I'm in Warhammer, please don't praise Doraemon

Chapter 649 No More Dreams
Duarte Galaxy
This galaxy, which once witnessed the battle between Zhou Yun and the Silent King, now contains no stars or planets. All matter within the galaxy has been condensed into a massive rocky planet under the control of Orikan, who has ascended to the status of a star god.

The laws of physics near this rocky planet have been altered by Orikan, allowing it to exist normally while retaining its enormous mass.

Above this planet's orbit, space necropolis ships from all over the galaxy float like dazzling emerald crescent moons, containing most of the space necropolis from across the entire galaxy.

The vastness of the universe is always awe-inspiring. Even considering only space, Terra alone could easily support billions of people. The planet Zhou Yun is currently standing on is a fusion of the matter of an entire galaxy, its surface area tens of thousands of times larger than Terra. It could easily accommodate the entire human empire, let alone the undead population of space.
The quality of life in the Milky Way is so insignificant, yet these seemingly minuscule lives can determine the fate of the galaxy, twist the course of stars, destroy stars, extinguish galaxies, burn the Milky Way, and even give rise to the birth of a god.

Of course, directing so many space undead to land on a star system is an extremely complex task.

Fortunately, Zhou Yun had control of the master control protocol for the space undead. His commands could directly control each individual space undead, making them move as if they were his own fingers.
As for the specific plans, Zhou Yun entrusted them to his beloved Regent, Guilliman.
Isn't that his extraordinary brain designed for this kind of work?
We need to give him more responsibilities, so he won't always be thinking about writing that imperial holy book. The empire doesn't have that many people who need to defecate, and it doesn't need that much toilet paper.

Zhou Yun analyzed Guilliman's appearances in over 20,000 dreams and discovered that the probability of Guilliman being corrupted was inversely proportional to his workload; the more work Guilliman did, the lower his probability of corruption.

Even in one dream, amidst the Emperor's silence, Zhou Yun's physical body destroyed, the clone Fuchs' corruption, and Dante's death and dissipation, Guilliman took on the work of the entire Empire.
In this situation, he was corrupted by the combined efforts of the four gods, but instead of falling, he forced the gods to work on him in an effort to create a rift in his thinking.
“I know you’re in a hurry, and I know you want to corrupt me, but you have to help me finish my work first.”

"I'm too busy to have time for corruption and depravity."

Get to work, thirteenth brother. Overtime is your blessing in this life. I'll send you to farm in your next life.

Zhou Yun thought to himself silently.

He was sitting on a rocky ridge protruding from the ground, his eyes half-closed, gently enjoying the tranquility of sleep.
Of all Zhou Yun's abilities, his favorite is the ability to sleep at supersonic speed.
This ability allowed him to ignore his surroundings and instantly enter a state of deathly tranquility.
It was precisely because of this ability that Zhou Yun was able to maintain a good mental state.
Sleep is a prelude to death; this ability likely originates from the realm of erosion and destruction, from the Lord of Darkness.
Just then, a crisp sound of time and space tearing rang in Zhou Yun's ears. A hoof made of forged steel stepped onto the ground, instantly transporting him to the planet Duat.
Metallic wings gently pierced the ether, and those eyes burned with furnace-like fire as they stared at the sleeping Zhou Yun.

The visitor was not in a hurry, calmly waiting for Zhou Yun to wake up from his sleep.

Five and twenty-two minutes later, Zhou Yun slowly opened his eyes and looked at Vashtor standing beside him.

Vashtor nodded to him, and then a series of documents flew from Vashtor's fingertips, swirling around Zhou Yun and weaving into a contract.

"This is my sincerity."

“If you cease competing with me for the throne of the God of All Machines, I will share all the power of that position with you.”

"I will guarantee that my actions will not harm humanity. I will grant humanity weapons of war that are beyond imagination. I will fully open the domain of Vicious Arts to you, and you may use the power within the domain of Vicious Arts at will."

"Furthermore, you may command me to do most things for you with the power of the God of All Machines, and I will absolutely obey, as long as you relinquish the throne of the Vicious Arts to me."

This is Vashtor's final offer.
He came to become a god, but He will open the power of the realm of vicious arts to Zhou Yun, obey most of Zhou Yun's commands, and serve the human race.

In Vashtor's view, these were roughly the things Zhou Yun was pursuing.
Vashtor was willing to give Zhou Yun power, authority, and the future of the human race.

"You should understand that becoming a god is not a good thing. The one who becomes a god is both the last and the first sacrifice, a member of the altar. If you take the wrong step, you will be doomed and you will no longer be yourself."

"For an existence like you from the material universe, the risk of ascension is far too great. How about I bear that tragic fate, and you share the power of the Vicious Arts Domain?"

"Since you know this, why are you so eager to be promoted?" Zhou Yun opened his sleepy eyes and stared at Vashtor, asking.

"I am not seeking ascension, but only that ascension would allow me to ascend to a higher place, glimpse the truth of the world, and use that knowledge to create more things."

Vashtor's expression remained unchanged, only the machinery around his body hummed.

"I was born amidst the chaos of the War of Heaven, born from the most malevolent and terrifying creative forces, forces that were constantly pursuing more insane knowledge and more horrifying creations."

"And I was born just like this. Looking around, I don't know why I was born, what caused my birth, or what I am going to do after I was born. I can't see the past behind me, and I find no future ahead. Everything in my eyes is the present happening at the same time."

"My body is now filled with only one primal impulse: a thirst for more knowledge, a thirst for creating more powerful things, and a yearning to freely unleash my creativity."

"I don't care where my creativity is used, where my knowledge is used, or how others use my creations. I only pursue more creativity, more knowledge, and more powerful creations. For this, I must ascend."

"Sign this contract with me, and we can each get what we need."

“You are a rational and logical being, which is rare in the warp.” Zhou Yun gently raised his head, turned his head to look at Vashtor, and said to him in a low voice, “In that case, you should also understand that your chances of winning are very slim.”

“Even when I began my ascension, most of the Emperor’s power had to be used to resist the pressure from the two realms. Even if Nurgle and Slaanesh were tied up by Tzeentch and Khorne, you were still no match for me.”

“I have Guilliman, I have Sanguillès, I have Lane, I have Klonforgen, and all you have at your disposal is Peturabo and Magnus, who is no longer entirely under Tzeentch’s control.”

“I still have Eurican. He hasn’t fully recovered yet, but if the situation becomes critical, he can still forcibly ascend to the Star God level again. How can you fight against a newly born but fully recovered Star God?”

"Therefore, I hope to resolve our differences through negotiation and contracts, rather than foolishly confronting you directly." Vashtor said slowly and deliberately, giving Zhou Yun a slight bow in respect.

"What if I refuse your contract?" Zhou Yun said softly.

Vashtor stiffened, then shook his head: "Then I'll regret to inform you that I have no choice but to fight to the death."

"This is not rational or logical at all. Statistically speaking, the expected value of you being my enemy is completely negative."

"My composition determines that I am more rational and logical than other subspaces, but this is only an appearance. The essence of any subspace is extreme."

Vashtor lowered his voice, his fiery eyes flickering for a few moments, then he said:
"Moreover, precisely because of my rationality and logic, I understand that rationality and logic can only be a means to achieve a goal, not the goal itself."

"Your bloodline must come from the Dragon Kingdom on Terra, the home planet of humanity, right? Your ancestor once said something that left a deep impression on me."

"If you hear the Tao in the morning, you will die in the evening."

"If I could hear of this, I would live in peace and die in tranquility, without any regrets."

"If I cannot understand the natural order of all things, what is the point of living, what is the point of dying peacefully? Filled with regret, how can I not fight?" A moment of silence followed, then Zhou Yun let out a soft breath:

"It's the same, there's no other choice, how can we not take the risk?"

Vashtor understood that Zhou Yun had rejected His proposal.
This greatly disappointed Vashtor, who had actually hoped to cooperate with Zhou Yun and was very curious about the principles behind Zhou Yun's wondrous artifacts.

But He didn't say anything; he simply stood up and nodded slightly in greeting.

"Then see you tomorrow," said the Lord of the Soul Forge.

Zhou Yun smiled and nodded: "See you tomorrow."

“Sweet dreams,” Vashtor hesitated for a moment, then said softly.

Then, the crisp sound of time and space tearing rang out again, and Vashtor's body disappeared from Zhou Yun's side.

After Vashtor left, Zhou Yun closed his eyes slightly, leaned against the rock ridge, closed his eyes again, and fell into a peaceful sleep.

"I haven't dreamed in a long time."

He is dreaming.

Guilliman realized this very calmly.

He rarely dreams, and even when he does, his superhuman brain allows him to instantly distinguish the subtle differences between dreams and reality.
Guilliman was just planning the plan for the space undead to land on Duat, and it's basically complete.
But now, I don't know how I've gotten into this dream.
Have you been too tired lately?

Is he no longer as reliable as he used to be?

A bitter feeling welled up in Guilliman's heart.
The situation is becoming increasingly critical, yet he has become less reliable, and deep down, that lingering worry persists.
Zhou Yun once told him,

Guilliman, the probability of you being corrupted is not zero.
Not zero
Guilliman understood why Zhou Yun had said that to him.
Guilliman understood the terrible consequences of his corruption and depravity.
That would be no less significant than Horus's rebellion. This wasn't Guilliman's arrogance, but rather his rational analysis.

Therefore, Guilliman had to consider this possibility, develop a contingency plan, and select a replacement for himself.
However, although Fugen was meticulous and flawless in his work, he was ultimately not reliable enough.
Dante satisfied Guilliman in every way, but unfortunately, he was ultimately an Astartes, and at this moment, he was probably even more mentally exhausted than Guilliman, having already reached his limit.

Sanguis was better suited to be an emperor, but Guilliman needed a Macardo.

Ryan should continue jungling.

Zhou Yun promised that once he completed his promotion, he would make government affairs simpler. He could only hope that he could cultivate some Astartes or even ordinary politicians to replace Guilliman.
Guilliman shook his head hastily.
He almost got lost in the dream.
How could he waste time dreaming at a time like this?
Guilliman wanted to wake up, but he was surprised to find himself still dreaming.

This is very strange. Could this be some kind of attack?
From whom?
Guilliman remained expressionless, surveying his surroundings within his dream world.

His surroundings were exactly the same as his office, as if they were a one-to-one replica.
However, when Guilliman used his superhuman hearing, he couldn't hear any sounds outside the office.

He stood up, intending to find the Emperor's Sword, but suddenly remembered that the sword had flown to Terra yesterday and fallen into the Emperor's hands, and had not yet returned to him.
And even in the dream, there was no projection of the emperor's sword.
Guilliman could only pick up his spare power sword, slowly push open the door, and walk out of his office.

Then, Guilliman paused for a moment, somewhat surprised to find that what stood outside his door was not the Glory of Macragge, but a marble palace standing atop Macragge.
The moment he opened the door, he appeared in a marble corridor of the palace.
Guilliman recognized the palace; he walked to a pillar in the marble colonnade.
There are some rough, short, fine scratches on it, arranged from bottom to top.

Guilliman gently touched the engravings with his fingers.
These are the markings Mrs. Euton used to record his height.
Most people feel fear, dread, and awe at Guilliman's rapid growth in his childhood.

Only Mrs. Euton was pleased with this, as if Guilliman were just a child who was growing up very fast.

Guilliman couldn't help but chuckle softly.
But his laughter stopped abruptly. He saw, beyond the corridor, in the azure sky of Macurag, a dark, deep sun suspended above, looking down upon the entire planet, looking down upon Guilliman's dream.

"Father?" Guilliman asked, his voice tinged with confusion and a hint of worry.

"Thirteen."

"tool."

"screwdriver."

"Son of War".

"Regent."

"The emperor's most loyal son."

"Our hope."

"Lord of Ottaramar".

"The father of genetics".

Countless voices suddenly rang in Guilliman's ears, a cacophony of sounds, as if billions of people were calling to him in different voices and words.
Guilliman couldn't help but take two or three steps back.
“Guilliman.” Finally, a voice overwhelmed all others: “Robert Guilliman.”

A wrinkled hand slowly touched Guilliman's tired face.

Her fingertips traced every wrinkle on Guilliman's face, the dark circles under his eyes, and a strand of white hair among his blond hair, as if she wanted to wipe away the signs of fatigue on Guilliman's face with her fingers.

Guilliman could barely speak; his throat felt stiff as if it were filled with cement, and he was almost afraid to move his body.
“You look so tired, Robert, you’ve lost weight.”

"Mother."

(End of this chapter)