36: Chapter 36 Production Capacity Increase and Combat Readiness Accelerated

The machine intelligence system of the raven reconnaissance drone saw its first line of defense breached by Old Tom a few weeks later. That code, as simple as a question, had taken Old Tom nearly three weeks to find the corresponding method of interpretation—not decryption, but "learning." The machine intelligence system did not accept brute force, but it did accept "dialogue." Old Tom spent several hours every day sitting in the cockpit of that reconnaissance drone, inputting inferred response sequences into the cursor blinking on the screen. If he was wrong, the system didn't report an error, it just changed the cursor from a question mark to a minus sign. If he was right, the cursor changed from a minus sign back to a question mark.

Finally, at the end of the third week, he discovered a pattern: the system's questions weren't technical, but philosophical—it cared about who was using it, not how it was being used. He typed in a line he had thought about for a long time: "We are those trying to survive in a place where the Emperor's light cannot reach." The cursor on the screen paused for a few seconds. Then it flashed once and turned into a new line of text: "Authorization granted. Welcome aboard, citizen."

When Old Tom called him over, the reconnaissance drone's engine was already running. Its roar echoed in the underground hangar, and dust shook loose from the wings like a layer of several hundred years of time finally being vibrated free. Lin Mo stood in the hangar, feeling the vibration of the engine's roar transmitted through the ground to the soles of his feet. He roughly estimated the range and payload capacity this aircraft could cover, realizing it provided something Blackstone Town had never possessed—aerial reconnaissance capability.

The production lines at the Arsenal were also speeding up. Old Tom's apprentices were now able to independently complete eighty percent of the processes, and the daily utilization rate of the steam forge hammers had increased from less than half to nearly full capacity. When Rock passed the Arsenal entrance from the training grounds, he shouted inside, "Old Tom, are there enough gun barrels yet?" Old Tom didn't even look up: "What's the rush? Gun barrels don't grow legs and run away on their own." Rock laughed and walked away.

Old Tom's apprentices were now able to independently complete most of the processes, and the daily utilization rate of the steam forge hammers had increased from less than half to nearly full capacity. When Rock passed the Arsenal entrance from the training grounds, he shouted inside, "Old Tom, are there enough gun barrels yet?" Old Tom didn't even look up: "What's the rush? Gun barrels don't grow legs and run away on their own." Rock laughed and walked away.

Lin Mo hung a new progress chart on the wall of the Intelligence Center—he had listed the repair of the raven reconnaissance drone as the current highest priority task. Alice saw the chart when she came to deliver the medical supply list; she stood at the door for a while, not disturbing him.

He had listed the repair of the raven reconnaissance drone as the current highest priority task—not because it could directly change the course of the war, but because the reconnaissance capability it provided was a one-time strategic upgrade. With aerial vision, Blackstone Town's defense would no longer be like blind men feeling an elephant.

The wind passed through the ruins, letting out a low wail, as if something massive were breathing underground. He told himself it was just the sound of the wind. But in the universe of warhammer 40k, the sound of the wind was never just the sound of the wind.

He silently calculated in his mind: how many days of food reserves were left, how much ammunition had been consumed, and how many people were needed for the next patrol. These numbers meshed together in his head like gears; every single number was connected to three others—change one, and everything had to be recalculated.

---

The clouds on the distant ridge were dyed a rust color by the last rays of the setting sun, looking like a piece of burnt sheet metal.

He knew that this engine wouldn't solve all the problems—but it could at least solve one. Before finding the next energy solution, every rotation of the steam forge hammer's roar was buying time for Blackstone Town.

*In the blank space of Chapter 36,*

*there is an echo that hasn't yet landed.*

The raven reconnaissance drone's first test flight was conducted before dawn. Marcus sat in the cockpit, hands gripping the control stick. The moment the engine started, the entire hangar was filled with the sound of its roar. He said one sentence over the comms channel: "I'm taking off." Lin Mo stood outside the hangar, watching the repaired reconnaissance drone taxi out, accelerate, lift its nose, and ascend into the morning light. He hoped this aircraft would bring back not just reconnaissance data, but a signal—that Blackstone Town was no longer a place that could only passively take a beating.

After the aircraft disappeared into the clouds, Lin Mo heard only Marcus's breathing over the comms channel. That steady breathing told him every second: the plane is still flying. The pilot is still alive.

Marcus had a habit that no one knew about—before every takeoff, he would draw an arc on the cockpit instrument panel with his finger. Not a cross, not a prayer, just an arc, from left to right. Someone had asked him what it meant; he just smiled and didn't answer. Later, Old Tom said privately that the curvature of that arc was exactly the same as the arc of the sun setting on the horizon of his home planet. Marcus never mentioned his home, nor how he came to Hope Star. He only drew that arc before every takeoff—as if telling someone who was no longer there that he was still alive, still flying.

Lin Mo asked him once after the Raven landed: "That arc—is it something about your home?"

Marcus was filling out the flight log, and the tip of his pen paused on the paper. "Yeah."

"Can you still go back?"

Marcus didn't look up. "Can't go back," he said. Then he continued writing the log and didn't speak again. Lin Mo didn't press further. But at the end of that day's flight log, he saw that Marcus had drawn a small, glowing star in the remarks section—at the end of the same direction as that arc.

In this sea of stars, every inhabited planet is a lonely island. The Imperium does not rescue lonely islands; the Imperium only records their coordinates after the island has fallen. Lin Mo didn't know if this counted as cold-blooded, but he knew that if he wanted to survive, he couldn't count on any reinforcements from across the sea of stars.

The repair of the raven reconnaissance drone's fuselage was a more complex process than expected. After measuring the thickness of the wing skin, Old Tom found a problem—the existing iron sheets weren't thick enough; if forced on, the skin would tear during high-speed flight. He spent half a day calculating repeatedly and finally decided to use a composite process of two layers of thin iron sheet with a layer of adhesive in the middle to replace a single thick iron sheet. This was an inspiration he got from the hull repair techniques of old Imperial transport ships.

Lin Mo watched in the hangar as Old Tom riveted the first piece of composite skin onto the wing frame. Old Tom did this without referring to blueprints—it was all by feel. The rivet spacing was even, the riveting depth was consistent, and the angle of every rivet driven in was just right. Lin Mo asked him where he had learned this craft, and Old Tom said, "Imperial Guard Engineer Battalion—learned it during my service. But that was many years ago."

The footsteps of the militia on the training grounds were faintly audible in the distance. When Rock was away, the training was taken over by the veterans he had brought up—those who had survived crusades and defensive wars. Their training methods were stricter than Rock's because they knew more clearly how low the margin for error was on the battlefield. Lin Mo would occasionally stand outside the training ground fence and watch them train, not to check on progress, but to remind himself—those people crawling in the mud and holding rifles under the scorching sun were the true foundation of Blackstone Town.

[What is this thing?] Someone poked a metal fragment on the ground with a gun barrel.

[Don't touch it,] Lin Mo stopped him, [it might be a chaos mark.]

*Wait for the person who turns to the next chapter to listen.*

Lin Mo looked away from the map and glanced out the window. Under the grayish-purple canopy, the Arsenal's chimney was still quietly emitting smoke. Every day he spent on this planet told him the same truth: in this universe, there is no such thing as a permanent victory, only a defense that never slackens for a single day.

*The Black Legion's outposts are closing in,*

*the arc of Chaos is tightening.*

*—Lin Mo's notes on defensive deployment as the Black Legion approaches*

However, the true threat was not in front of him—it had been behind him all along, it just hadn't reached the time to reveal itself.

Late at night, Lin Mo received an encrypted signal from afar in the Intelligence Center. The signal was very weak, barely readable only after being amplified three times by the communication relay stations. The content was very short—just a line of coordinates and two words: "Survived. Come quickly."

He stared at that line of coordinates for a long time. The coordinates pointed to the southern tip of Hope Star—an area that had never been scouted. The person sending the signal used standard Imperial encryption protocols, but the key version was nearly twenty years older than what Blackstone Town currently had. This meant that person—or that group of people—had been disconnected from the mainstream Imperial communication network for at least twenty years.

Lin Mo marked the coordinates on the map and drew a circle with a red pen. Twenty years of disconnection meant that group of people had survived alone at the southern tip of Hope Star for at least twenty years. How did they do it? How many of them were left? What was their purpose in sending this signal?

Another thread had dropped from this increasingly complex web. He needed to decide—whether to reel in the existing lines first, or go pull on this one.

Late at night, Lin Mo spread the map of the southern region on the table in the Intelligence Center. The signal source coordinates from afar were marked at the southern tip—an area labeled as a "Radiation Exclusion Zone." But there was a living person sending a signal at those coordinates, which meant the so-called "Radiation Exclusion Zone" might not be as dangerous as described in the Imperial archives—or those survivors had found some way to survive. He circled that coordinate in red pen and wrote a question mark next to it. Then he opened the geological data of Hope Star provided by the mirror of the emperor—there were multiple natural shielding layers in the southern geological structure that could theoretically block most radiation. Perhaps those survivors had utilized these natural shielding layers to stay alive.

The night grew deep. One by one, the lights of Blackstone Town went out, leaving only the torches on the watchtowers swaying in the wind. He stood by the window for a while, then returned to the table to continue writing his plan.

The night wind blew again. This gust was cooler than the last, carrying a scent of mixed metal and earth. He wrapped his coarse cloth coat—which already had frayed edges—tighter around him. It was given to him by the villagers and was much warmer than the T-shirt he wore when he transmigrated.

*[The great roc rises with the wind one day, soaring ninety thousand miles straight up.]*

*—Li Bai, "To Li Yong." Memory fragment from the mirror of the emperor*