Chapter 232: Tell Me, My Kinsmen, Do You Need Our Help?
Trazyn strolled through the dim, shattered corridor. The towering metal walls were covered in energy-scorched cracks. Fully armed soldiers fanned out in a tactical formation, their plasma rifles constantly trained on his body. He swiveled his glowing green optical lenses nonchalantly, seemingly indifferent to the tense state of alert around him.
The events of today were enough to leave a heavy mark on the annals of galactic history. But for this ancient being who had witnessed the rise and fall of countless civilizations, the most pleasant thing was to continue to be a serene observer in the long river of time.
Passing a half-collapsed storeroom, Trazyn suddenly stopped. He gently caressed the scorched marks on the doorframe, his gaze sweeping over the pile of artifact fragments inside. These treasures, which had carried a thousand years of civilization, were now just twisted metal frames and crystallized residue.
"Ah~" Seeing the destroyed relics, Trazyn let out a long sigh. "Your species' talent for destruction is always humbling."
"Are you kidding me?" Ramesses asked in disbelief, faced with Trazyn's patronizing, preachy tone. How does a Necron have the gall to say something like that? A few of the Dark Angels were already preparing to take a potshot.
"Of course, there are also reformers among you," Trazyn explained again, glancing around不动声色. "They are diligent, curious, and weak, yet they still try to use their own efforts to change their species' terrible living conditions. And their failures only add a touch of black humor to this struggle."
BOOM!
With a loud bang, the force passed through the blast door that had just been cut open by a melta-weapon. Trazyn gracefully ducked and entered, the living metal muscles of his face twitching slightly, mimicking a human's raised eyebrow, even though he had only just installed that eyebrow for his own amusement.
The room was filled with the acrid smell of ionized air. The dismembered limbs of the defense force were scattered on the floor, their armour melted into twisted metal sculptures by the high temperature of the energy weapons. And in the center of the room, Fabricator-General Krik's mechanical body had been completely torn open from the inside by some unknown force, its intricate mechanical structures, like the internal organs of a biological creature, exposed. The collapse-weapon from the Dark Age of Technology, which was hidden inside his body and was meant to make his enemies hesitate, a weapon that could create a singularity and compress all surrounding matter, had vanished.
Trazyn clicked his tongue in wonder. This Archmagos had clearly mastered the Necrons' dimensional space. So how had his defenses been bypassed and he'd been torn apart from the inside?
His gaze then turned to the A.I. core, sealed behind a thick, transparent force field. The compressed data-consciousness was now calm. The barrier that imprisoned it pulsed with ripples of energy. Shaking his head, an almost pitying expression appeared on Trazyn's living metal face.
"How can those tomb raiders understand what technology is? They are superstitious about pure power, they snatch other people's things, they are obsessed with cutting the cake instead of making it bigger. They are even ready to flip the table at any moment just so they can get a little more for themselves. How pathetically shortsighted." Trazyn always liked to take a preachy, been-there-done-that tone with other civilizations. It gave the Overlord a sense of pleasure. Or rather, in the dead, silent Necron society, he could at least find some other reaction besides self-imposed isolation from these nascent civilizations.
But this trick obviously didn't work on the Dawnbreakers. Others might not know where the Necrons came from, but they did.
"Is this a self-introduction?" Ramesses asked, after greeting his companions.
Trazyn's living metal face froze for a rare moment, the deep green light of his optical lenses flickering. He could clearly sense that Ramesses's mockery was not aimed at his well-known collecting habits, but at a more core, more hidden truth—the origin that the Necron race was most unwilling to mention.
Not good. This feeling is not good at all. Especially this sharp, resentful attitude. It made him a little nervous.
"...You continue," he said, deciding not to provoke Ramesses for now.
Trazyn slowly turned his head, his gaze falling on the silent Cawl. His green optical lenses flickered with assessment and analysis, as if evaluating the value of a rare treasure. He thought Cawl was quite good. Like the Emperor's Children Apothecary, Fabius Bile, he was one of the few in the human species who still possessed a pioneering spirit and a scientific outlook. But unlike Bile's arrogance and self-importance, this Archmagos was clearly wiser, more focused, and more aware of his own limitations. That was why Trazyn's attempts to collect Cawl's clone-bodies, or his original body, had always ended in failure.
"..." Faced with the Necron's eager gaze, Cawl instinctively took a few steps back and silently stood by Arthur's side, using the Primarch's body to block the uncomfortable line of sight. He didn't want to deal with this guy.
"Lord Romulus, Lord Karna, Lord Arthur."
At the control console, the representatives of the Human Federation had also arrived. Romulus appeared in the form of a projection, with Custodian-Warden Navradaran as his representative. It was a consensus within the Dawnbreakers that one of the four should always remain in a relatively safe state. This decision had been strongly supported by Drakus and the other Invictarus Suzerain, and was still being strictly enforced under their jurisdiction.
"Archmagos," Arthur said, turning from the instruments he had been observing and trying to understand. He straightened up, a thoughtful look in his eyes. "The Ironwing has made some simple corrections and has stopped the decryption protocol. But we have not broken the lockdown protocol. We need you to take over." He gestured to Cawl.
This A.I., which resided in the Necron ruins, had, with Russell's confirmation, been identified as the "Preserver" built by the ancient scientists. But after a hundred years of struggle with Krik, who knew if this A.I. had been compromised. So they needed the assessment of one of their own professionals.
"Understood," Cawl accepted the task. It was his job.
Whirrr—
Mechadendrites extended, plugging into the console. The various technical units were activated. The geothermal energy, after Krik's death, was once again being sent to the various regions. The decryption and defense systems re-entered a pre-load state. "I can access it," Cawl stated.
With the Archmagos's words, Arthur looked to the Human Federation representatives for confirmation, then signaled the Ironwing to release the lockdown.
SNAP—
The once-dim ceiling suddenly lit up. Countless images of humans appeared on the various projections, as if observing. All eyes turned to Cawl.
"I can re-establish the lockdown at any time," Cawl stated calmly. Unlike the "poor and greedy" Krik, he had the computational power of the "Dark Age of Technology artifacts" aboard his Ark Mechanicus. What? You ask if Cawl's Ark Mechanicus isn't parked at Macragge with Guilliman? Sorry, he has two.
Then all eyes turned to Russell and the others. As descendants of the original pioneers, their connection with the Preserver Array was very close. Before the Mechanicus had arrived, they had always been in contact with these ancestors who resided in the array.
"Incredible," but before Russell could speak, the unknown mechanical entity awakened first, a low hum echoing in the hall. The hololithic projections gradually solidified, forming figures of various postures.
"We had prepared for the annihilation of everything," a gentle female voice said. "We never thought that there would be rational beings among our kinsmen."
The hazy figures slowly gathered around, looking with curiosity at the, uh, "stylistically diverse" group of human compatriots before them.
"Please forgive our rudeness," a white-haired old man pushed through the crowd, adjusting a pair of non-existent glasses on his nose. "Due to our duties, our computational power is limited. We can no longer accurately analyze the internal characteristics of a biological entity." His gaze drifted among the crowd, and finally settled on Arthur. It was he who had led the force that had saved them from their trouble. "To which representative of the human government should I speak?"
Cawl's mechanical eye swiveled slightly, noticing the expressions of the others. "They were all pre-fabricated modules. Krik did not understand their function, so to protect his gains, he did not dismantle them," he explained.
This explanation made many in the room look enlightened. Similar blunders by the Mechanicus were not uncommon. Even an Archmagos might not fully understand the principles of certain technologies. Cawl knew of one such case. A Thousand Sons sorcerer had once manipulated a group of Rubric Marines as cannon fodder to make a Fabricator-General believe he had developed a weapon that could stop the life functions of a Chaos Space Marine. In fact, the weapon was useless. After it was widely distributed, it had led to huge casualties on the front line. It was all very amusing.
"I am Romulus, one of the leaders of the Dawnbreakers, Regent of the Dawnlight Sector," Romulus's voice was calm, his recent good mood evident. "The Pioneer system is located within our jurisdiction. How should we address you?"
"Greetings, Romulus. You may call us the Preservers," the old man replied, gesturing to the array itself. "We can hardly call ourselves human. Our current form lacks the most important thing that makes a human. We are but a string of data, preserving a spark of fire."
"Greetings, Preservers," Romulus nodded, then said, "The Dawnbreakers received a distress signal, and so we came to this system."
"The signal was sent by us," the old man said, his eyes lingering on Russell for a moment, then nodding in confirmation.
Just as I thought. Romulus looked around, his gaze sweeping over the battle-scars that had not yet been fully repaired on the hall's walls. "I apologize. Due to the state of the galaxy, we are forced to meet in the embers of war."
The Preservers' projections flickered simultaneously, as if in a silent sigh. The old man slowly nodded, a realistic look of sorrow on his hololithic face. "Yes... the universe today is far from what we had imagined."
Look around. The marks of the Mechanicus's violent invasion were clearly visible on the surrounding walls. The crude interfaces and forcibly dismantled conduits had clearly left an indelible memory on these ancient intelligences.
Arthur was thinking about what other hard battles lay ahead. Karna was thinking about how the current situation should be changed. Ramesses was beating up warp-daemons, trying to analyze the seemingly encrypted technology in these ruins.
A brief silence fell in the hall, the only sound the faint hum from the energy conduits. Russell's knuckles unconsciously tightened, betraying his slight nervousness. And in a corner, Trazyn was fiddling with an antique color pict-camera from Earth's mid-20th century, his metal fingers carefully adjusting the focus, engrossed in recording this historic meeting.
"..."
Aglaia looked at the quill blessed by a saint, which she had taken from Sebastian Thor's sarcophagus, and the papyrus woven from the finest fabric from Terra. Then she looked at the metal xenos's camera, with its ancient human style, full of historical charm, a single glance of which could make one feel the weight of history. Her quill paused. She stared at the camera, unable to look away, as if staring into a black hole.
Scritch, scritch, scritch... The quill continued to mechanically fulfill its duty, recording everything. A servo-skull faithfully replaced the paper. But Aglaia found the sound, which she had once found so comforting, to be exceptionally grating. She felt that the equipment she had spent a fortune on for the sake of convenience was suddenly not so appealing.
"But we are here," Romulus's voice suddenly rang out, breaking the silence. His projection took a step forward, his body gradually solidifying, the cobalt-blue armour inlaid with gilt patterns gleaming in the light. "The Dawnbreakers confirm this."
His voice was steady, powerful, and echoed in the empty hall. "We have received a distress call from a branch of humanity known as the Human Federation. We have chosen to respond."
Romulus looked at his companions, at his warriors, at every Imperial citizen. They were supporting him. "We have witnessed a group of pioneers who launched a space exploration three hundred and sixty centuries ago. We have witnessed the legacy they have left behind, a symbol of the glory of that age of expansion."
He looked at Russell, remembering the civilization that had grown resilient in the face of countless natural disasters. "We are gladdened by our choice, for it has allowed us to witness a branch of humanity that still retains hope."
His gaze swept over the projection of every Preserver, and finally settled on the old man.
"Tell me, my kinsmen, do you need our help?"
The resonant voice was like the dawn piercing the gloom, dispelling the heavy atmosphere that had settled on everyone's hearts. Everyone was patiently looking at these echoes of the past, waiting for their response. Waiting for an answer that had crossed millennia.
"Yes. We need your help."
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