Warhammer: I don't want to be a stinky can! ! !

Chapter 176 168. Demigod in charge of machinery

You can always trust the steel and the gears, it is they who frame the history of mankind.

The pursuit of technology and truth has allowed mammals like humans to enter the vast star sea expedition. Although the bottom of the hive city will never understand the perfect products of technology and industry, their lives so far are completely those. Built of steel and gears, whether it is the dirty machine that is spitting out protein lumps, or at the end of the long river of time, when the first steam engine coughs and spits out steam.

So machines are perfect, without machines, humans, this carbon-based creature made of flesh and blood would accomplish nothing.

The skeleton was casted with steel, and the internal organs were filled with gears. Perturabo looked at the machinery in front of him and thought of the silhouettes of those undead warriors.

If their individuals were stronger, they would be the perfect fighters in Perturabo's mind.

Humans, flesh and blood, are too fragile.

Even the most powerful Tridents can have problems in the continuous high-pressure field, they will become unstable, become irritable, and become vulnerable.

Perturabo needs strong fighters who won't back down, won't be weak.

The sound of turning screws sounded dull, but Perturabo was comfortable with it. This was a rare moment of calm for him, allowing him to temporarily hide everything in the reflection of metal, from the emperor's intentional neglect, from the brotherhood. The sneer in between, the gaze from that big crack.

They were always watching him, but Perturabo knew that only he could see that profane, evil and absurd rift, and no other brothers would see it, and they would only pretend to comfort him not to think about it.

It was watching him, as it were now, and it gave Perturabo a constant, unbearable pressure, the spikes slicing slowly but surely across the glass.

Perturabo devoted himself wholeheartedly to research and development. He originally only wanted to construct his fighters according to reasonable engineering and mechanics, but the figure of Necrons appeared in his mind from time to time, interfering with his original thinking .

Perturabo put the laser down, staring at his half-finished product—

He didn't know how to continue.

It was rare, or, for Perturabo, it shouldn't have happened.

Ever since he was a child, standing alone on the top of the mountain, gazing at the source of fear, and fear staring at Perturabo with its eyes, Perturabo has lost his "ignorance".

He knows everything, he can see it at a glance, knowledge is like air to him, he breathes it, nothing more.

But now, he won't.

Perturabo knew that his thoughts had slipped to a very dangerous cliff. Of course he knew what he was thinking. The figures of those alien races were still flashing. Although they were not powerful, they possessed a certain quality that still Deeply, deeply fascinated Perturabo.

But he couldn't do it anymore, the knowledge was stuck, and the mathematical models he had became pale. What Perturabo didn't know was that the technology developed by the necrons with the help of the star gods, even he would have incomprehensible part.

"Perhaps. I need a little innovation.?"

Innovation, this word struck Perturabo's soul like a thunderbolt. This word is his opposite, the ghost that he will never touch, he who can do everything, has been deprived of the power of innovation.

Perturabo shuddered for a moment. He suddenly realized that he might have regained a human emotion, so the Primarch hurriedly buried his head, fearing that he would miss this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.

But after all, he had never experienced innovation in his previous life, and Perturabo's first attempt was bound to end in failure.

I just don't know if Perturabo, who pursues success, will try a second time after facing the first failure. This kind of behavior seems to be somewhat insulting to this irritable Primarch.

But these, Perturabo didn't know at the moment, he was indulging in his own attempt, and for the first time managed to ignore all the things that made him uncomfortable.

So he failed to notice the look cast from the eyes of fear.

The gears are still turning.

Steel is growing in the wilderness, and the flames in the furnace are howling. Its war machine has been running non-stop for thousands of years.

It sits on its throne.

Time is the ore gushing out of the riot mining machine. It is messy and chaotic. Most of them are useless stones, but some contain the luster of gold.

It's powerful, but it's not the most powerful.

Vashtor wants to become a god.

In this cold and cruel world, that means being careful enough.

Vashtor carefully concealed himself, trying not to expose himself in the long river of time, and only when necessary, can he——

A flicker of time caught its attention.

Innovation, machinery, and tiny black holes it can't touch.

It squinted dangerously.

Vashtor is an inventor, a scientist, a craftsman, a caster, a roar when all machines are running, and a flash of inspiration when all scientific madmen are experimenting.

It has no morals, logic and order make it up.

No one can tell how many souls gave Vashtor its power among those daring and innovative who did not follow the teachings of the Mechanicus.

Innovation and whimsy may fall into Tzeentch's trap, but the ever-changing devil prefers those philosophers who are humanistic and speculative, and does not like these seemingly dull craftsmen who follow the laws of physics.

Vashtor welcomed them.

But not all craftsmen and sages will give Vashtor their power. Their belief in the Mechanicus is strong enough to prevent the Lord of the Forge from getting their hands on it.

Maybe that's why the Mechanicus, a rigid, stubborn, and disgusting religion that mortals don't understand, can still exist.

The oil and incense rose slowly, the red cloth machine servant shouted praises, the gears rotated, the machine roared, and in the mechanical holy court, the statue of the God of All Machines was watching his believers without any expression.

The covenant of cooperation between Graia Forge World and No.14 Legion Death Guard came into effect here. The servo skeletons wearing red robes and gold threads slowly landed, and the words carried by the sacred parchment were full of power.

The contract was written in gold by the most familiar sages in three copies, in triplicate, the Death Guard and Graier will each hold one copy, and the last copy will be escorted by the Death Guard and Graier, Send it to Terra's regent Malcador, and the empire will approve and file this cooperation.

The cooperation ceremony was successfully concluded. Even the mechanical sages were willing to hold a "small" celebration after that. The chants poured out like catharsis. Mortarion couldn't stand these noisy and chaotic scenes. He found an excuse to retreat in advance, leaving Hades to continue to be in charge of the relationship with Graier.

"Praise the Om Messiah!"

Without changing his expression, Hades stopped the third casting man who was flying towards him, and then put the fanatic guy on the ground. The great sage who was chatting with him next to him smiled apologetically at him, Let the machine servant pull down the unconscious caster.

Fortunately, the great sage who talked to me is a normal person
Hades thought numbly.

What Hades didn't know was that although the sage said that Hades was not a god, it didn't affect him to edit the video of the close chat with Hades, and then returned to Graia. Sell ​​specials.

In the interlacing of toasts in the mechanical jungle, the machine servants sang the majesty of the mechanical body to their heart's content.

"Praise be to the great and holy machine!"

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(End of this chapter)