This is our Warhammer journey

Chapter 233 My fellow countrymen, do you need help? (4k)

Tarasin walked slowly through the dark, broken passageway.

The towering metal walls around him were covered with cracks from the burning energy. Fully armed soldiers were spread out in tactical formations, with plasma rifles always locked on his body.

He casually turned his green-glowing goggles, seemingly oblivious to the tense atmosphere of vigilance around him.

The events of today are enough to leave a significant mark on the annals of galactic history, but for this ancient being that has witnessed the rise and fall of countless civilizations, the most pleasant thing is to continue to be a composed observer in the long river of time.

As he passed a partially collapsed storage room, Tarasin suddenly stopped.

Reaching out to gently touch the charred marks on the door frame, my gaze swept over the mountain of cultural relics and remains inside. Those treasures that carried thousands of years of civilization are now reduced to twisted metal frames and crystallized remnants.

"Hey~"

Upon noticing the artifacts that had already been destroyed, Tarasin couldn't help but sigh deeply.

"Your race's talent for destruction is always something to be ashamed of."

"Are you kidding me?"

Faced with Tarachin's words, which sounded like those of someone who had been there all along and were full of preachy implications, Ramses asked in surprise.

How dare a space necromancer say such a thing?

Dark Angels are already preparing to snipe them.

"Of course, there are also reformers among them. They are diligent and eager to learn, full of curiosity. They are weak, but they are still trying to change the terrible living environment of their community through their own efforts."

After glancing around discreetly, Tarasin explained again.

"And the failures along the way added a touch of dark humor to this struggle."

boom!
With a loud bang, the troops passed through the blast door that had just been burned through by a thermoelectric weapon.

Tarachin gracefully stepped in, his facial muscles, made of living metal, twitching slightly, mimicking a human eyebrow raise, even though that eyebrow had only recently been mischievously installed by him.

The room was filled with the acrid smell of ionized air, and the floor was littered with the remains of the defense forces, their armor melted into twisted metal sculptures by the intense heat of the energy weapons.

In the center of the room, the mechanical body of the Great Sage Krieg was completely ripped open from the inside by some unknown force, exposing its intricate mechanical structure, as precise as the internal organs of a living organism.

The weapon hidden inside the body, intended to deter the opponent from acting rashly when threatened, a collapse weapon from the dark age of technology that simulated stellar collapse and could compress surrounding matter into a singularity, has disappeared.

Tarachin couldn't help but marvel. This great sage had clearly mastered the dimensional space of the space necromancers, so how was he able to bypass the protection and be dissected from the inside?
His gaze then turned to the AI ​​core, which was sealed outside the thick, transparent force field. The compressed data consciousness had now fallen into calm, and the barrier that imprisoned it stirred up ripples of energy on the surface of the force field.

Shaking his head, Tarasin's living metal face showed an expression of near pity:
"How could those tomb raiders understand what technology is? They are superstitious about pure power, stealing other people's things, obsessed with cutting the cake instead of making it bigger, and they are even ready to overturn the table at any time so that they can take a little more for themselves."

"What a pathetic shortsightedness."

Tarachin always liked to adopt a condescending, experienced attitude in front of other civilizations, a feeling that pleased this overlord.

Or rather, within the lifeless, stagnant society of the dead, he could at least find some reactions in these nascent civilizations besides their self-isolation.

However, this method is obviously useless against time travelers.

Others may not know where the space necromancers came from, but don't they know?

Is this considered a self-introduction?

Ramses greeted his companions, then asked a question in return.

Taracin's living metallic face froze for once, the light from his dark green eyepiece flickering.

He could clearly sense that Ramses's mockery wasn't directed at his well-known collecting hobby, but rather at a more fundamental and hidden truth—

The origins of the Necromancer race, which they are most reluctant to discuss.

No, this feeling is very bad.

His sharp, sarcastic, and resentful attitude made him feel quite nervous.

"Please continue."

He decided to refrain from provoking Ramses for the time being.

Then Tarasin slowly turned his head and focused his gaze on Kaul, who had remained silent.

The emerald green eyepiece gleamed slightly, scrutinizing and analyzing, as if assessing the value of a rare treasure.

He thought Kaul was pretty good.

Like Fabius Bayer, the apothecary from The Emperor's Son, he is someone who still possesses a pioneering spirit and a scientific mindset within the human race.

However, unlike Bayer's arrogance, this great sage was clearly more intelligent and focused.

They also gained a better understanding of their own limitations.

Therefore, Taracin's attempts to collect either Kaul's clones or his original body often ended in failure.

"."

Faced with the ardent gaze of the space necromancer, Caul instinctively moved a few steps and silently stood beside Arthur, using the Primarch's form to shield himself from the uncomfortable gaze.

He didn't want to talk to this guy.

"Lord Romulus, Lord Karna, Lord Arthur."

Representatives from the Federation of Humanities had also arrived at the console.

Romulus arrived via projection, with the Imperial Guard Navaradaren as his representative.

One of the four must ensure a relatively safe state at all times; this is a consensus within Dawnwing.

This decision received strong support from the Invincible Guards, including Ernesto de la Cruz, and is still being strictly enforced under their command.

"The Great Sage".

Arthur, who was observing and trying to understand the structure of these instruments, turned around, straightened up from in front of the instruments, and a thoughtful look flashed in his eyes.

"Steelwing has made some minor adjustments and stopped deciphering the protocol, but we haven't broken the blockade. We need you to take over."

He said to Caul.

This AI, residing in the remnants of the undead in space, has been confirmed by Russell as a "preserver" constructed by previous generations of scientists.

However, after being entangled with Krikla for over a century, no one knows whether this AI has encountered any problems.

Therefore, an assessment by a professional from our own side is still needed.

"it is good."

Kaul accepted the task; it was part of his job.

bang——

Mechanical tentacles extended and connected to the control console, activating various technical units. Geothermal energy was reintroduced to the various areas after Creek's death, and the decryption and defense systems entered the pre-loading phase again.

"Connection is possible."

As the Great Sage finished speaking, Arthur cast a confirming glance at the representative of the Human Federation and then signaled Steelwing to lift the blockade.

Snapped--

The previously dim ceiling suddenly became bright, and countless human images appeared on the various projections, seemingly observing.

Everyone's eyes turned to Kaur in unison.

"I can complete the lockdown at any time."

Kaul stated calmly. Unlike the 'poor and greedy' Crick, he had the computing power provided by the 'Dark Age creations' aboard the Mechanical Ark.

What? You're asking if Kaul's mechanical ark wasn't stationed in Macragge with Guilliman?

Sorry, he has two.

Then everyone's attention turned to Russell and the others.

As remnants of the past, they have a close connection with the Preservator Array, maintaining contact with these ancestors residing within the array before the arrival of the Mechanicus.

"Incredible."

However, before Russell could speak, the unknown mechanical creation awoke first, its deep hum echoing through the hall.

The holographic projections gradually solidified, transforming into figures of various postures.

"We are prepared to let everything be annihilated."

A gentle female voice rang out.

"But I never expected that there would still be rational beings among my compatriots."

These hazy figures slowly gathered around, their curious eyes scrutinizing the group of, well, "diverse" human brethren before them.

Please forgive our rudeness.

An elderly man with white hair and beard pushed through the crowd and stepped out, adjusting glasses that weren't actually on his nose.

"Due to the limitations of our responsibilities and computing power, we now find it difficult to accurately analyze the internal characteristics of an organism."

His gaze swept across the crowd, finally settling on Arthur:

It was this man who led the troops and rescued them from trouble.

"Which human government official should I contact?"

Kaul's prosthetic eye shifted slightly, noticing the expressions on everyone's faces.

“They were all prefabricated modules, and Creek didn’t understand their function, so in order to protect his own gains, he didn’t dismantle them.”

This explanation elicited understanding from many present. Similar blunders by the Mechanicus were indeed commonplace; even the Great Sages might not fully grasp the principles behind certain technologies.

Kaur was aware of one such case.

There was once a Thousand Sons Wizard who manipulated the Red Letter Warriors as cannon fodder, making a Great Sage of Forging believe that he had developed a weapon that could stop the life activity of Chaos Astartes, when in fact the weapon was useless.

As a result, after its widespread adoption, it led to huge casualties on the main battlefield.

It's just fun.

“I am Romulus, one of the leaders of the Dawnwings, and the Regent of the Dawn Sector.”

Romulus, who has been in a good mood lately, has a calm voice.

"The Pioneer Galaxy is located within our jurisdiction. How should it be referred to?"

"Hello, Romulus, just call us Preservers."

The old man replied, then pointed to the array itself in the distance.

"We can hardly call ourselves human anymore. Our current state lacks the most important thing for humanity. We are nothing more than a string of data that preserves the sparks of hope."

"Hello, Preservators."

Romulus nodded, and then spoke.

"The Wings of Dawn received a distress signal, so we came to this star system."

"The signal was sent by us."

The old man's eyes lingered on Russell for a moment before he nodded in confirmation.

really
Romulus looked around, his gaze sweeping over the still-unrepaired war scars on the walls of the hall:
"I'm sorry, but given the current state of the galaxy, we have to meet amidst the embers of war."

The projections of the preservers flickered simultaneously, as if in silent sigh.

The old man nodded slowly, and a realistic frown appeared on his holographic face.
"Yes. The universe today is indeed very different from what we think it is."

Look around.

The traces of the Mechanic's violent intrusion are clearly visible on the surrounding walls. The crude interfaces and forcibly dismantled wiring have obviously left indelible marks on these ancient intelligent systems.

Arthur pondered what tough battles lay ahead, Karna considered how to change the current situation, and Ramses was beating up a warp demon, trying to analyze the seemingly encrypted technology within these ruins.

A brief silence fell over the hall, broken only by the faint hum of the energy conduits.

Russell's knuckles tightened unconsciously, revealing his slightly tense thoughts.

In the corner, Taracin was fiddling with an antique color camera developed in the mid-20th century, his metal fingers carefully adjusting the focus as he intently recorded this historic meeting.

"."

Aglaia looked at himself beneath Sebastian Thor's coffin, with a fountain pen blessed by a saint and papyrus from Terra woven from the finest fabric.

Then I looked at the metal alien-shaped camera, which had an ancient human style and was full of historical charm. You could appreciate the weight of history in it at a glance.

Her pen paused, but the person looking at the camera couldn't look away, as if staring at a black hole.

sand~sand~sand~
The pen tip continues to mechanically perform its duty, recording everything, while the servo skull faithfully replaces the paper.

Aglaia found the voice that had once brought her immense comfort to be unusually jarring.

Suddenly, the gear I bought at great expense for ease of movement no longer seemed so appealing.

"But here we are."

Romulus's voice suddenly broke the silence.

His projection took a step forward, its body gradually solidifying, the cobalt blue armor inlaid with gilded patterns shimmering with dazzling luster under the light.

"The Wings of Dawn are hereby confirmed."

His voice was steady and powerful, echoing in the empty hall.

“We received a distress call from a human branch known as the Human Federation, and we chose to respond.”

Romulus looked at his companions, at his warriors, at every member of the Empire who supported him.

"We have witnessed a group of pioneers who started space exploration more than 30,000 years ago, and we have witnessed their legacy, which symbolizes the glory of that pioneering era."

He looked at Russell, recalling their civilization that had grown resiliently amidst countless natural disasters.

"We are grateful for our choice, which has allowed us to witness a branch of humanity that still holds hope."

His gaze swept over the projections of each preserver, finally settling on the old man:
"My fellow countrymen, do you need help?"

That loud voice, like the morning sun piercing through the haze, dispelled the heavy atmosphere that lingered in everyone's hearts.

Everyone patiently watched these lingering echoes of the past, waiting for their response.

We await the answer that spans ten thousand years.

"Yes, we need help."

　P.S.: Also, content is being populated.
　　
　
(End of this chapter)