Warhammer: Empire Reboot

A young Karl gripped the handle of a gravity axe at his waist, his eyes flashing with a fierce light.

"They just finished helping us get rid of the pests, and then they set up a patrol post right at the entrance to our mine. Their Lord Seal has such a huge appetite that he's practically chewing up the entire galaxy."

"They're doing me a favor and expecting something in return!"

Olsen gave a cold snort.

"They saved our lives, but next they'll probably make us sign a contract to pay all our mineral production in tithes, or force us to sell the refined gold and rare earth ore we've mined to Terra at scrap iron prices."

The old dwarf raised his hand and slammed it heavily onto the thick metal book of vengeance beside him.

"The mineral veins of the Great Turian Alliance were painstakingly extracted from the rock strata by clans over tens of thousands of years."

"Leviathan's nineteen main tentacles pressed in, gnawing through our home planet and forcing us to prepare to detonate the Earth's core. We have not yielded an inch to the insects."

He gazed at the vast human fleet slowly drifting through the void in the distance.

"Now that it's the human empire, the same principle applies."

“They need high-purity alloys, and we can supply them with the highest standards. They need deep space navigation data, and we can settle accounts according to commercial agreements.”

"But if these long-legged toilet seats think they can make us old bones kneel down and call them God Emperor just because they have a few hundred super battleships, or if they plan to forcibly take over the mining rights of the galactic core..."

"Those brainless bastards from Tyrion couldn't make us bow down, and neither can the Human Empire!"

With Wald's roar, dozens of gravity warhammers and power axes slammed onto the adamantite floor in the command hall.

The young dwarf roared, refusing to bow to the human empire.

However, ten seconds later.

After the young guards and junior officers on the perimeter withdrew from the command center according to regulations, the atmosphere in the hall cooled down rapidly at an extremely awkward pace.

The veins on Wald's face gradually subsided.

He silently spat out the cigarette butt from his mouth, pulled over a large alloy swivel chair and sat down, casually rubbing his slightly sore knees.

Beside him, Olsen, the representative of Kronus who had just shouted that he would not bow down even if he died in battle, was now lying on the tactical control console, rapidly swiping the thermal readings of the human warship that he had just intercepted with one hand.

“Wald”.

Olsen asked, "Tell me the truth, if those black lumps of iron really turn their cannons around, can our remaining mobile fleet hold out for forty minutes in a head-on confrontation?"

Wald glanced at him sideways, picked up the bottle of synthetic malt liquor beside him, and took a big gulp.

"You overestimate the hulls of our mining motherships. That stellar spine cannon shot just now traveled an extra 30,000 kilometers in the vacuum. The gravitational distortion caused by the aftershocks alone short-circuited the force field generators of our two heavy orbital platforms on the flanks."

Old Karl wiped the foam from his beard.

"If a real fight breaks out, within twenty minutes, all our heavy armored vehicles, along with the underground furnace, will be crushed into flat scrap metal discs."

The few remaining core leaders in the hall looked at each other in bewilderment.

Being stubborn is a racial trait of the Wotans, but computing power and reality are two different things.

"What should I do?"

The master craftsman of the Ymir Consortium sighed.

"Lossen's transport fleet has already begun anchoring outside the third mining area, and they don't seem to care about our opinion."

Wald exhaled two heavy breaths from his nostrils, patted the armrest, and stood up.

"If you can't make up your mind, go ask your ancestors."

"Such a strategic decision on the level of genocide should have been deduced by the ancestral spirits."

Half an hour later, in the forbidden sanctuary deepest part of the fortress.

After passing through nine thickened air valves constructed of anti-psychic alloy, several old Karl and the master craftsman Broch stepped into the underground core hall that had sustained the Great Turian Alliance for tens of thousands of years.

In the center of the hall stands a massive ancient supercomputer, as large as a small hill.

This is the Ancestral Spirit Core that the Great Turian Alliance is so proud of.

They were skillfully surrounding this truly super AI, complaining as they pulled out all sorts of adapters from their pockets.

"The main cooling pump is making strange noises again."

Master craftsman Bloch walked to the control panel, skillfully raised his foot, and kicked the metal casing of the main unit hard.

Clang!

The malfunctioning cooling fan emitted a sharp whistle before barely managing to resume a steady rotation.

"Alright, I didn't kick the ancestors on purpose. Sometimes you just have to fix things like this."

The master craftsman inserted a thick data fiber optic cable into the main control slot and solemnly spoke into the microphone: "Ancestors above, I, the fourteenth Karwald of the Great Turian, and Olsen, the representative of the Kronus United Defense, have come to pray for wisdom."

"The new fleet of the Human Empire has entered the core of the galaxy, and its combat power far exceeds the existing simulation models. The other side's intentions are unclear. The Alliance is facing a dual crisis of sovereignty and mining rights. We ask the Ancestral Spirits for guidance: what strategic stance should we take when contacting the Empire?"

Voice recording complete.

The green light on the console flashed once, and then fell into a long silence.

Ten minutes have passed.

From deep within the host computer came the frantic clicking sound of the hard drive heads frantically searching for tracks, and the internal heat dissipation vents began to spew out scalding white mist. Strange noises also came from somewhere.

Olsen couldn't contain himself and went closer to take a look.

"What grand interstellar strategy is the ancestral spirit devising? Why is even the core indicator light turning red?"

The master craftsman stared at the ancient cursor spinning wildly on the terminal screen, then wiped the cold sweat from his forehead.

"The ancestral spirits... may be experiencing memory overload again."

"It is indexing the historical database."

"Because the question just now contained the three keywords 'human empire,' 'fleet,' and 'treaty'... our ancestors' core algorithm directly retrieved all related documents since the M31 era."

A dense array of system alert windows suddenly popped up on the screen:

[Warning: Physical memory usage is 99.8%]

[Uncompressing: Settlement statement for 3,000 tons of refined copper ore owed by Terra Merchant Vessels for M32 standard year (4.8 million pages in total)]

[Searching for: Recording of a grudge-holding company commander of an extreme combat unit passing through a mining area without greeting him during the M35 standard year (duration: 12000 hours)]

[Error code: 0x000000F4. Due to severe data fragmentation, the estimated remaining time for logical cleanup is 412 standard years.]

Wald covered his forehead in exasperation.

"Our ancestors, we can't wait more than 400 years. By the time your strategic plan is fully developed, Lawson's engineering team will have devoured all of our slag!"

"This cannot be entirely blamed on the ancestral spirits!"

The master craftsman retorted, his neck stiff with arrogance, "Who gave your Third Mining District's accountant the right to force-feed the miners' lateness records into the ancestral spirit's root directory every month? Just a few days ago, the Seventh Clan even uploaded a live holographic recording of their elder's golden wedding anniversary!!"

Just as several old dwarves were about to fight each other in the sanctuary over who had filled up their ancestor's C drive, a series of intermittent synthesized sounds finally came from the main console's speakers:

"A...major...geopolitical crisis has been detected..."

All Karls pricked up their ears, awaiting the supreme revelation from the ancient golden age.

The CPU cooler fan emitted an almost explosive roar, and the CD tray even bounced outwards without warning before bouncing back in.

Finally, after piecing together fragments, a complete instruction was formed:

"Suggestion...try...rebooting...the subspace modem..."

"Configuring... Ancestor Logic Update Patch No. 1/99999 for you..."

"Please do not... disconnect... the main fusion reactor power supply..."

pat...

The screen went black, leaving only a line of faint green text slowly flashing in the center:

[Restarting... Please wait]

Olsen turned his head expressionlessly and looked at Wald, whose face was covered in black.

Wald could only let out a long, helpless sigh.

It seems that relying on the strategies provided by our ancestors is no longer feasible.

If they wait any longer, their ancestors will probably suggest that they send a handwritten protest letter on parchment to the High Lords of Holy Terra.

"never mind."

Old Karl straightened his tactical vest, turned around, and strode towards the gas valve door.

"Sharpen the battle axe and bring the ledger."

“Let’s use our own dwarven minds to confront the one who holds the seal of the empire.”

…………

The main banquet hall of the flagship of the Seal Bearer, the "Heavenly Punishment Ship".

At one end of the long table sat a dozen or so top representatives from the leading alliances such as Great Tulian, Kronus, and Ymir.

These high-ranking Karl and Bloch master craftsmen, who usually held absolute authority in the core of the galaxy, even though they were still wearing heavy Void Power Armor that they had just come from the battlefield, subconsciously straightened their short and stubby bodies as they sat on the hovering alloy chairs.

Even when at a disadvantage, the dwarves must not lose their spirit when facing human leaders!

Lawson, who sat at the head of the long table, wore only a simple outer robe.

Behind him, Er Gou and Ao-04 stood on either side like two dark golden war towers, their oppressive presence making the dwarves present twitch.

Old Karwald of the Great Tulian Alliance coughed lightly.

He took out a solid energy crystal plate that shimmered with seven colors and pushed it to the center of the table.

"Your Excellency, the Great Tulian, Kronus, and all the Alliance members present here have always been true to their word. This time, the human Empire's fleet tore through Leviathan's encirclement in the core of the galaxy, saving trillions of our people from over seven hundred mining worlds. The Wotan people acknowledge this favor."

Wald casually pulled up a list of supplies that was thousands of pages long.

A holographic screen unfolded in the hall, densely covered with strategic materials enough to drive the Terran Ministry of the Interior's bureaucrats mad:

"This is a thank-you gift jointly raised by more than a dozen alliances: 300 million tons of ultra-high purity refined ceramic steel ingots, 12 million boxes of antimatter stable fuel rods, 80 million tons of dense neutron alloy that can be directly used to forge the Void Shield generator, and mining rights for 47 rich mineral coordinates located on the periphery of the galactic core."

Kronus's Olsen added gruffly, "This amount of ore is enough for your Empire to launch five hundred Luna-class cruisers in the Solar System in one go. We Wotan never owe favors. Once the accounts are clear, we will settle all your fleet's resupply stations and deep-space repair docks at internal cost when they pass through the Galactic Core!"

The dwarves exchanged glances, secretly plotting their next move.

This move, a strategic retreat, both saved face for the human empire and silenced their outrageous demands with an astronomical sum of hard currency.