This is our Warhammer journey

Chapter 411 Hi Hi, the Online Path is Here (Part 2)

Watching Vashtor work always gives one a sense of déjà vu.

"Come on, come on."

Vashtor is on the planet killer's side.

This destructive weapon, built by Abaddon at great expense, has now become one of his vehicles. On the bridge, which has been taken over by his slaves and demons, he looks through the warp portal at the massive stone fortress that is constantly 'advancing' towards its designated area under heavy encirclement.

Nervousness made him clench his fists involuntarily.

This was the first time in a long period of time that he had abandoned complicated contracts and plans and chosen to act with the mindset of a gambler.

So far, the results seem pretty good.

Vashtor looked down at the modified ship. The bridge, which had been modified by the Great Machine God, revealed the entire scene below the bridge. He didn't know when it had started, but this lesser god had become accustomed to those more spacious and unobstructed spaces.

Following his gaze, a deep green heart embedded in a preservation device was revealed, trembling slowly with each beat of the ship.

The Heart of Plague, along with the Tuchucha Engine and the Ouroboros, are known as the Three Sacred Treasures, superweapons left behind by the ancient race that was wiped out.

Its known abilities include the ability to create high-speed channels in subspace and drag physical entities for ultra-long-distance travel. Furthermore, relying on its technology and terrifying power, which are still not understood, it can forcibly shatter barriers as solid as the network when combined.

It's worth noting that Tzeentch spent countless years honing his skills, combining groundbreaking real-world ingenuity with warp manipulation to create an opening within a flawed network. It's hard to imagine what would happen if this weapon were used to strike certain warp entities.

One of its components, the Tuchucha Engine, was able to directly break through the warp tides stirred up by the Chaos Gods, sending Lion King Lane Johnson, who was trapped on the other side of the galaxy, along with his entire Dark Angel fleet, to Macragge on the other side of the galaxy.

It is now owned by Tuffons.

As the captain of the Deathguard, this Chosen of Nurgle also possesses the extraordinary prophetic abilities of his father, the Genesis.

Ten thousand years ago, he accepted the guidance of the gods and went to an imperial forging world to seize the Tuchucha Engine, one of the three sacred artifacts, but was blocked by the dark angels led by the lion.

Ten thousand years later, another divine artifact appeared in his hands, seemingly as compensation for his loss and recovery.

'Really.'

This stirred a pang of jealousy in Vashtor's heart.

He had been plotting for tens of thousands of years, but had not found even a trace of a divine artifact. He had been collecting fragments of Caliban everywhere, but the Ouroboros, which had disappeared after the Caliban explosion, was still nowhere to be found.

The result was that a mere slave of the god of corruption was able to plunder these divine artifacts.

The vast amount of data, after passing through Vashtor's consciousness, was finally transformed into conclusions that flew across various computers, and a massive model, almost identical to reality, was being built.

The time for the three artifacts to be combined has not yet come. In fact, Vashtor has not found the Ouroboros, but his ingenious calculations have made up for this gap. After confirming the location of two artifacts, he no longer needs to insist on the third.

Especially now, under pressure from the Four Gods.

Vashtor monitored the changes in the model and continuously simulated contingency plans.

The three sacred artifacts are very special.

This creation, made by the ancient sages, exists independently in any time and space. It not only has its own independent consciousness, but also has a strong attachment to merging with each other. When they overlap in space or time, a forced fusion that can interfere with space and time will begin unstoppably.

Such a force can even interfere with and distort spacetime, causing the past and future to become interconnected.

Vashtor didn't know where the Ouroboros was now, but he knew where it was ten thousand years ago.

The plan is now very simple.

He forced the Stone Fortress to overlap with the Caliban of ten thousand years ago, allowing Vashtor to go forward with the Heart of Plague, thus bringing the three artifacts together and taking away the Caliban he had always coveted.

They might even be able to kill the lion from ten thousand years ago while they're at it, completely extinguishing any possibility of the missing prototype returning.

Vashtor manipulated the cards with ease.

Abaddon's Black Legion, Typhon's small number of Deathguards, and all sorts of Chaos Warbands—the overwhelming numbers allowed the plan to proceed very quickly.

Everything is going smooth.

"It's coming, it's coming soon."

Vashtor watched with excitement as the encirclement gradually took shape, while the warp's minions kept him informed of the Dawnwing's activities.

Just as Nurgle had predicted, the Dawnwings split up.

One force was sent to support Great Alteramar, while the other rushed straight to the Misty Starfield to support the Stone Fortress.

However, the gods misjudged the situation.

No one knows how much preparation Vashtor has made over the past ten thousand years, and no one knows how many cards he can play now that he is facing this situation.

The arrival of the Heart of Plague was merely icing on the cake. With his ingenious calculations, he was not only able to obtain the three divine artifacts at the fastest speed, but also to make a clean getaway before that and prepare for his ascension ceremony.

"This is a great plan; it's important and beautiful."

"That will be my era, the eternal chessboard will gain another seat, and the great mechanical god will stand atop the galaxy. This is my destiny."

"I believe, I hope, that as long as I don't make any big mistakes, the ideal that I've been mocked by countless malicious entities is not just a dream."

Hurry up, I really hope you can hurry so you can witness the moment I ascend the great throne.

Watching his model gradually take shape under calculation, Vashtor laughed at the gods for their lack of strategy and the Wings of Dawn for their lack of wisdom.

Everything is going in a good direction.

"hehe."

As he manipulated the fleet of Chaos slaves and typed away on the keyboard, Azek'el Abaddon chuckled.

In terms of behavior and temperament, Abaddon felt that Vashtor had nothing in common with him.

Practical experience and execution are what Abaddon cares about most. Of course, he admires Vashtor's intelligence, whose perfect skills paved the way for this scene.

But he was too presumptuous and lived entirely in his own world.

The reason a plan is called a plan is that it is never actually accomplished.

No one knows what mistakes might occur. Making assumptions will only make you lower your guard in your self-indulgence, and in the end, it will only turn into a boomerang that the enemy will use to strike you in the face.

That's not how Abaddon did it.

He was not one to indulge in fantasies; an uncontrollable ally meant nothing to an eternal war.

He would not indulge in warp magic.

Abaddon turned his head.

Those warp filth screaming around him, or the things residing in the bodies of his pitiful brethren, were as if their skin were clothes that could be discarded at will.

Behind him, the steel gates screamed as they opened, and footsteps echoed across the deck.

A foul stench wafted over.

"how?"

Noticing Abaddon's gaze, Typhon asked, "Are you afraid I'll interrupt that bastard's thoughts and ruin his plans?" He then glanced at Vashtor, who was still living in his own world, and muttered something.

"Hopefully his plan is as appealing to Dawnwing as he claims."

This statement seems to imply an expectation that the Dawn Wings will launch an attack on them.

Abaddon looked at Typhons, whose appearance was quite different from before.

His jet-black limbs were arranged in three parallel rows to form a spine. His huge, swollen abdominal cavity contained an ecosystem of highly venomous mosquitoes and flies. His armor was held together by barnacle-like creatures, which clung to each other and opened and closed with Typhon's breathing.

Countless tiny lives were assembled and pieced together in a remarkably sophisticated way that compels one to admire bioengineering, forming this plague-ridden pig named Typhons.

A slave who only thinks of his master.

Abaddon chuckled again.

“I didn’t think Perturabo would die either, but that lump of rotten flesh is still on the Crystal Throne by those idiots of the Iron Warriors, who don’t even know what’s inside.”

The big raiders shouted sarcastic remarks.

'It's as if you already know everything.'

Do others not know Typhon, but they do? Who was the fool who sent Horus to the Temple of Devon back then? It's so hard to guess.

After the Warmaster fell, the enormous Shadowmoon Wolves didn't even have a single idea to make a decision or go to the Emperor for a solution. At that time, they didn't mention that Horus was the Emperor's favorite son, the Empire's Warmaster, and that Horus's Sons was the Emperor's favorite legion.
How come a father who loves his son so much would suddenly turn to believe in Irebas after something like this happened?

"So we need to learn from their mistakes and then fight back against them."

"Too lazy to argue with this guy who lives in his own world," Typhons said slowly.

This cunning and vicious psyker has fallen into a kind of morbid loyalty since joining Nurgle, completely unlike his Gene Father, against whom he could at least outwardly resist, and has utterly forgotten his origins.

Abaddon closed his eyes and then turned his head away.

He opened his eyes again and stared intently at the great vortex on the star map.

"hope so."
-
"This internet connection is really fast."

While Romulus led his fleet on a mission to provide support, Arthur and Ramses also embarked on their own paths.

During the time that the two sides established contact with the Usvi Ark World, they have been actively exchanging their bargaining chips.

The Wings of Dawn have been trying to find a way to utilize the more efficient means of mobility through the Web, while the Ark World of Usvi hopes to use the Empire's massive military power to clear the sea lanes that were occupied by various monsters and demons after the collapse of the Eldar Empire, so that the Ark World itself can further distance itself from the Eye of Terror, this place of trouble.

"This Spirit Race god did not lose out."

Ramses and Arthur stood together, watching the warship slowly pass by in front of them.

With their understanding of the enemy, Dawnwing has never let their guard down.

They had been preparing all along, and no one knew exactly how many cards they had in their hand.

Boom~
The engine's muffled roar dispelled the wizard's amplified voice.

The massive Apocalypse-class battleship was almost touching the walls of the net tunnel. The troops it was carrying were transferred out on foot to prevent any potential catastrophic accidents. The exhaust flames from its engines scraped against the wreckage deposited at the bottom, carrying bloated corpses and armor fragments as it flew towards the end of the net tunnel.

The blade in Arthur's hand was still warm.

This is a newly built pirate settlement. The specific race is not any of the mainstream races in the current galaxy, but they are still able to utilize the network.

The net tunnels are teeming with all sorts of races. Even though they have only just finished cleaning them, these cockroach-like enemies will inexplicably sprout up from all over the net tunnels.

His gaze shifted from the still pristine net-like barrier on the ground to the line of warships behind him.

How much longer is this narrow passage?

"There's still a distance to go, it feels like it will take another three to five days."

Ramses held a spirit bone instrument, given to him by Uslan, which could calculate directions within the net.

The Eldar have now lost the ability to create it. The current production capacity of the Empire and the Usvi Ark world is all produced through the materialization of souls. The instruments exported to the Wings of Dawn are just like Soul Stones, which are then re-imported.

Currently, many Eldar pirates belonging to the Usvi Ark world have begun to transform. With ample material support from the Empire, they have set their sights on non-human entities, including but not limited to demons other than Slaanesh, as well as the Dark Eldar.

By trading these 'talents', they can travel to the realm of the formless and shapeless Lord to exchange for Soul Stones and a series of hard-to-replicate consumables, thus better surviving in this gradually changing universe. Meanwhile, the Dawn Star Sector can significantly reduce the pirate activities that many industrial planets find unbearable, using barbarians to control barbarians.

This kind of deal is great; everyone gets what they need.

"The Space Necromancers didn't lose unjustly back then."

Upon hearing this, Arthur couldn't help but sigh again. Pirate activities had always been a major headache for them, since these people could disappear into the net tunnels and no one could catch them.

As for the subsequent pursuit, which led to the destruction of the network portal in a fit of rage?
They've already grabbed everything they wanted; it was all a one-off deal anyway. What business is it of theirs what the future of this internet portal has with them?

Their maneuverability is truly remarkable—even if they encounter extremely narrow passages, even if they dismantle the fleet's ships on the spot and reassemble them on the other side, it would still be much faster and more stable than space travel.

This is the way of the internet.

"So, can't we really try to create our own path?"

Even Romulus, who was far away in the void and had been processing documents, couldn't help but ask.

With Ramesses and Karna now serving as relatively stable subspace operators at the information port, the Empire has entered a relatively stable phase. At least most Star Speakers no longer need to play the charades game.

But the difference between information and people that can be years, decades, or even centuries is even more painful.

"Let's talk about it after we get the three divine artifacts, but the chances are probably slim."

Ramses shrugged.

"It's not that I'm saying the human race is inferior, it's just that this thing seems to be strongly correlated with the race's hardware. Look at the Ancient Spirits, even their hardware can barely maintain it. I think that without ascension, humans probably won't be able to support the Network System—"

Ramses paused as he was calculating the route of the network.

He tilted his head and looked through the intricate network of roads below, watching as a group of Eldar and a Necromancer emerged from a narrow passage beside the main road of the network.

Bright flashes of light from the warship's engines flickered below.

Crystal Prophet.

Ramses recognized the cargo that the squad was 'escorting' almost immediately.

Although the Eldar are immortal, after the Great Fall, those prophets who were skilled in prophecy gradually crystallized as they continued to use psychic energy. Each crystal body symbolizes the sacrifice made by this great prophet for his race. The crystals formed from these great sacrifices are sacred objects that any Eldar would risk their life to protect.

To draw a parallel, consider the urns containing the ashes of the successive think tank chiefs of the Astartes Chapter.

Ramses looked closely.

This is Uslan, who was sent to handle the important task of the Eldar's death god's awakening.

At this moment, Uslan and Tarasin are each carrying a Crystal Prophet.

They are fleeing for their lives.

(End of this chapter)