Returning to his shelter, Li Qingyu lit scented candles, placed them at the altar, and put a bottle of cooking oil, about 150 ml, inside.
The system displayed the process of creating Holy Oil. In twelve hours, the product would be ready.
Although he had not yet seen manifestations of Chaos on the agricultural planet 496b, in the Warhammer 40k world, Chaos was as common as air. It was only a matter of time.
It was better to stock up on Holy Oil in advance – it would come in handy if he had to fry a servant of Chaos.
Having set up production, Li Qingyu moved on to training: push-ups, squats, shuttle runs with a load. After a couple of hours, he was breathing heavily, exhausted to the limit.
Checking his stats, he noted progress: Endurance rose to 13, Energy – to 11.
He wiped himself with a rag, swallowed a few spoonfuls of sour sludge from a ceramic steel barrel, and instantly fell asleep.
Upon waking, the first thing he did was check the altar. The candles had burned out – the oil had become holy.
Putting the harvested items into storage, he lit another candle, loaded the second bottle, and let the process run on its own.
After finishing his chores, Li Qingyu went out. He had to complete the black merchant's assignment and scout the situation at the reactor.
Reaching the shop, he addressed Nibor:
"I need a pipe shotgun, fifty rounds, body armor with a breastplate, five detonators, and two smoke bombs."
The black merchant nodded to his subordinate, who disappeared into the depths of the shop and returned a moment later with the set.
"My kindest guest, that will be five hundred coupons."
Li Qingyu paid, and began to examine the weapon.
The shotgun was indeed assembled from plumbing pipes – heavy, without rifling. A double-barreled, for 35mm homemade ammunition, which the merchant made himself.
After checking the weapon, Li Qingyu put on the armor – homemade, of pressed fiber, Class 2, with a durability of 35. For real combat – paper, but for gang showdowns, it was quite enough. Opponents mainly used melee weapons and primitive homemade guns.
Equipped, Li Qingyu asked:
"Where is the reactor?"
Nibor broke into a false smile:
"Oh, my kindest guest, going to crush cockroaches? Magnificent!"
He handed over a sheet of paper.
"Here's a map to the reactor. You won't get lost with it."
A notification flashed in Li Qingyu's mind:
*Ding!* New map discovered: Underground Reactor.
It was an abandoned chemical plant in the depths of the Underhive – rusty pipes, ceramic steel structures, the dim light of rare lamps, crampedness, and darkness.
Li Qingyu put away the map and was about to leave, but Nibor warned:
"Be careful. The Chemical gang keeps many 'Chem-swines' on drugs, and there's a whole horde of them there."
He added:
"But their brains are fried. Most of them can't even pull a trigger – except maybe to swing a melee weapon. Explaining the Imperial Truth to them is like understanding quantum physics."
Li Qingyu nodded briefly and left.
Leaving the territory of the Fertilizers Gang, he followed the map's directions, navigating through confusing tunnels. A green timer flashed in the corner of his vision:
Deployment: Reactor. 10, 9, 8, 7…
When the countdown reached zero, the world spun – and the next moment he found himself in a new space.
This was the "Reactor" map – a cube of five levels of metal platforms. In the center was a huge tank passing through all the floors. The very reactor for which the war between the Fertilizers Gang and the Chemical Gang was being fought.
Upon landing, Li Qingyu pressed himself against the wall, listening. Below, footsteps thundered, voices could be heard, laughter – the noise came from the first level.
He was on the fifth. He cautiously moved down, step by step, trying not to make noise.
On the second level, voices were heard:
"If we capture the reactor, we can cook more chemicals, get even more people hooked!"
"And then we'll visit the Fertilizers Gang – and that's it, the district is ours, ha-ha!"
Li Qingyu peeked out from behind the stairs. Below, by a barrel, some suspicious piece of meat was being fried. Around it sat a dozen ragged figures with syringes and chemical tattoos – typical Chem-swines.
He counted them carefully: eleven. Weapons – machetes made of scrap metal, bodies – shaky, eyes – glazed. Most were high.
Seeing that they were standing close together, Li Qingyu took out two detonators, lit the fuses, and threw them down.
Weapons in the Warhammer 40k world were never moderate. Each detonator contained half a kilogram of explosives – a total of one kilogram of pure hell.
The stoned Chem-swines didn't even notice that something had fallen at their feet. They chatted until the last moment.
*BOOM-BOOM!!*
The explosion shook the reactor, metal screeched, dust rose in a column.
Of the eleven Chem-swines, seven died instantly, four were still writhing on the floor, choking on blood. One, who had lost a leg, shrieked, clutching his stump.
Li Qingyu descended. The surviving Chem-swine, guessing who was in front of him by his armor, yelled:
"The Family won't spare you! Mother will turn you into chemical pigs!!"
Li Qingyu didn't listen. He raised his shotgun – a shot blew the enemy's head off. Then he began looting.