Chapter 74

“Achoo!”

Inside the cockpit, Alvin suddenly felt a chill run down his spine.

He racked his brain—had he offended anyone lately? Could it be that the judge, muttering curses in the back car?

Probably not the Judge—he himself said he didn’t mind a little “inconvenience.”

“Boss, want a smoke?”

Falco, in charge of the convoy’s route, offered a cigarette with a sly grin: “It’s colder outside than in the Nest, but we’re almost there.”

Alvin took the cigarette, lit it, and exhaled a smoke ring: “Good job. I’ll recommend you to the Big Boss when we get back.”

“Thank you, Boss! You can count on me—I won’t let you down!”

Unaware he’d been PUA’d again, Falco threw himself into his work with pure delight.

After leaving the Nest, the convoy had to travel another eight hours.

The route was rough, requiring detours around several radiation zones, so progress was slow.

“What a fucking wasteland.”

Gazing out the window at endless wasteland shrouded in yellow dust, Alvin sighed.

His former self had grown up in the Lower Nest, never once leaving the city.

This was Alvin’s first time seeing the world beyond the Nest.

It differed from his imagination—the entire planet’s surface was barren. Hours into the journey, not a single living thing appeared.

This was Lothar’s true face: a planet stripped of all resources, leaving only a scarred, desolate wasteland!

“Yeah, nothing but sand,” Falco said, lighting another cigarette now that the route was set: “But I heard it wasn’t always this way—fifty years ago, it was different.”

Alvin remained expressionless, teasing: “Didn’t know you were so well-informed.”

“Just hearsay—I don’t know if it’s true,” Falco said, shaking his head: “I heard it from a scavenger in the Lower Nest. He said fifty years ago, there were many towns outside the Nest, but as the climate worsened, everyone moved inside.”

Fifty years ago…

Alvin held the cigarette, lost in thought.

The Ironstone Mine was abandoned, its residents slaughtered, the climate degraded—was there a connection?

No, the crucial link was still missing. He couldn’t deduce it yet.

Frustrated, Alvin crushed out the cigarette and gave up thinking. He stared at the barren surface, silently resolving: When we reach Ironstone Mine, I’ll find out.

Fifty kilometers wasn’t far.

After several hours of staring at endless yellow dunes, Alvin finally saw a different color.

Amid the dusty wasteland stood a colossal factory!

Its grotesque steel structure resembled a snarling black beast, belching thick black smoke that stained the sky with heavy gloom!

Is Ironstone Town really this big?

Gazing at the distant behemoth, Alvin was stunned again.

As they drew closer, details emerged—the factory’s shell was corroded by sand, revealing patches of rusted iron.

Massive chimneys spewed dense black smoke; heavy machinery roared from within, shaking the ground as if the sound could pierce clouds and earth itself.

This was the first true glimpse Alvin had ever seen of a Warhammer universe technological artifact since his transmigration.

The entire factory exuded the raw, mechanical beauty unique to its kind, radiating a distinct, brutal aesthetic.

In short—it was a factory straight out of Warhammer.

Ironstone Mine sat in a bizarre location: a chasm yawned before it, while a hollowed-out mountain loomed behind. Beneath the abyss, faint shapes of abandoned machinery could be seen—likely former mining tunnels.

But what puzzled Alvin was: why would a cult occupy such a factory?

Just for sacrificial rituals?

His gut told him this was far more complex.

The cult occupying Ironstone Mine and continuously funneling humans here must have a grander scheme.

The only path to Ironstone Mine was a bridge spanning the abyss.

But beyond this point, they were forbidden to proceed.

Falco and the others, wielding rusty saw-guns, barked orders at the confused Lower Nesters: “Move it! Get in there, or I’ll shoot!”

To instill fear, they fired, shattering the legs of several men.

Instantly, the chaos subsided. The Lower Nesters, cowed by Falco’s brutality, trudged onto the bridge.

Alvin stood to the side, smoking silently, his gaze locked on the “Judge.”

The man looked weak—pale face, legs trembling.

Sensing Alvin’s stare, Winnie gave a faint nod, then vanished into the crowd.

“Boss, we can head back.”

As the last person entered the mine, Falco grinned obsequiously: “The rest isn’t our problem anymore.”

“Alright. Let’s go.”

Confident the Judge understood his glance, Alvin nodded slightly and climbed into the passenger seat.

Falco hummed a tune, driving back with a satisfied smirk.

Already, he was fantasizing about becoming the gang’s next minor boss, living a life of luxury.

After the convoy drove fifteen kilometers, leaving Ironstone Mine far behind and surrounded only by barren plains, Alvin turned to glance at Falco, still humming.

Sensing the gaze, Falco’s face lit up with sycophantic cheer: “Boss? What is it?”

Alvin smiled faintly—then snapped his neck with psychic force!

Crack!

With a crisp snap, Falco slumped in the driver’s seat, face frozen in shock.

Alvin didn’t forget the other two—he used psychic force to crush their skulls from afar.

After eliminating the three scum, the three vehicles were abandoned by the roadside.

Alvin had no time to deal with them now. He pulled the folded Mark V armor from his personal space.

Once donned, the sleek silver-black armor perfectly encased every inch of his body.

Systems within the visor loaded sequentially, emitting digital prompts:

“User detected. Confirmed: Alvin Valthius.”

“Armor self-check complete. Weapons operational. Terrain scan successfully logged.”

No wonder Tony Stark built this—every detail suited Alvin’s habits perfectly.

Almost without adaptation, the armor’s systems had already switched to his exclusive mode.

“Ironstone Mine—I’m coming!”

Intense thrusters ignited beneath his feet, launching Alvin skyward like a meteor.

From above, Ironstone Mine loomed like a monstrous beast crouched on the cliffside, vomiting thick black smoke into the heavens!

“Detected massive thermal signatures within.”

“Warning! Warning! Warning!”

“User, retreat! Retreat! Retreat!”

Suddenly, Alvin’s vision twisted.

A piercing shriek tore through him—he felt dragged into an abyss, thick with the stench of blood, as he glimpsed mountains of skulls piled high.

The steel factory before him had transformed into a grotesque, fleshy abomination.

From its core poured an unending tide of malice, originating from the Highest Twisted Heavens; upon its blasphemous spikes coiled countless fallen symbols!

Violent danger warnings sent billions of his cells screaming in primal terror.

The instinct of soul and life screamed at him—flee that factory!