A five-hundred-kilogram square block of iron was what Yuno had cast by melting steel with her psychic power. Furthermore, it bore psychic imprints capable of suppressing Yuki's physical strength.
This was Yuki's training method.
According to Yuno, the potential of this body was essentially limitless; it could be strengthened simply by consuming organic matter. However, that process was relatively slow. To accelerate it, he had to stimulate his muscles much like a human working out—which was exactly what Yuki was doing now.
In the abandoned factory, a completely sealed space had been cleared out, filled with various metals of extreme density.
"A five-hundred-kilogram bench press doesn't seem particularly difficult now. When are we bumping it up to a ton?"
Yuno stood to the side, but Yuki was not nearly as relaxed as she thought. He felt as though his muscles were tearing apart, yet the Tyranid organism granted him incredible regenerative capabilities. While his flesh suffered trauma, it recovered frantically, forcing the ingested organic matter to reinforce his physique.
The first time he lifted the five-hundred-kilogram block, he could actually feel the bones in his forearms snapping. It was only when his simulated human flesh hardened into chitinous layers that he managed to hold out.
In the first hour, he could only manage five reps. The result of those five reps was full-body muscle contusion, fractured bones, and cerebral hemorrhaging. If this body hadn't actually been Tyranid, such injuries would have been enough to kill him again.
Yet, the rate of improvement was astonishing.
From the districts he controlled and others nearby, Yuki had acquired a total of thirty thousand corpses. He used ten thousand of them solely to reinforce himself. By the thirteenth hour, he was able to perform sets smoothly with this half-ton of iron.
"Phew."
Yuki hoisted the iron block, his muscles taut, and set it on the ground. "So tired."
Blood trickled from his body, though these were now considered minor scratches.
"At this rate, it will still be difficult to contend with an Astartes through physical strength alone," Yuno reminded him seriously. "Their reaction speeds and combat experience are far beyond yours. Furthermore, they can temporarily boost their combat effectiveness through the sheer force of their idealistic faith."
"For example?"
"Take Calgar, for instance. I certainly didn't expect him to be able to take down my Swarmlord. Still, dealing with a regular Space Marine shouldn't be a problem for you now."
As she spoke, Yuno casually tossed a bone dagger. Yuki reached out to catch it, but the dagger suddenly sprouted a mass of bone spurs that sank deep into his flesh. As the pain intensified, the small dagger gradually merged into Yuki's body.
"Keep this. It can serve as a weapon in critical moments."
"Is there anything special about it?"
"It's a psychic weapon, crafted from the vertebrae of this body of mine. In a crisis, it might prevent you from having to switch to a new body."
...
The abandoned corpse-starch processing plant was now in full production, and its efficiency was eerily high. To outsiders, the plant's productivity and raw material utilization rate were terrifyingly superior.
According to observations from the workers inside, for every ten tons of raw material sent in, nearly nine tons of corpse-starch could be produced. This surpassed the vast majority of Imperial production lines. Furthermore, the line seemed to require no manual operation; so far, the only jobs the humans knew of were transporting raw materials and finished products. How so much food was produced and where it came from remained a mystery to everyone.
Yuki himself was an even more enigmatic figure. No one could clearly state his origins. Even the twins and Eleven, who were closest to him, had no idea where he came from.
Consequently, all sorts of rumors began to spread. Some said he was an assassin from the Officio Assassinorum, lurking here to assassinate the Planetary Governor; some said he was a secret envoy of the Ecclesiarchy; others claimed he was a clandestine priest of the Adeptus Mechanicus...
Members of the Ecclesiarchy also visited Yuki's territory. They were searching for traces of other heretical cults, but what exactly they were looking for remained unknown.
For the majority of the population, life remained largely unchanged—still a struggle in the depths of misery. The only difference was that the low-level street bosses had slightly restrained their habit of desecrating corpses.
However, they merely stopped creating new corpse decorations. When Yuki brought Eleven to one of his districts, the things hanging on the walls still left him deeply displeased. It was hard to imagine decorations so devoid of sanity: lampshades fashioned from human bones and mummified remains strung together, swaying in the wind.
The local manager emerged with his subordinates. He greeted Yuki with a mix of wariness and respect. "You really should have told me in advance next time you planned to visit."
The low-level managers weren't entirely convinced of Yuki's authority. Yuki knew this well; no one liked a hassle. He intended to find something he disliked to use as an example to establish his dominance. In the Warhammer world, there were far too many things that could provoke Yuki's anger.
"I'm here to see... why are there so many 'decorations' here?"
"This is our pride and joy! Even the people from the Ecclesiarchy come to us for these," the manager said proudly. He pointed at various cruel ornamental objects displayed nearby. "These are works of art!"
Yuki wasn't a medical student, but in the early "chaos" days of the internet, he had seen plenty of gore. Based on those shallow impressions, the dimensions of those bones did not look like they belonged to adults at all.
Suppressing his rage, Yuki followed the manager as they patrolled the district. "Do you want to see my raw material warehouse?"
"Take me there."
The "raw material warehouse" was a massive storehouse—or rather, a dungeon. Within narrow little rooms, hundreds of "raw materials" were locked up, waiting to be "processed." They were naked, stripped of all human dignity. Their treatment was worse than that of slaves. There were young humans, elderly ones, males, and females.
Yuki fought back his revulsion. Even though Eleven couldn't see, she could sense this shocking scene through her psychic perception.
"Hehe, Boss—I heard they like to call you that—I'm not bragging, but I'm a bit of a genius in this field. Those guys before were always a bit wary of me. If you're willing to help me, Boss, I can guarantee we'll grow big and strong."
As he spoke, the earless man leaned in mysteriously and whispered to Yuki, "Boss, there's actually a children's theater here. Do you want to come watch a performance?"
"Hmm?"
"They're all in good condition. Some people like solo acts, some like groups. And everyone can enjoy a meal after the show—it's much more delicious than corpse-starch."
"Is everyone doing this kind of business?"
"Basically everyone. Other gangs have even larger scales and better connections with those up top."
Yuki felt physically ill. His gaze swept over the miserable souls until a young boy caught his attention. Almost everyone there was like a walking corpse, their eyes dull and lifeless. But this boy—his eyes were filled with nothing but rage.
"Him? His sister passed away not long ago. Of course, that was after you took over. Since receiving your orders, we haven't eaten any 'delicacies'."
Yuki ignored him and walked toward the boy. "What is your name?"