Warhammer: Rebuilding the Golden Age Starting with Farming.

"Set keywords: STC, Blackstone, Ancient Technology, High-Energy Reaction."

“We don’t need to save ordinary mortals; we don’t have the time or the obligation. We only need to focus on things that can help us repair the ship and accomplish our ‘great cause’.”

Aduam curled his lip.

"You really are cold-blooded, Belisarius."

"That's called being pragmatic."

Kaul turned around and continued to adjust the power armor.

"The original body is still asleep."

“If we don’t wake him up, save Kadia, and sew that damn big eye back on, these people will die sooner or later.”

"I'm not saving them now so that I can save more people in the future."

The Primarch that Kaul refers to is naturally Robert Guilliman, the Primarch of the Ultramarines and the Emperor's favorite son.

He was slashed by Forgrim ten thousand years ago and poisoned. He has been kept in a static field ever since, and everyone thought he was about to die.

But Kaul had a crazy plan: he wanted to bring Guilliman back to life.

All of Caul's current efforts, his frantic research on Blackstone, are ultimately aimed at paving the way for Guilliman's return.

"Okay, you're right."

Aduam shrugged; he knew he couldn't persuade the stubborn old man.

"Then I'll continue to keep an eye on those crazed Star Speakers and make them do as much work as possible before their brains boil."

"Also, the shield generator's energy can only sustain high-intensity operation for another 130 hours. Belisarius, you'd better pray that your sub-ships bring back some good news."

Aduam turned and walked out of the meditation room.

The door closed, and the room returned to a silence filled only with the sounds of machinery.

Kaul was not anxious about Adum's warning; at this point, there was no point in being anxious.

He simply redistributed the computing power.

The Kaul Explorer clone took control of the scanning array.

He expanded the scope of the search.

The scanning beam, which originally focused only on major shipping lanes and the known industrial world, is now beginning to sweep across remote, forgotten corners, second-rate worlds at the edge of the star map, abandoned mines, and even the depths of dangerous nebulae.

The mechanical ark's sensors are operating at full power.

It's like a giant eye opening in a dark forest, greedily searching for any faint glimmer of light.

Even if the light came from an inconspicuous junkyard, as faint as a candle flame in the wind.

As long as it possesses the characteristics that Kaul desires—high-purity matter, unusual energy reactions, or some familiar Golden Age code—Kauer will pounce on it without hesitation, like a shark smelling blood.

"Explore...explore..."

Kaur's data stream extends into the void.

At that moment, a really annoying synthesized subwoofer suddenly came through:

"You amateur monkeys, it looks like you're in trouble."

Chapter 76 The Endless Tarachin

Accompanied by that extremely annoying synthesized subwoofer, a palm-sized scarab beetle, emitting a ghostly green glow, nimbly climbed up Caul's messy pile of life support tubes.

It not only climbed, but also quite casually tapped on Kaul's breathing mask with its thin metal legs, making a crisp "ding-ding" sound.

The Canopytek Scarab is a basic maintenance unit for space necromancers and also a favorite spying tool of some old necromancer bastards.

It climbed up to the metal face of the carapace, which was covered in sensors, and stopped. The carapace on its back opened, projecting a beam of green holographic light.

With a whoosh, the beam of light converged in the air to form a huge face wearing a metal mask.

Because of the projection ratio, this face is ridiculously large, and the nostrils are facing Kaul directly.

Tarasin the Endless.

The overlord of the Solemnas Tomb world, the curator of the largest museum in the galaxy (self-proclaimed), an expert in cultural relic protection (self-proclaimed), and a notorious deadbeat who never returns anything (generally acknowledged).

"An amateur monkey."

Tarasin's voice came through the scarab's sound unit, accompanied by a static sound.

"I just casually scanned your pile of junk."

"Is this the mechanical ark that you humans are so proud of?"

"Tsk tsk tsk."

Tarasin's holographic face shook its head:

"The shield generator's phase is off by 15 degrees, and the reactor coolant is still leaking. You're trying to save the galaxy by piloting this barely functional pile of space junk?"

"If I were to turn a perfectly good ship into this state, I would find a singularity and jump in right now."

Kaul was not angry.

I'm just so angry.

In the past few days, this old, skinny bastard has harassed him no less than fifty times.

They always use the same old phrases; they never come up with anything new.

"Shut up, alien."

As Kaul's main consciousness controlled the servo arm to tighten a screw, he replied coldly.

"If you're here to help, then unlock the seventh layer of logic lock on the Blackstone Obelisk."

"If you're here to watch a show, then go back to your grave and sleep."

"help?"

Tarasin let out a strange laugh, like two rusty pieces of iron rubbing together.

Why should I help you?

“I am a great being, an immortal being, while you are just a slightly smarter monkey.”

"Giving you data and scarabs is already an immense favor."

"And what about you? What did you do?"

Taracin extended a holographic finger and pointed at the messy data models in front of Kaul.

"You're just using all this precious knowledge to play in the mud?"

"Open your cheap electronic eyes and take a look at this piece of code you wrote. What have you even written?"

"You actually tried to explain a multidimensional matrix using binary logic?"

"It's so ugly! So inefficient! So...human!"

The technology of the Necromancers in space is on a completely different level from that of humans. They play with reality modification and treat the laws of physics like clay.

Meanwhile, humanity is still struggling to tinker with this and that, picking up scraps of the golden age to use.

Kaul's attempt to understand Blackstone Technology using human logic is indeed asking too much of a question.

But Kaul also had something to say: "That's because your instruction manual is poorly written."

"All the data packets I found were based on an encoder with extremely disgusting underlying logic."

"In order to understand how this thing works, I first need to crack its encoder."

"Is it my fault?"

Tarasin shrugged.

"Who told you humans to be so narrow-minded?"

"Tens of thousands of years have passed, and all you've learned is how to build bigger churches; you haven't made any progress at all."

"If I weren't afraid that those chaotic lunatics, who are even worse than you, would damage my precious collection, I wouldn't bother with you at all."

That old bastard Tarachin, despite his extremely wicked nature, was serious about protecting cultural relics.

In his eyes, the entire Milky Way is a giant museum, and all civilizations, all historical events, and all heroes are his exhibits.

The Chaos faction, whether they were Khorne's hack-and-slash group or Nurgle's dung-splashing group, all shared a common hobby: destruction.

Wherever they go, they can destroy not only cultural relics, but even civilization itself.

This was absolutely intolerable to Tarasin, who was the museum's director.

Once the dam at Kadia collapses, the warp waste from the Eye of Terror will flow back into the physical universe.

At that time, all his precious statues, his rare Space Marine figurines, and even the treasures he hadn't had time to steal... no, borrow, would all be corrupted and destroyed.

This is a crime against art! A murder of history! A heinous blasphemy!

Therefore, Tarachin had to take action.

But he also looked down on humans, thinking they were too weak.

This led to this awkward situation: he was providing technical support to Caul while simultaneously unleashing a torrent of venomous remarks to maintain his superior sense of superiority.

"Since you know so much about this, then tell me why this anti-phase beam can never be focused?"

Kaul interrupted Tarasin's attack.

“I have reconstructed the launch array according to your drawings, but every time I turn it on, the energy overloads the focusing lens.”

Taracin brought the holographic face close to the data model and pretended to look at it for a while.

"Oh, isn't it obvious?"

"Your lens material is substandard. Come, let me see what you're using."

"My God, crystal? Are you trying to use this piece of broken glass to hold stellar-level energy?"

"You need living metal, a living metal that can self-repair and whose refractive index changes with energy frequency!"

"Don't you want to listen to what you're saying?" Caul snapped. "I don't have that thing on my ship!"

That's your problem, not mine.

Tarahim looked completely innocent.

"I'm just a consultant; I'm not responsible for providing materials."

"However..."

Tarachin then changed the subject:

“If you are truly sincere in asking me for help, I might consider lending you a small piece from my private treasury.”

"Of course, this will incur interest; you must give me a few Proto-Craft Space Marines in exchange."

"make a deal."

Kaul agreed very readily, without even blinking.

In Kaul's opinion, such verbal promises are no different from farting.

When they arrived in Cardia, a fight broke out, and who remembered who owed whom anything?

Besides, how much did that old bastard steal from the Empire?

He stole several Space Marine companies!

Do you need three or five more?

Trading a few Proto-Craft Space Marines for a key material—that's a steal!

What, you're saying my behavior is heretical?

Let me tell you something you might not know.

"Great," Tarasin nodded in satisfaction. "But you haven't asked me for anything yet."

“He said, ‘O great Tarasim the Endless, save this foolish monkey!’”

Kaur: "..."