Warhammer Survival Guide

Chapter 117 Anger

The rain intensified at the D-4 landing platform.

Sulfur-rich acidic rainwater pounded against Buck Griffin's armor.

The burly captain of the guard was kneeling on the muddy metal floor, dejected and heartbroken.

The arbitrators from the Ministry of Justice watched this scene with indifference.

The heavy helmets obscured their expressions.

However, their slightly tilted gun barrels and relaxed stances revealed a condescending contempt.

In their eyes, this was just another ordinary indigenous person who broke down because he lost his beloved toy.

They had seen this situation far too often in many worlds where people were conscripted.

In the encrypted communication channel that was limited to the squad only, some people even opened betting odds, wagering on whether these natives who crawled out of the wasteland had the guts to pull the trigger.

Especially this Lo Wei.

Since they dared to refuse Lord Márquez's offer.

They originally thought that this person had some cleverness and pride, and even if he didn't dare to draw his gun, he would at least argue his case and show his dignity as a "local bully".

Unexpectedly, this person turned out to be as cowardly as a lump of mud.

With just a threat from Márquez, the man disarmed himself without hesitation and even forced his confidant to hand over his life-saving weapon.

"Ha, so-called smart people are just better at kneeling down." The arbitrator who had taken the precision-engineered explosive gun sneered over the communication channel.

Then, looking at the servo skull that flew over from beside Marquez, it extended its mechanical claw and put the weapon, named "Emperor's Wrath," into a shockproof storage box.

Lowe was unaware of the secret conversation among the arbitrators, but he could vaguely sense their contempt from their body language.

But he doesn't care what these people think of him.

He only cares about his subordinates.

For Buck, this meticulously crafted bomb gun, known as "Emperor's Wrath," was far more than just a killing tool for survival in the wasteland.

It was an extension of his authority as captain of the guard.

It is also a symbol of Loewe's trust in him.

For a soldier, having his weapon forcibly confiscated is tantamount to being stripped of his armor and stripped of his backbone in public; it is the most thorough trampling of his dignity.

Buck is not unaware of the greater good.

He was raised with the national religion and knew that paying tithes was a sacred duty.

It is the glory of mortals who devote themselves to the golden throne.

If the front lines truly need him, he will not hesitate to give his life.

But Márquez's methods were too despicable and too arrogant.

This was not a sacred collection at all, but a naked plunder disguised as "imperial law".

Buck certainly didn't believe that the gun would actually be issued to the soldiers on the front lines.

As Márquez himself stated, the gun was likely a lost relic belonging to a Space Marine or an Inquisitor.

Since Valentine, this纨绔子弟 (playboy), was able to obtain it through bribery on the black market...

So now that it has fallen into the pockets of Ministry of the Interior bureaucrats, and will eventually become a private ornament in the collection room of those big shots, it is probably destined to become that.

Thinking of this, Rowe placed his hand on Buck's shoulder armor and said in a deep voice, "Stand up, Buck. Obeying the tithe is the duty of every citizen of the Empire."

"Since Your Excellency the Tax Official believes that the front lines need this weapon more, we must obey."

Buck let out a muffled sob, but he obeyed the order and, with the support of Rowe's arm, shakily stood up, his eyes never leaving the gun.

After calming Buck down, Rowe pondered for a moment and said, "Your Excellency, please wait a moment. Please allow my technical advisor, Father Alpha, to conduct a final check on the weapon's condition before the handover."

Lowe further explained the reason: "This gun is in our hands and has undergone some localized maintenance."

"To prevent it from malfunctioning in your hands, we need to transfer the relevant maintenance data."

Upon hearing this, Marquez's brass-cast head turned slightly.

At the heart of his logic, this was a compliance request.

Confirming the status of supplies upon receipt can effectively avoid subsequent disputes over responsibility.

"Granted," Marquez replied.

Father Alpha stepped forward with heavy steps.

His red robe, stained with engine oil, fluttered in the wind.

The priest extended a mechanical tentacle connected to a data probe and inserted it into the maintenance interface beneath the bomb gun.

next second.

An alarm sounded from the speaker behind the priest.

Father Alpha's servo prosthetic arm trembled dramatically, as if it had been electrocuted.

Then, he abruptly retracted his tentacles: "Machine Soul—Wrath! Utter rage!"

The priest's voice was filled with terror.

He pointed at the gun and shouted at Márquez, "The weapon's soul has established a deep, sacred connection with its original wielder! It's screaming! It refuses to leave its original owner's biofield!"

The light in Márquez's eyes contracted slightly.

"Absurd. Data scans show that the gun's mechanical structure is intact, and the firing pin wear rate is less than 5%."

Father Alpha appeared even angrier than Márquez.

He brandished his mechanical arm, looking every bit the fanatical believer: "You're using cold, physical data to measure sacred machine emotions!"

"Didn't you hear the groans of its internal logic circuitry?"

"Didn't you detect any abnormal fluctuations in the barrel temperature?"

The priest pulled up a set of data and projected it into the air.

The temperature monitoring curve of the gun body is indeed in a relatively high range.

"This is the result of Captain Buck's long-term close embrace and warming with his body heat. The machine spirit has become accustomed to this specific biological heat source."

Father Alpha explained solemnly.

"If this heat source connection is forcibly severed, the machine spirit will fall into a violent depression."

"Based on past cases, it may lock the trigger at a critical moment, or it may explode in the barrel, thus sacrificing itself."

, 7

Upon hearing the words "explosion" and "funeral sacrifice," the servo skull responsible for packing it stopped in mid-air.

Marquez fell silent.

According to the Mechanicus, the Machine Soul is real and has a strange temperament.

If a weapon truly develops the characteristic of "recognizing its owner," forcibly changing its user will indeed cause various malfunctions that cannot be explained by science.

This is frequently seen in the records of the empire.

Moreover, this was the diagnosis personally made by Father Alpha, a former Mars scholar.

Therefore, Márquez must consider this carefully.

As an efficiency-conscious tax official, he didn't want to bring back a time bomb that could explode on the spaceship at any moment.

If the explosion causes injury or death to an important person, the person in charge of the requisition will be held responsible.

He hesitated for only two seconds before saying in a softened tone, "Since there are uncontrollable risks—"

"According to Article 7 of the Supplementary Clause of the Imperial Material Requisition Regulations, equipment with serious hidden dangers of machine souls should be returned and sealed or destroyed by the original unit."

Marquez raised the mechanical claw, gesturing for the servo skull to retreat, and said to Rowe, "Take it back. I don't accept defective assets."

Buck's single eye suddenly lit up, and his breathing became rapid.

However, Lo Wei did not answer it.

His expression turned unusually serious, and he said with righteous indignation, "No, Your Excellency Tax Official."

Lo Wei refused.

"You just taught us that this 'Emperor's Wrath' is a lost relic, a precious treasure belonging to the Empire."

"Leaving it in the hands of us mortals to catch rats is a huge waste of resources and a desecration of sacred faith."

Luo Wei's tone was firm and resolute: "Now that the decision has been made to hand it over, it is the sharpest sword for the soldiers on the front lines. How can we deprive it of its chance to serve the Emperor simply because of some maintenance difficulties?"

Marquez's logic processor experienced a momentary lag.

He didn't expect that Luo Wei would use almost exactly what he had just said to shut him down.

"But the machine spirit is unstable—"

"This requires you and your team to show care for the machine's soul."

Luo Wei took out a prepared data tablet from his pocket and handed it over with both hands.

"This is Father Alpha's 'Emperor's Wrath: Soothing and Maintenance Manual.' As long as you strictly follow the procedures in it, the machine spirit can be soothed."

Marquez took the data panel.

Data streams flooded his mind.

Immediately afterwards, the cyborg's body stiffened noticeably.

The requirements on the list are as follows:

1. Every 4 standard Terras, you need to wipe it with high-purity holy oil from Mars.

2. At least two technical priests must take turns reciting the entire "Hymn to the War of Astartes" daily for no less than 6 hours.

0 minutes.

3. The storage environment temperature should be kept constant at 37.5 degrees Celsius to simulate the body temperature of the original owner.

4. It is strictly forbidden to put it in a dark weapon case; it must be placed on an open gun rack surrounded by incense.

5. ————

The list was so tedious it was outrageous.

This is hardly a matter of maintaining a gun.

This is practically serving a difficult ancestor.

"This is extremely inefficient," Márquez commented.

"But this is for loyalty," Rowe replied without changing his expression. "Only in this way can we quell the rage of the machine spirit and allow it to play its role on the front lines."

"I believe that this extra time cost is acceptable to the great Ministry of the Interior for the sake of the sacred tithe."

Lowe pinned down two heavy labels: "loyalty" and "tithing".

Marquez found himself unable to refute.

If he refuses, it would be tantamount to admitting that the Ministry of the Interior is unwilling to maintain the Empire's sacred relics in order to save trouble.

If he accepts, he and his crew will have to spend a lot of computing power and time serving this damned "ancestor" during the rest of the journey.

The gun became a hot potato.

I can't throw it away, but it's too hot to hold.

On Marquez's brass head, the red halo flickered rapidly a few times, as if he were suppressing intense emotions.

Finally, he let out a sigh filled with static: "Very good. Your suggestion—very compliant."

Marquez waved the mechanical claw.

"Take it away. Seal and maintain it according to the highest standards for sacred objects."

The servo skull carefully picked up the bomb gun.

It looked as if she was holding a fragile bomb, slowly flying towards the shuttle.

Buck listened to Márquez's mechanical, fly-like tone, wiped away his tears, and was no longer so sad and upset.

He knew that his boss had helped him vent his anger in a different way.

>