Emperor's Bane

Chapter 891 Necessary Evil (Two in One)

"Falk."

"Ok?"

"Don't you think that what Lord Perturabo asked us to do is actually quite unscrupulous?"

"conscience?"

#Disdainful laughter#
"Interesting: when did you come up with such superfluous ideas, Fricks?"

"Or are you so fearless as to question the orders given by the Lord of Steel himself?"

"Of course I wouldn't do that, I just..."

After a long silence, the war blacksmith Fricks still couldn't come up with a satisfactory reason: until his colleague beside him finally lost his last interest, turned his gloomy eyes elsewhere, and looked for the next pain that would make him happy.

Unlike Fricks, this man did not consider conscience to be a big deal.

Papen-Folk, that's how bad this man is.

He is one of the few lunatics who can gain a sense of accomplishment from the brutality and distortion of the Fourth Legion today.

If the situation wasn't really special, Fricks wouldn't want to have anything to do with this scum in his life, let alone go out on a mission with him: but the will of the Primarch was above all else, and a single order from Perturabo could trample on the bottom line of the city breakers.

It has been so before and it will be so in the future.

For Fricks, the captain of the first company of the Iron Warriors Legion, one of the few Terran veterans in the Legion, who was dubbed the City Breaker, obeying the Primarch's orders was as natural as breathing and killing. It was a natural instinct that did not require any thought about its inner meaning.

Obeying orders is all that Fricks needs to do. It is his goal, his instinct, his body and soul. It is the only luxury that allows him to feel that he is still a human being rather than a piece of thinking and moving steel.

He did not obey orders out of fear.

On the contrary, of every cruel punishment known to the galaxy, there was only one that Vraks truly feared: that from now on, no order would be given to him to obey.

That meant that he was abandoned by the Primarch, and that his entire life so far would be disillusioned: when obedience to orders had evolved from an acquired noble spirit to an innate spiritual instinct, freedom would become a poison that could kill Flex.

He doesn't need freedom.

Because he is not a human being, but a weapon, a weapon that can breathe and think.

For a weapon, losing its operator is no different from death.

This is the current situation of Fricks, and it is also the life he is willing to bear: not only a city breaker, but such numbness and obedience are commonplace for the Iron Warriors.

Many of Perturabo's sons willingly abandoned their individual thoughts and their nobility as humans, choosing to become ordinary, disposable weapons at any time: all in tribute to their legendary genetic father Perturabo.

With the exception of Lorgar, who was regarded as the omniscient and almighty Holy Teacher by his descendants, no other Primarch had ever had so many legionaries under his command like the Lord of Iron, even to the point of respecting them to an abnormal degree: one cannot help but suspect that this was not a normal phenomenon at all, but an inferior inheritance hidden in his gene-seed.

Just as the gene-seed of the Word Bearers made them revere their Primarch more than anyone else, perhaps there was something twisted in the bloodline of the IVth Legion that made them see tyranny as a blessing and their heartless king as a flawless leader.

This seemingly ridiculous view has been verified in today's Iron Warriors: although Perturabo has not appeared in front of his descendants for a long time, and although for most members of the Legion, the Primarch is more like a distant myth rather than a reality in front of them, the innate obedience in their genetic bloodline still makes them regard any order of the Lord of Iron as an iron law.

Admittedly, not everyone would do this, but thanks to the huge population base of the Fourth Legion, there were still countless people who were willing to degenerate into steel.

For a long time, this depressing and weird atmosphere was the norm in the Legion.

However, in the middle and late stages of the Great Crusade, and in the first few years after the establishment of the Great Order, the situation had undergone a significant change: a large number of new blood, who were more regarded as Avalonians than Olympians, tirelessly promoted the values ​​of free thinking and personal dignity to the entire Fourth Legion.

From the noble Trident to the ignored mortal auxiliary troops, no one dared to say that they had not been affected by it.

Even the Primarch: it has always been believed that Perturabo's enlightened despotism in the years immediately after the Emperor's departure was inspired by these new recruits from Avalon.

But Fricks was dismissive of this, believing that Olympia's prosperity in that generation was merely the result of the Lord of Steel finally deciding to use his talents: no one was qualified to share in the glory that belonged only to Perturabo.

Of course, no one could prevent this enlightenment and prosperity from coming to an abrupt end in the next decade.

Because Perturabo had greater dreams.

No one could tell exactly what this dream was, and the Primarch had never told anyone the full picture, but it was certain that he had invested his all in it: and as his kingdom and his legion, Olympia and every world under the jurisdiction of the Fourth Legion should, of course, devote their all to the great ideals of the Primarch.

Whether they want to or not.

There is no doubt that such a great undertaking that could haunt the Lord of Steel must be staggering: both in its scale and in the cost it would require.

In order to prevent his dream from being entangled by worldly needs, Perturabo finally chose a solution that had the best of both worlds.

He activated his warsmith.

Warsmith, this duty originally referred to a temporary command title within the Fourth Legion. The Lord of Iron imitated the warlords on his hometown of Olympia, and created one completely independent commander after another, using them to implement the war creed of the Iron Warriors Legion.

In just over a decade, the Warsmiths became the true power class of the Fourth Legion.

In the Primarch's expectations, warsmiths should not be characters who are only good at wielding blades or leading the charge: that is the responsibility of company commanders in other legions, and in Perturabo's eyes, warsmiths, as company commanders, should shoulder more responsibilities.

They are required to fully understand and master all disciplines related to the great art of war, including but not limited to logistics, sieges, close combat, armament deployment and even administration of occupied areas: from calculating the significance of a ruined building to the entire siege, to extracting materials and manpower that can be used for the next battle from the newly occupied area as quickly as possible, each item must exist in the war blacksmith's encyclopedia of knowledge.

This was not an elective subject, a warsmith could have his expertise, but any area that was not up to standard would be fatal: Perturabo never viewed his legion as a combination of countless individuals, but only as a whole, and whenever the results were not satisfactory, the Primarch was too lazy to investigate the culprit, but would throw the entire piece of scrap iron in his eyes back into the furnace, leaving it to turn into useless molten iron.

Even in later times, under the constant influence of some of his brothers and some of his descendants, the character of the Lord of Olympia may have improved a little, but this does not mean that the pressure on the warsmiths will become less: it is true that the Primarch will take the actual situation into consideration when issuing tasks, but this does not mean that he will become more tolerant of failure.

Quite the opposite: taking the actual premise into account makes failure all the more contemptible.

While the risk of death from failure was now less severe than in earlier times, exile or permanent disfavor was still a possibility: with over six hundred warsmiths now in the IV Legion, Perturabo had plenty of new options at his disposal.

Under such circumstances, the war blacksmith was eventually catalyzed into a position with extremely high power, ability and pressure.

They are qualified to control the entire battlefield and be responsible for the fate of a galaxy or a sector, but they must also take responsibility for the results of their own efforts: after all, Perturabo's aversion to failure is growing day by day.

The Primarch was reconciled with himself: but this did not mean that he was reconciled with his sons.

The Lord of Steel is still the Lord of Steel: ordinary losers do not deserve to enjoy the improved gentleness.

In the process of the great waves, anyone who is not strong enough, not strong enough in character, lacks enterprising spirit, or has unnecessary weaknesses and hesitations will sooner or later be eliminated. Only the coldest, most selfish, dedicated but slippery, ruthless and bloodthirsty but able to rule over all nations can become evergreens under the Lord of Steel.

It goes without saying: Such people are naturally capable of guarding the borders of the Lord of Steel.

They can easily use steel and fear to make billions of people submit.

So, with a stroke of his pen, Perturabo divided his legions and realms into hundreds of independent entities of varying sizes, just as the Emperor had divided the entire galaxy among the various Primarchs on Ullanor.

This behavior, which is close to being a hands-off manager, has caused countless additional effects.

One of the less important ones is that the influence of the Avalon Faction in the Fourth Legion began to wane.

However, this decline was not a complete setback like a stock market crash, but a gradual retreat to a position that matched their strength: it was also the limit that an Iron Warrior veteran could endure.

Most of the war blacksmiths from Avalon were sealed in the eastern border of Olympia, and most of the Avalonians gradually gathered here. They lost their influence on the entire legion, but they could build a large star region into their solid base.

It is worth noting that through various covert means and the good reputation they had accumulated before, these latecomers of the Avalonians succeeded in taking away a considerable portion of the Fourth Legion's legacy: a large number of experienced mortal auxiliary troops chose to follow these Avalonian Iron Warriors and head to the east of Olympia to start a new life.

This disguised plunder made the older warsmiths full of complaints about these newcomers from Avalon, but they had no way to deal with it. Compared with the more united newcomers, the older warsmiths had been unable to unite because of the competition between them that had lasted for dozens or even hundreds of years: competing with each other and even plotting against each other were common, and only the orders of the Primarch could make them put aside their disputes.

But there is one thing that everyone recognizes.

After locking himself away on a sealed world called Creation for decades, the orders coming from the Primarch of the IVth Legion have become increasingly... strange.

Of course, equally strange are the [Envoys] who issue orders on behalf of the Primarchs.

“I feel terrified every time I see them.”

"But every time I hear a new order, my fear of them disappears."

"Because the new order will scare me even more."

While Falk triumphantly inspected his soldiers who were about to go into battle, Fricks remained on the bridge, his eyes finally focused on the world below that was about to encounter a disaster.

He didn't quite remember the name of this world, but he knew it didn't matter: in three days at most, this world would be wiped out from the empire's territory.

Its cities will be razed, its written records will be erased, and the people living on it will contribute their final value in a unique way: if a new colony ship chooses this place as its landing point dozens or hundreds of years later, this land will have a new name in the record books.

This is the punishment for those who dare to resist Perturabo's will.

By Imperial standards, this was not brutal.

It's just... a little weird.

Specifically: it was the way the Primarch decided to punish these betrayers that seemed strange.

Thinking of this, Fricks's perspective couldn't help but drift to another corner of the bridge.

Under the will of the Primarch, a total of three forces worked together to deal with this rebellious world: If Falk and his camp were just a little unbearable for Frix, then the members of the Mechanicus who always kept a distance from them and wore strange gray-black robes were terrifying.

Especially the things they brought.

Fricks shuddered.

As the captain of the Fourth Legion, even though the Primarch had been out of touch with worldly affairs for a long time, the City Breaker still enjoyed many privileges, both overt and covert. For example, when the war blacksmiths were divided up, the territory under his jurisdiction was the one closest to the Lord of Steel.

Therefore, in many cases, he would receive the special treatment of being summoned by Perturabo: although the Primarch himself rarely met him in person, his close proximity to the core of power allowed Fricks to know many secrets and witness the transformation of the Lord of Olympia with his own eyes.

But even so, the city-breaker's outstanding brain still couldn't figure out all the facts.

He could only list the memories in his mind.

Fricks still remembered that for a period of time after Ullanor, the Lord of Iron did calm down and concentrate on governing the country. Although his connection with the Legion had become increasingly weak at that time, the influence of the Primarch was still everywhere: it only took him a generation to transform Greater Olympia, which spanned tens of thousands of star systems, into an ideal country of prosperity and peace.

But the heyday of the Legion and the Kingdom did not last much longer. After the states gradually became prosperous, Perturabo seemed to have lost interest in being a wise ruler. He began to pursue other goals. While distributing war blacksmiths to various places, the Primarch also began to levy additional taxes on the worlds under his rule.

That's when things started to get weird.

First, Perturabo stopped his Iron Blood over a wild world called Creation, and spent a huge amount of resources to turn it into a mechanical planet. Then he sent out invitations to a large number of forging worlds, including Mars, to send their most knowledgeable and radical people to Creation to discuss with him an unprecedented great cause.

In the following years, Fricks witnessed thousands of mechanical priests and bishops flocking to Olympia. The vast majority of them stayed here willingly and never left. Some of the most extreme ones even gave up all their assets and scientific research results on their home planet.

Fricks didn't know what his Gene-Father and these Omnissiah believers were researching in their mysterious metal fortress, but he knew that after spending a huge amount of money to transform the entire Creation Planet and even the entire galaxy where the planet was located into the most advanced giant scientific research base in the galaxy, the Primarch did not stop, but made more and more strange moves.

He levied an unprecedented tax, the amount of which was so huge that the warsmiths who received the task even thought that the Primarch was joking: those worlds that were still praising Perturabo a dozen years ago immediately fell into rebellion after the order was issued.

But in the face of the iron laws of the Lord of Steel and the extraordinary means of the warsmiths, the taxes demanded by Perturabo were finally delivered on time: but no one dared to further elaborate on the price.

Then?

Then, Perturabo used the tax money to create a cosmic wonder in the Genesis Star Field that Frix had never heard of.

It looked like a space station, but it was incredibly large, comparable to a smaller planet. Although the Warsmith had never seen its inner areas, Perturabo described it as a coveted giant computing hub that could break through the barriers of the world.

When asked about its name, the Primarch jokingly told his captain that the title of this giant structure would be "The Throne of the Abyss".

There may be a deeper meaning in this, but Fricks cannot explore this mystery.

For soon the Lord of Olympia issued new orders to his legions and kingdoms.

He first asked the legion to march to the last turbulent area in the Maelstrom to eliminate all alien forces and pirates who dared to invade them. At the same time, he began to levy a new additional tax: the amount of this new tax was much larger than the previous two, and even the most ruthless war blacksmith would be frightened pale by the number.

Compared to it, the tithe on Holy Terra seems so tender and affectionate.

Naturally, the Fourth Legion had no objection to the elimination of aliens and pirates. The only thing that puzzled the war blacksmiths was that this time, those Mechanicus wearing strange robes also joined the war. However, they did not come to experiment with new weapons, but were committed to capturing a large number of prisoners after the battle, both humans and other species.

It is still unknown why the Mechanical Priests did this, but the expedition against certain special alien species was soon stopped, their home planets were blockaded, and those strange members of the Mechanical Cult took over the command.

After a while, the alien home planets became empty and all living things disappeared.

These were strange things that the warsmiths who were on good terms with Fricks had relayed from the front lines.

What is more common than strange things is that the war blacksmiths privately complain about the high taxes.

This is completely understandable. Even the most docile and cowardly planetary governor will inevitably show a fierce look when facing the tax bill issued by the Lord of Olympia: for the war blacksmiths, collecting this new tax is basically equivalent to facing a new riot.

The only pity is that there are actually fewer people in the world who dare to complain than they imagine.

But it still exists: and refuses to yield.

The riots in some of these worlds were so great that even the local war smiths were unable to suppress them. So Fricks received an order to come with Falk, whom he hated, to punish these rebels: Originally, the development of things should have followed this logic.
But when Fricks prepared a powerful force and extermination order for the suppression, Perturabo's Iron Envoys, who were larger than the Astartes and like the legendary iron warriors, brought a whole team of Mechanicus members wearing black robes, and those terrifying "New Tools" behind them.

They told Fricks.

Now, these rebels have new value.

------

"so……"

“What are their new values?”

Undoubtedly, facing the two well-prepared Iron Camps and the ruthless army of the Mechanicus, the rebellious world had no ability to continue its own flame.

Miracles do not even exist for them, because as early as when planning the development of various colonies, Perturabo had deliberately kept a backup plan: his colonial plan ensured that the various colonial worlds would not possess powerful military forces, and all deadly weapons would eventually be highly concentrated in the hands of war blacksmiths who were utmost loyal to him.

Under the banner of Olympia, the rebels were not even capable of dying together with the armies of the Iron Warriors.

For Fricks and Falk, the real difficulty lies in how to fulfill the requirements of the Mechanicus, that is, to make as many rebels as possible surrender voluntarily with as little casualties as possible: especially to protect the function of their head organs.

Falk first suggested that they could randomly kill a hive city to form a deterrent, while Fricks suggested directly launching an air strike on the rebels' headquarters and shutting down the force field shield to force them to lay down their arms: In the end, the First Captain's suggestion was adopted by the Primarch's envoys.

So, when the angry Falk led his steel battalion to wipe out the last resisters, Fricks stayed in the official residence of the former planetary general, looking at the endless land under his feet and the crowds who remained indignant in silence from the commanding heights of the world: he was very curious about what new use these rebels could have.

In the Empire's previous handling of the situation, they would either grind the entire world to ashes as a warning to others, or sentence the rebels to ten generations of hard labor and let them work on the mineral world with a very high mortality rate: but the black-robed mechanical priests gave a third answer.

Under the protection of the Iron Warriors, an astonishing number of transport planes landed on the ground one after another, and a cold breath emanated from the black storage boxes inside: Fricks instinctively realized that what was carried in them should be the works made by his genetic father.

"what is this?"

But when the first metal monster slowly rose into the air under the control of the mechanical priests, Fricks still frowned: this thing gave him a very bad feeling, and it sent a chill down his spine.

He couldn't tell what it was.

That thing looked like a drone, but it also looked a bit like an octopus. It had a pure black shell and was incredibly agile. When it danced rapidly in the air, even Fricks, an Astartes, could only barely keep up with its speed with his eyes.

He had no doubt that these things would be nothing more than a dark shadow in the eyes of mortals.

They can't fight it, and they can't hide from it.

But what really makes people feel scared are the tentacles of this metal octopus: they are not decorations, but practical tools with different functions. They are so hard that even a dozen bombs cannot completely destroy them. Fricks keenly discovered that the size and shape of these things seem to be particularly suitable for hunting humans.

Specifically: the human mind.

"Don't be afraid, Captain."

The figure in the black robe nodded at him.

"They only react to [mortals]."

"You should thank your father for his genius coding skills that made this possible."

Father?

Did he mean the Primarch?

Is this the work of Lord Perturabo?
Fricks's lips twitched a few times.

He had too many questions he wanted to talk about, but his instinct of obedience made him understand the value of silence: just as he was rarely entangled in his heart, those mechanical priests in black robes had already raised their arms, and as they gave orders, tens of thousands, even hundreds of thousands of metal instruments rose into the sky, and then rushed towards the distant city at an unimaginable speed.

Like a wolf among sheep.

Hundreds of thousands of monsters formed a dark cloud that blocked the view and the sky, but their smooth metal reflected the light of the stars above their heads, forming a wonderful fantasy that was both flickering and depressing: but the people on the ground must not be in the mood to sigh about all this, because when these monsters swooped towards the city and the square, screams one after another resounded throughout the sky.

The sounds of people crying, struggling, angry cursing and children screaming irritated the ears, and from time to time there were also the sounds of hurried escape and angry gunfire, but what was truly terrifying was that all of this, all the sounds, were disappearing at a speed visible to the naked eye.

The square, which was bustling with people a minute ago, became as quiet as a cemetery a minute later.

Fricks didn't dare to think about the connection behind this. He just moved his lips and asked the previous question unconsciously.

"Ensure...ensure what?"

Perhaps Falk would remain silent: but Fricks still wanted to understand the situation.

"Are you really that curious?"

The figure in the black robe did not look at the Warsmith, he showed a strange contempt.

It feels like a wise man with great ideals is looking at ordinary people who are in a muddle.

Fricks did not answer, but he responded with his own silence.

"……All right."

It took a while before he got the promise.

"You'll find out soon enough."

After saying this, the figure in the black robe stretched out a finger and directed the War Blacksmith's gaze to the distance again.

I saw that the black metal monsters that had rushed towards the city like a dark cloud had completed their work and were staggering back to their starting point: but unlike when they set out, it seemed to be raining under the dark clouds.

If you listen carefully, you can hear the sound of hundreds of thousands of raindrops hitting the ground.

"Look carefully and you will know."

The sound floated by his ears, but Fricks no longer had the energy to pay attention.

He just stared carefully at the monsters and what they brought back.

what is that?
The distance was too far and the company commander couldn't see clearly.

He could only wait until he got closer: but he vaguely smelled a familiar scent.

A smell that made him uneasy.

"That is……"

"!"

For a moment, Fricks' eyes widened.

He saw what it was.

Among the tentacles of the metal monsters are human heads: human heads that died with their eyes open!

They were tightly trapped in cages, each with a look of astonishment and bloodshot eyes, and there was a smooth cut on their necks, from which fresh raindrops kept falling: these victims were obviously not completely dead, because in their dragged-out spines, the remaining survival instinct made the bones twist restlessly.

These ruthless metal monsters grabbed one human head after another that still had traces of fear, just like a farmer selling dates grabbing those red and green fruits. They flew towards the second batch of transport ships that landed, where Fricks could see neatly arranged green nutrient solution tanks. When these dead people were thrown in mercilessly, their thin lives seemed to be forcibly continued.

Their eyeballs began to roll, but their stiff facial expressions could not change at all. Their lips seemed to be struggling, but in the end, only that chilling spine could twitch.

There is no doubt that this green liquid hell will not make it easy for them to die.

“It seems to be working very well.”

As he gaped at what he saw, Fricks heard a pleasant sound of metal rubbing against metal.

The figure in the black robe was mumbling to himself with satisfaction and issuing orders through the communication device.

“Bring down more [tools] so we can collect more sets of experimental data.”

"Also, prepare more nutrient solution: I don't want this batch of goods to spoil halfway."

“This [hardware] will last for several more years.”

The Mechanical Priest spoke in a light tone, and it seemed that he was very satisfied with the progress of the experiment.

Behind him, more metal monsters had returned with full loads, and more transport planes landed one after another: millions of human heads were transported back and forth like cargo at an altitude of less than thirty meters above Fricks. The blood rain they shed and the last remaining wails in their mouths constituted an absurd spectacle that Astarte had never seen or imagined.

The captain stood there in a daze until the Mechanical Priest, who was in a good mood, decided to pay attention to him.

"Are you still curious, Warsmith?"

"..."

Fricks struggled to nod.

"Ok."

Perhaps he was indeed in a good mood, the Mechanical Priest turned and shouted to his followers.

"Go and bring up the Governor."

"Let's do a... live demonstration."

------

"[Reapers]: Their appearance confirms that Lord Perturabo is indeed the son of the Omnissiah."

"Believe me, you will never be able to imagine that behind such a simple-looking structure is a code and concept that is so complex that you will never be able to understand it."

"Only Lord Perturabo can do that."

Dragging the unconscious Governor in front of him, the Mechanical Priest introduced his fresh live pigs to his customers like a butcher, boasting about his techniques in processing lean meat and ribs.

"The Reapers have two core abilities: one is the ability to encode brain nerves, and the other is the ability to forcibly implant brain-machine gaps into brain organs."

"As for the third point, it is to be able to deal with the remaining worthless parts very well."

"like this."

After saying this, the Mechanical Priest summoned a Reaper from the dark clouds in the sky.

“They can autonomously find their target and decide on all the subsequent processes.”

"You can also understand it as: extremely intelligent."

As the Reapers were on their way, the mysterious tone of the Mechanical Priest made Fricks frown.

He lowered his voice because he knew that this was a taboo that must not be touched within the empire.

"AI?"

"Oh, of course I'm fine."

The Mechanical Priest shook his head.

“They are not AI.”

"They're just... incredibly close."

"What do you mean?"

"Thanks to Lord Perturabo: he conquered us with such a subtle method."

"Reapers: There's only a thin red line between them and AI, but they'll never cross it."

"The Lord Primarch's coding abilities will ensure this."

“They are AI, but they are missing something that is essential to AI.”

"This...how is this possible!"

"how is this possible?"

The Mechanical Priest seemed to be laughing.

"You'd better be respectful to the only heir of the Omnissiah, Frickus."

"Now, let's start the experiment."

He spread out his hands: the terrifying reaper had already grasped the governor's head firmly with its tentacles.

In inexplicable awe, Fricks watched the entire process in silence.

He witnessed how the terrifying instrument called the Reaper accurately grabbed the fat head of the planetary governor. One tentacle quickly injected neurotoxin, making the mortal under its claws lose the power to resist, while the other one inserted into the brain and forcibly connected to the brain-computer gap. When the severe pain woke the planetary governor suddenly, he began to wail madly and shed the last line of hot tears, the remaining tentacles were inserted into his brain one by one in an orderly manner, starting the recoding project mentioned by the mechanical priest.

The whole process went smoothly and the total time did not exceed one minute.

"You have to admit it."

When the vitality and thoughts of the planetary governor gradually dissipated before Frix's eyes, the mechanical priest who also witnessed all this was fascinated and even told Frix about it in a familiar manner.

“There is something fascinating about biological brains.”

“The highly developed level of synaptic integration allows us to bypass some of the things that silicon-based hardware can’t do.”

“And the cost is lower, and there’s more material.”

"..."

"So... is he still alive?"

Fricks stared at the planetary governor's face. It was difficult for him to describe the state before him: he still looked alive, the madness and pain in his pupils were not fake, and his severed neck and spine were still moving. However, the holes that were forcibly implanted in his brain and the red and yellow substance flowing out did not make it look like he could survive.

"Well... this question is more complicated."

The Mechanical Priest's contemptuous attitude made Fricks clench his fists involuntarily.

"The process of inserting the brain-computer gap and recoding will undoubtedly wear out the original neural connection system. From a biological point of view, he must be dead, but we can't let him die immediately, because it is very likely to cause the entire hardware to be scrapped. Therefore, we will use certain means to promote and prolong his life."

"At least before he was soaked in the nutrient solution, he was still alive: he could feel but he couldn't think."

"And in the nutrient solution, his physiological functions will be maintained until the moment his brain nerves are completely burned out."

"That means...he can feel all this?"

"This is none of our business."

The Mechanical Priest shook his head nonchalantly.

"After all, they are just some rebels."

"Besides, our limited energy must be focused on more important subjects: like that one."

Following the guidance of the Mechanical Priest, Fricks saw one of the people who were dragged here with the Governor: the Reaper that descended on him seemed to have given up, leaving behind only the rapidly cooling corpse and several gaps from which red and yellow substances were flowing.

"it's a pity."

The Mechanical Priest was filled with emotion.

"Not all individuals can adapt to the process of inserting into the brain-computer gap and recoding. There will always be some who have too strong rejection reactions, causing the experiment to fail. Moreover, surgery itself is risky: how to reduce this probability is our most important issue at present."

"As for the rest?"

"Why do you care so much?"

“We’re on to something great.”

"Don't let petty things get in your way."

"This is what Lord Perturabo himself warned us about."

------

"So, Lord Fricks."

When the figure under the black robe looked at the warsmith, he straightened his spine proudly, as if his status was higher than Perturabo's trident.

"I hope you can adapt to all this as soon as possible."

"Adapt to what?"

Fricks heard himself talking: How could his lips be so dry?

"Are you used to these...things?"

"They are new tools of Lord Perturabo."

The Mechanical Priest worked hard to correct this notion.

"Believe me, in the days ahead, you will get used to fighting alongside them."

"..."

"I don't think so, sir."

The last bit of struggling conscience in his heart urged Fricks to say this.

"After all, only a few worlds dare to rebel against Lord Perturabo."

"They don't have any more... opportunities to perform."

As they spoke, the city area before them, which had once carried millions of people, had become as silent as a tomb: and the harvesters were already flying towards the more distant skyline.

"Who knows?"

As blood dripped onto his black robe, Fricks was terrified by the mechanical priest who refused to reveal his true face.

Whether it was his breath or his next words.

------

"Indeed, there won't be so many rebels."

"But our needs are always increasing day by day."

"You know what? All the hardware in the world can't even fill one-tenth of the total demand."

"Moreover, they will all wear out, which is also the biggest disadvantage of hardware. After three to five years at most, they will be worn out. Some more fragile or immature individuals may not even survive that time. We have done classification and comparison experiments specifically for this purpose."

"And when that time comes: we have to come up with some new ideas, don't we?"

"Besides, Master Fricks."

……

"How can you define the boundaries of a rebel?"

……

"..."

Fricks swallowed: he prayed that the words he had just heard did not mean what he thought they meant.

And in front of him.

The black shadow was smiling contemptuously.

“Remember: It’s just like I said.”

“If you want to achieve greatness, don’t limit your thinking to mediocrity.”

"Lord Perturabo has done this: he expects you to do the same."

(End of this chapter)