This is our Warhammer journey

Chapter 535 Talassin: Wishing the Silent King Everlasting Health
Extreme Starfield, Unknown Network Segment.

The bone-white mesh walls shimmered with light, and the regular alternation of light and dark provided the most basic reference for the cycle of life.

The inhabitants of the Netwalk have always lived in accordance with an ancient order. Having survived in a psionic environment for a long time, they have evolved to be able to detect the most subtle energy fluctuations deep within the barrier. Their sensitive psionic perception has made them increasingly adapted to life here, seeking advantages and avoiding disadvantages, and surviving and reproducing.

Until that dull tremor swept in from the end of the net.

The tremors were initially faint, like distant rubble collapsing, but they quickly turned into a dense roar, spreading along the texture of the barrier to every corner.

The first to stir were the small groups weaving through the gaps, scrambling to squeeze into the narrow sections of the net, like fish diving into a coral reef. Their tiny limbs trembled with fear, and they didn't even dare to breathe.

The larger groups could no longer maintain their usual composure and quickly burrowed into their long-abandoned hideouts, anxiously observing the outside world.

Panic, like an invisible tide, instantly engulfed the entire network.

When they tentatively turned their gaze to the source of the tremor, they were surprised to find that it was not a ship belonging to the Eldar as legend had it, but a fleet that looked extremely unfamiliar.

Human?
Some races that had not lost contact with the outside world, and were once the mainstream races in the physical universe, suddenly showed expressions of horror. Other races that often operated in various parts of the network suddenly discovered that some strange rumors that appeared deep in the network seemed to be true.

Fortunately, the human fleet seemed uninterested in these fleeing races, simply clearing out some roaming demons and the massive facilities that were obstructing the fleet's passage before hastily departing.

The flagship of the Dawn Wings, the Dawn.

Of course, as this starship has been iterated over time, it has evolved from a cruiser into the Glorious Queen. What is particularly distinctive is the three-tiered structure of the bridge area, each with a distinct style.

The Dawn Wings have never had much demand for the Glory Queen-class battleships. After the Ironblood was repaired and renamed the Glory Queen, and the Dawn was built, the construction plan for the remaining Glory Queen-class battleships was greatly delayed. The main production capacity of the Dawn Sector was still focused on the production of various types of battleships.

The main problem is that a Queen of Glory is extremely expensive. In today's increasingly conflict-ridden galaxy, no one can guarantee that a Queen of Glory won't be sunk in battle, and the sinking of a Queen of Glory would be a devastating blow to the morale of the military system.

Anyway, the Blood Angels have already dug up the Red Tear, and both the Ultramarines and Dark Angels have two Queen of Glory ships. Each of the legions with Primarchs has no shortage of ships.

Ramses didn't care about this at all.

He's already playing with Blackrock Fortress; that's much more fun than Queen of Glory.

Today, the bridge of this ship, whose symbolic significance far outweighs its practical combat value, is more crowded than ever, leading a hastily organized escort fleet toward a war-torn alien nation in the Extreme Starfield.

It's still the same scene of a group of government officials surrounding a blue-clad man.

Two other people were watching the play.

"Regarding the Comoros Joint Military Operation Agreement, the monitoring rights over the Brilliant Star Map, the military protection agreement for parts of the Necromancer Dynasty, the nomination of civil war representatives, and intervention in the Necromancer Civil War."

Even after moving to a new place, Guilliman, who hadn't forgotten his official duties, looked at these treaties that seemed impractical no matter how he looked at them, as well as the subsequent package of agreements, and his expression changed several times.

He realized that his brothers were using him as a wish-granting machine, believing that he could do anything related to government affairs.

"There's nothing we can do about it; we're just not skilled enough."

Ramses paused, having just swiped a bag of supplies from Karna, and replied crisply, showing no airs of a Primarch whatsoever.

In the past, there was no other way but to let Lao Luo bite the bullet and do it. Now that we have professionals, we have to ask for help.

And to be honest, Ramses really thought the Primarchs were quite easy to please. Whether it was Guilliman, or the more sensitive Lion King and Corax, he could simply ask them for help and have them completely under his thumb, without even having to worry about exchanging benefits.

"Besides, we can't just leave you out and do this ourselves, can we?"

So you're just letting me do it all, right?

Guilliman didn't know how to describe the scene; it was the complete opposite of what he had experienced during the Great Crusade.

Back then, let alone commanding other Primarch fleets, even if you proactively sent supplies to other expeditionary fleets, the enemy would think you were forming cliques and plotting something.

Now things are much better. Not only does he lead the operation and allocate resources, but the two martial gods are even in charge of security.

They adopted an attitude of "we'll just watch you work, and leave any factors that might interfere with your work to us."

However, this excessive concern has also created another problem.

That is, Guilliman discovered that the Dawnwings' good brother's trust in his combat abilities was inversely proportional to his trust in his political abilities.

"To be honest, perhaps you should also try to do some more meaningful work."

Guilliman raised an eyebrow, looking at the two brothers, one cosplaying Karna and the other cosplaying a statue, and couldn't help but offer some gentle advice.

What's the point of guarding him? It's obviously a meaningless thing.

"Am I someone who can't even guarantee my own safety?"

While it was certainly gratifying that his brothers trusted him in his rule.

Conversely, the fact that a group of people treated him as an individual in need of protection made Guilliman somewhat embarrassed.

He is the Primarch, the pinnacle of individual power in the material universe. It's one thing for others not to be beheaded by him, but there is someone who can behead him.
"."

Faced with Guilliman's attempt to save face, Ramses gave him a meaningful look.
-
"Ah-"

Huron, far away in the Great Vortex, who was enthusiastically directing industrial production in the Badab Sector and mobilizing the Star Claws to provide support everywhere, sneezed.

"Lord Huron."

The think tank member from the Mantis Warriors, who was in charge of coordinating equipment for the White Scars, unexpectedly looked at the Vortex Guardian who had interrupted the conversation with a sneeze.

"Huh? What did you call me?"

Huron turned to look at him; the two had known each other for over a century, and his tone carried a hint of teasing.

"You can call me Lord Huron or my brother outside, and I won't mind."

He pointed to the supplies being efficiently allocated on the table and said, "What should you call me at this point?"

"Guardian of the Maelstrom, hero of the Ultramarines, the greatest offspring of the two Primarchs of the Ultramarines."

He rolled his eyes at the guy with a sigh, thinking that this was the only thing the think tank had to pursue these days, and then offered a helpless compliment.

Huron listened with obvious delight, his chin practically strutting up in the air.

"Where did we just talk?"

"Regarding the White Scars, specifically the development of the Great Vortex Network, and coordination with the Eldar."

The think tank replied helplessly, "We need your support to search for clues about the Great Khan, and we also need the help of psionicists for subsequent operations against him."

Unlike the space wolves who still harbor illusions about the wolf king, the men of the grasslands know very well what kind of person the Khan is.

That person was completely straightforward; they simply didn't want to come back.

So, with the external conditions in place, the white-scarred Space Marines decided to communicate directly in the way the Khan had been most familiar with on the plains. "No problem."

Huron agreed readily.

Assisting the founding groups in finding clues about the Primarch is one of the highest directives of the Dawnwings, and there is absolutely no need to create obstacles for their cousins ​​in this regard.

The rest is to trust in the wisdom of the Primitive.

And so what if he comes back?
As the think tank members took their paper documents and left, Huron once again habitually stroked his armor, chuckled a few times, and threw himself into his work with 1300% focus.

He has two.

Laughter echoed throughout Badab's capital, the seat of supreme power.

The busy people around them all kept their heads down, pretending not to see anything.
-
"."

Seeing Ramses fall silent, Guilliman looked expectantly at Arthur, who had been sent to be his bodyguard.

"It's hard to say."

Arthur paused for a second, then shook his head, giving Guilliman some face.

It's not fair to say Guilliman is bad; after all, even Lion King said Guilliman's skill level is actually quite good.

Unfortunately, Guilliman seemed cursed when it came to one-on-one fights, always losing for various reasons.

Guilliman could no longer laugh.

Has anyone ever told Arthur that sometimes his serious words can be hurtful?

"The main focus is on sending troops to Comoros and gaining control of the Brilliant Star Map; the rest isn't urgent."

Military visits to the Necromancers in space cannot be accomplished by just a few scattered individuals. To paraphrase an old general, if you don't bring a sufficiently large army on a diplomatic mission, it is disrespectful to the Necromancers.

After more than a month of back and forth, they not only organized a fleet the size of a plague war, but also managed to summon Arthur and Ramses, who proposed the plan.

The negotiations went smoothly, and then we'll all go through the net tunnel and head straight to Comoros.

If negotiations don't go well, then just eliminate the space necromancer.

"I will do my best."

When the conversation turned to serious matters, Guilliman immediately replied earnestly.

The well-organized Imperial military forces, which the Dawn Wings had managed before his return, certainly gave him a great deal of leeway.

A strong military is always the greatest guarantee for a negotiator to secure their interests; after all, if you can't win on the battlefield, everything else amounts to nothing.

At this moment, Ifreni also handed over the compiled necromancy data, with Tarasin, who was also serving as a temporary advisor, by her side.

He looked down and continued flipping through the materials about space necromancy compiled from multiple races.

Logically speaking, the threat of the so-called Necromancers in space is no less than that of the approaching Tyranid swarm and Chaos. However, just like humans, Eldar, Orks, and Tyranids, every race that successfully steps onto the grand stage of the galaxy has its own dilemmas to face.

There's not much to say about humans. AI rebellion is an old story. In the entire galaxy, which race besides humans doesn't use AI? But humans just happened to suffer a major setback. After the Emperor struggled again, he ultimately failed, and the race's life officially began its countdown.

The Eldar raised their own tyrant, and dared not touch any of the psionic technologies inherited from the ancient saints. Coupled with a serious population problem, they were in a state of slow death after the split.

Limited by the underlying logic of their own genes, the Greens have essentially lost the driving force for the progress of a civilization. They can only react to external factors, which is fundamentally problematic, and they can only ever be evenly matched opponents.

The Tyranid swarm is limited by its inability to travel at hypersonic speeds and can only crawl within the material universe. Theoretically, it is the largest in size, but whether it can actually get through is another matter.

The Necromancers, who are theoretically at the pinnacle of the material universe, also managed to bring their race up to the average level of other contestants on the galactic stage during the 40k era, thanks to a series of bizarre thought processes of their supreme leader, thus winning first place in the galactic reversal competition.

So, judging solely from their skill level, although the Empire displays some truly unconventional tactics, they are still capable of fighting.

Despite the constant complaints that Imperial warships are like mobile cathedrals and that they once possessed outdated and bizarre features like manual loading, the Imperial Navy is indeed the toughest fleet in the history of the galaxy.

As long as your attacks are still based on the material world, and as long as the Void Shield is in a vacuum, then if you want to touch Imperial ships, you can only obediently overload the Void Shield, this super turtle shell.

Therefore, fighting the undead is to be expected, and the outcome might even be better.

Looking at the optimistic assessment made by the three parties—human, dead, and spirit—at the end of the analysis, Guilliman couldn't help but fall into deep thought.

Logically speaking, external threats faced by a race are often an important factor that enables that race to form internal unity.

Guilliman glanced at the "Declaration Against the Agreement on the Liberation of Sector Assets" submitted by a certain merchant ronin from the Sector Nobles, and the "Emergency Plan for the Problem of Local Separatism" that Romulus had prepared long ago.

The fact that the Empire of Man was able to maintain such a heavyweight system in the galaxy for ten thousand years owes much to the Greenskin threat and Abaddon's Black Crusade.

You see, once the Greenskins and Chaos subsided, what awaited the Empire was a period of rapid ascent followed by a crash, from the distant Apostolic Age to the more recent Makarius Expedition.

The scene and scale were far more explosive than the Black Crusade or the Greenskin invasions (excluding the War of the Beasts), and it almost tore the Empire apart.

If it weren't for Abaddon's seemingly treacherous yet loyal nature, his declaration that "this will be another great victory" upon seeing the Empire in ruins, and his launching of the Black Crusade to provide a target for the various factions within the Empire still embroiled in conflict, directly rescuing the Empire from its dire straits, the Highlord's rotten system might have collapsed in a few thousand years.

If those of the Empire's adversaries knew how the High Lords Council operated and why the Empire had stood for millennia, they would probably regard humanity as a race even more green than the Greenskins.

This seems a bit too counterintuitive.

With a surprised look, Guilliman looked at Tarasin, who had also provided a lot of ideas for this material, and the strategy he had initially envisioned in his mind began to waver slightly.

Therefore, the Empire should not only not worry about direct conflict with the Silent King due to intervention in the civil war, but should actively create conflict instead?
If the Empire disagrees with the Silent King on core interests, it would actually benefit the Empire's exchanges with other undead dynasties.
What kind of bizarre logic is this?

"Cough cough~"

Taracin straightened his collarbone and coughed lightly twice.

"Honorable Primarch".

After bowing and reciting his opening remarks, Tarachin opened his arms.

"Please allow me to introduce you to the greatest Dharma King, the last of the Three Saints, the supreme leader who has saved the fearful dead and the undead from danger on several occasions."

As the image began to take shape, a figure, seated on a throne against a backdrop of burning giants, with two undead space spirits resembling attendants beside him, appeared before the crowd.

"Szalak, the Silent King—"

"May he always be healthy."

　P.S.: I think I've successfully highlighted the characteristics of segmented sleep.

　　I usually sleep from 4 AM to 8:30 AM, then get up to eat and go to work. I take a short nap at noon, finish work at 6 PM, eat dinner, and then take a few more short naps. Then I get up in the middle of the night to play on my phone, finish writing, and go to sleep.
　　
　
(End of this chapter)