. No servants are needed for transport, no priests for oversight, and no craftsmen for assembly. He shapes at the atomic level, creating a single, unified form. He has already stockpiled most of the tens of millions of tons of material in his higher-dimensional space. As for the protection of the God of Myriad Machines—he doesn't know if that thing exists, but if it does, his ability itself might be a form of protection.

He certainly wouldn't tell Vitellius these things.

"Vitley," Liu En poured some coffee into the other man's cup, his tone carrying just the right amount of inquiry, "If—I mean if—someone could handle the hull themselves, without buying it from the black market, wouldn't it be enough to just get the identification code?"

Vitellius paused for a moment, then burst into laughter. "Build the hull yourself? Cohen, didn't you understand? Building a ship requires a shipyard, hundreds of thousands of machine servants, technical priests and hundreds of craftsmen working around it, tens of millions of tons of materials, a furnace for forging the world, and the protection of the god of machines. You alone? You'd have a hard time even building a small boat."

Liu En didn't insist, he just smiled. "I was just asking casually."

Vitellius didn't think much of it. He took another sip of coffee, glanced at the old timer on the wall, and stood up. "Alright, I'll take today's parts first. Acus's still waiting. Figure it out yourself, don't overthink it—building a ship isn't something people of our caliber should be worrying about."

He walked to the door, paused, and turned back. "But I must say, you're better than most second-tier craftsmen. At least you dare to dream."

The door closed.

Liu En sat alone in the workshop. The Thinker Core still sat on the workbench, the detector humming faintly in standby mode. He didn't touch the core again, but leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes.

Every difficulty Vitellius spoke of was true—for others. Dockyards, mechanics, priests, craftsmen, materials, furnaces, and divine grace—all were indispensable.

But he doesn't need a dock. He can mold directly in a vacuum, combining elements at the atomic level, forming a single, unified whole.

He doesn't need hundreds of thousands of servants. His field is the best transporter, and his consciousness is the best supervisor.

He didn't need several technical priests and hundreds of craftsmen. His database contained blueprints pieced together from thousands of fragments, with the precise location of every atom recorded.

He doesn't need a furnace to forge the world. His higher-dimensional space already contains tens of millions of tons of atoms, and it's constantly growing. Carbon, hydrogen, oxygen, iron, silicon, and various rare elements are stored by category and can be retrieved at any time.

As for the protection of the God of Machines—he didn't know what that was, nor did he know if he possessed it. But if he could capture universal atoms from the warp, if his power armor could generate machine spirits, then perhaps some form of protection did indeed exist.

He wasn't daydreaming. He was planning.

The problem was location. He couldn't do this in Lucis. There were too many ships, sensors, and patrols in the Hive City orbit. He needed a place where no one would bother him or see him.

Liu En opened his eyes and walked to the star map on the wall. It was a hologram of the Lucis system, marking planetary orbits, docks, space stations, and various facilities. His gaze swept over the dense industrial facilities of the inner system and moved outwards.

On the edge of the Lucis system, beyond the Kuiper Belt, lies an area known as the "Wasteland." For centuries, this has been where the Lucis Forge world has dumped the wreckage of its obsolete ships—debris from wrecked vessels pushed to the outer reaches of the system by tugboats, left to float in the vacuum. There are no patrols, no settlements, only endless darkness and silent steel tombs.

Vitellius said that only wrecked spaceships have value; surface debris is just the lowest level of junk. He's right. Those hulls that have floated in the vacuum for decades or even centuries are relatively structurally intact, with almost no loss of atomic-level information. If he could access those things, his blueprints would be completed rapidly.

More importantly, the location was far enough away and secluded enough. He could silently construct a complete cruiser amidst that pile of wrecked ships using atomic modeling techniques. Then, he could buy an identification code from a black market middleman and have it engraved on the keel. A legal—at least legal on paper—ship would be born.

Liu En turned off the star chart and returned to his worktable.

He also needs more atomic reserves, more complete ship blueprints, and black market funds to buy identification codes. At the current rate of dismantling parts, this will likely take some time. Furthermore, he needs to find a way to contact black market middlemen. The secondhand markets in Zhongchao, the black markets in Xiachao, and those merchants who operate on the fringes of legality are all potential channels.

Liu En picked up the Thinker's Core, his fingers touching it, and a field of energy enveloped it. The decomposition command was issued. The core silently transformed into a cloud of atoms, stored in a higher-dimensional space. Atoms were stored. Information was archived—he already possessed the complete blueprint for the core; there was no need to retain the physical object.

He stood up and turned off the light on the workbench. The workshop fell into darkness, with only the quiet white noise of the ventilation system whirring. Six machine tools stood against the wall, their optical lenses flashing a faint red light in the darkness.

Liu En lay down on the bed in the rest area and closed his eyes.

The plan is in place. First, save up the money, then find a way to buy the identification code, and then go to the abandoned shipwreck area on the outskirts of the star system, where you'll build the ship from among the piles of wrecked vessels. Not ordering from a shipyard, not buying scrap from the black market. It's about building it entirely by hand, from start to finish.

No one will know. No one can imagine it.

He turned over, and his breathing gradually calmed down.