I summoned the Fourth Scourge in Warhammer

Chapter 185 Respect and meaning need not be placed on inanimate objects

When Taron Wick regained consciousness, he found himself in an unfamiliar place.

The ground beneath him was cold metal, and not far away was a control panel that flickered with a faint light. The surrounding structure was compact and precise, resembling the bridge of a small ship. The escape pod seemed to be a teleportation device that had brought him directly here. Outside was the cold and desolate universe, but the image of everything being burned to ashes in his mind could not be shaken off no matter what.

Wick sat on the floor for a while, his mechanical eyes devoid of any light. After a long while, he stiffly stood up, as if a machine had been restarted. He hugged the sink tightly, as if using all his strength, and slowly moved towards the control panel.

Sensing his approach, the main screen lit up at the right time, displaying a simplified star map in front of him, and the system prompted him to select a destination.

Wick had no choice. He carefully placed the sink on the nearby support, then slumped into the driver's seat, silently reflecting on the past. Pinje, Bonnie, Leonid… their sacrifices could not be in vain. Those damned aliens must pay the price!
At the same time, Wick recalled Pinje's last words—"Make sure it is handed over to someone who can use it to benefit everyone," and even earlier, the phrase "enough to give every citizen of the Empire a clean drink of water."

For any other cyborg, any analogy might be possible, but this one is impossible. In Wick's understanding, few cyborgs care about anyone other than themselves, let alone mortals who are completely unrelated to them. Their world consists only of gears, data, and devotion to Omnisiah.

Why does this cold universe always kill those who are passionate, while allowing someone as numb as myself to live? Is this the scene the Emperor would like to see?

Wick struggled mightily to pull himself out of this endless despair. "Let's think about revenge first!" He turned his gaze to the star map on the screen. In the vast eastern part of the galaxy, which force was the most powerful and capable of delivering a decisive blow to Tyrion?
The answer, without a doubt, is the Ultramarines 500 world, ruled by the Ultramarines.

But he was just a nobody, and if he only presented the information he currently possessed, would the Ultramarines take his opinion seriously? After all, although Wick believed in the threat of the Tyranids because of his trust in Pingjie and the others, in the end, they had only lost one planet so far, and it was a remote and barbaric world that couldn't even collect a tithe.

Suddenly, a faint spark appeared in Wick's logic circuit.

According to Pingjie and his group, the Tyranids are vast in scale and will inevitably devour everything in their path. If that's the case, then the five hundred worlds of Alteramar, the largest power in the eastern galaxy, must be Tyranids' target. Perhaps there's no particular reason for the Tyranids' straight marching route; Alteramar just happened to run into their trap.

But now that Wick is the first Mechanicus priest to encounter the Tyranids and survive, he can "artistically" embellish it! With the entire Empire completely unaware of this new alien, no greater authority can reasonably and convincingly question him.

For example, he could claim that the main reason the Tyranids charged straight toward Alterama was to devour the flesh and blood of the Primarch!
When the Ultramarines actually see the Tyranid swarm charging straight at them, they will inevitably have to believe everything they've been told. How could the Ultramarines not be enraged that the Father of Genesis is being coveted by the Xenomorphs? How could they not gather all their strength and deliver a devastating blow to the Tyranids?
Wick was thrilled by his sudden inspiration! He could even picture hundreds of thousands, even millions, of enraged Sons of Guilliman gathering in Alterama, ready to chop all the Tyranids into mincemeat! At that time, Pingjie and his companions' revenge would be just around the corner!
Wick stood up excitedly and paced back and forth on the narrow bridge. Next, it was time to realize Pingjie and the others' dream.

Wick felt a sharp headache coming on. To ensure a good life for all the people of the Empire? Oh, Messiah, that was far more difficult than annihilating the Tyranids!
After much thought, Wick still couldn't come up with a clue. In the end, he had to give up on the idea of ​​coming up with a complete solution immediately; such things couldn't be accomplished overnight. He decided to take it one step at a time.

“First, I must start climbing the ranks quickly within the system,” Wick muttered to himself. “I need knowledge, a lot of knowledge, to empower myself…”

At this point, he became somewhat discouraged: "But where can I find knowledge?"

"Knowledge?"

A cold, emotionless mechanical voice rang out in the spaceship where there should absolutely be no other person.

“I can give you as much of that stuff as you want.” Wick turned around abruptly and saw an alien he had never seen in any of Mars’ biological databases before—it was like a silver skeleton made of metal, its long and lifeless face devoid of any vitality, except for its eyes, which emitted a chilling, shimmering green light.

“As long as…” the alien extended a long, slender metal finger, pointing to the sink that Wick had placed to the side, “…you give me that.”

Without the slightest hesitation, Wick stepped forward, spreading his arms to shield the tank behind him like a wild beast protecting its cubs: "Alien, get lost!"

“Heh, you’d better think carefully before you speak, Father Wick,” the silver, skull-like alien said leisurely, its voice cold and smooth, devoid of any emotional fluctuation.

It bowed slightly, making an ancient and elegant gesture: "Let me introduce myself first. My name is Tarasin the Endless, a collector who enjoys collecting things with unique historical significance."

Tarasin straightened up, his green eyes gleaming with calculation: "Then, let me do the math for you. First of all, you have no fighting skills, at least not now, and you are definitely no match for me. In other words, I could easily kill you right now and then take this trough. The reason I proposed exchanging knowledge is only out of respect for ancient etiquette."

It paused, seemingly giving Wick time to process what it had said.

“Secondly, if you were to die here protecting this trough, which is of little use except for its symbolic significance, would Pinje and the others be happy?” Tarachin continued, calling out the name precisely, which made Wick’s heart sink. “But if you accept the deal, you will not only hand over this trough to the person who truly has the power to control it—that is, me—but you will also gain the knowledge necessary to realize Pinje and the others’ ideals… Believe me, the knowledge I possess far exceeds your imagination. This deal is well worth the price.”

“You’ve been spying on us all along…” Wick squeezed out the words through clenched teeth.

“Yes,” Tarasin readily admitted, “you’re not going to say something like, ‘Then why didn’t you save us?’ right?”

Wick said coldly, "Being saved by an alien is worse than just being eaten by Tyrannosaurus."

“Very good, it seems you have a clear mind,” Tarasin said with satisfaction. “So, have you thought about the deal? Or are you planning to place all your respect and significance for them on this inanimate object, thereby losing the opportunity to truly realize their ideals?”

Wick fell silent. Every word Tarachin spoke was like a precise scalpel, dissecting his defenses and piercing his core contradiction. Should he hold onto his friend's belongings, mourning in helplessness, or should he use these belongings to gain the power to fulfill their last wishes? For a cyborg priest, the scales of logic had begun to tip.

After a long pause, he finally spoke, his voice hoarse: "I need some time to think... and to inspect the goods."

“Of course, of course.” Taracin seemed to have anticipated his response. With a swift movement, a black data chip, shimmering faintly, appeared in its hand. “Go ahead and examine it, go ahead and think about it. My patience, like my time, is limitless…”

It places the chip on the console.

"...But Tyron is different."

(End of this chapter)