Warhammer: Saving Humanity Begins with the Resurrection of Horus

Page 54

They gave me a lot of advice and were truly like mentors. CC is very grateful to them.

Regarding the upcoming plot developments, well, CC has been feeling a bit lost lately because the readership has dropped drastically, which is really upsetting for CC. However, after thinking about it carefully, CC thinks it's probably because the plot has been too bland lately, so...

CC is about to launch a direct attack.

Next is about saving data usage for the following content.

Big mix.

Finally, regarding the issue of updating on the first day of release.

12,000 words for the third update (It was supposed to be five updates, but I have an outing and a meeting at school today, so I can only do three. I'm not very good at splitting chapters, sorry meow)

Please, everyone, give your child an initial subscription; this is really important for them.

Oh, you! Vadasi! You can do anything!

Next up is book recommendations.

Warhammer: Pale Phoenix

It's a starting point, a seedling with hammer patterns, written by a friend of CC. It's quite good, a story about cloning Fugen in 40K.

Warhammer: Lightning Knights

This isn't a seedling; the author took a break from updating for a while due to work, but it's really well-written. It features the gender-swapped Primarch of No. 11, an older sister type, and cool mecha battles.

Warhammer: Steamed Egg Emperor

This is considered a seedling (?). The author is a veteran at writing hammer patterns. It's the second original, with a Chinese style, and it's quite good.

Chapter 73 Extra: Nukelia in Another World (Part 1) You can skip directly to the later paid chapters.

For most Nukelians, having a pool where they can freely soak with their family and friends is something unimaginable, or even something they dare not dream of.

In Nukelia, water has always been a precious resource. After all, as a true desert planet, apart from a few pitiful oases and a few small rivers and lakes scattered among the sprawling mountains, it's difficult to find any other water resources on the entire planet. In the black market at the border between the inner city ruled by high-ranking riders and the outer city inhabited by commoners, a bottle of water of about one liter can often be exchanged for two or three attractive female slaves or some hard-to-obtain "contraband."

In addition, water sometimes appears as a totem of spiritual belief in the myths and epics that people pass down.

After removing his clothes, Tristan let out a long breath, then untied the hair tie he used to tie his ponytail, letting his long, snow-white hair cascade down his back like a waterfall.

Stepping into the pool where wisps of steam were already rising, feeling every muscle and bone in her body gradually soften, her emerald eyes involuntarily narrowed slightly, like a cat being petted comfortably.

"Such a waste."

A voice rang out, sounding quite young, and looking in the direction of the voice, a handsome boy with a black braid appeared outside the pool. His expression was somewhat restrained, yet also angry. He was only wearing a white cloth to cover his lower body, and it seemed he had also come to soak in the pool, but for some reason, he hesitated to enter.

"What do you mean by wasteful, Angron?"

“I’m saying this pool is full of people who can’t even get a drink of water, yet you’re using so much water to take a bath.”

"Angron," the boy said, his face filled with resentment. Tristan's lips curled slightly upward. He raised a finger and waved it at the boy who was scolding him, then spoke.

“I have to correct you, Angron.”

Tristan pointed to the pool, then to himself.

"First of all, this pool doesn't belong to me. It belongs to the Tark family, the nominal rulers of this planet. Also, do you think that if we go against Mr. Tark's good intentions, with his insane brain, he'll let us leave his mansion unharmed?"

Angron remained silent. Clearly, he was well aware of the temperament of "Mr. Tark" in Tristan's words. Although he resentfully believed that even if he refused this so-called kindness, he was capable of taking him, his teacher and half-foster father, away from here, he still raised his head and reluctantly stepped into the pool.

Tristan looked at Angron's expression and smiled faintly, his mind churning with thoughts.

Who on earth created such a creature, which, despite its unruly mind, constantly pretends to be a mature adult, and whose body and soul contain a power that is enough to instill fear in others?

His fingers tapped rhythmically on the marble slab beside the pool, names flashing by, but in the end, Tristan chose to completely ignore it—he had lived for countless years, changed his name countless times, but unlike his companions who had gradually lost their humanity over the long years, he had successfully maintained a relatively rich sense of humanity through subtle means. In other words, this child, regardless of who had created him or what their purpose was, since he had found him, was his half-child, nothing more.

"What are you thinking?"

Angron suddenly spoke, pulling Tristan's thoughts back to the real world from his own reflections.

“Some small things. It seems you were very obedient this time. You didn’t use your ability to sense my emotions, but asked questions directly. That’s good. Keep it up.”

"Even with perception, you wouldn't be able to see anything."

Angron muttered something under his breath, which made Tristan's smile deepen. He moved closer, raised his hand, and flicked his finger across Tristan's broad, flat forehead.

The slight force might hurt an ordinary person, but for Angron, it was no different than a gentle breeze brushing his cheek. However, he still looked at Tristan with some astonishment, not understanding why he had suddenly flicked his forehead.

"The adult world doesn't have so many 'whys.' I knocked, and that's it. What, you're not happy about it?"

Anglong's lips twitched. Ever since this man found and adopted her from the mountains, she had been raised like a grown-up child. Although she was indeed a child in terms of age, sometimes she felt that he was more like a child than she was.

Tristan put his hands on his hips, looked at Angron's helpless expression, smugly hummed twice, and then sat down directly next to him.

“You know, a long time ago, I used to soak in pools like this.”

"how long?"

"It could be several thousand times your age."

"That's twenty or thirty thousand years ago, Tristan. Are you kidding me? Back then, humanity was probably still huddled on its home planet Terra."

Seeing Angron's suspicious expression, Tristan didn't explain his age, but continued on his own words.

"Back then, the pool wasn't the pitifully small thing that the Tark family has now. Back then... my companions and I built a pool the size of a city, filled with all sorts of artworks and collected treasures... Although those things seem like junk now, back then, I truly considered them my treasures."

As Tristan spoke, he gently and slowly stroked the white ring on the index finger of his other hand.

Angron looked puzzled, clearly not understanding why Tristan was saying these things to him. Tristan pursed his lips; after all, the other was only a three-year-old child. Even if he could run and jump, and could dismantle the security robots on this planet with his bare hands, a child was still a child. Without that innate mind-reading ability, you couldn't expect him to have a high level of language comprehension. After all, such abilities need to be developed through accumulation over a long period of time.

Of course, it's also possible that some people may not be able to develop this ability even after spending a long time.

"What I want to tell you is not to think about so many things. You are just a child now. Getting angry over a pool belonging to the Tark family is no different from me back then, who wasn't excited about those treasures but was thinking about how I would drive a spaceship across the galaxy tens of thousands of years from now."

Angron lowered his head, it was unclear whether he had heard Tristan's words.

Tristan wanted to say something more, but then he remembered the wisdom he'd read in a parenting manual from long ago: "Don't bombard your child with too much information at once." So he chose to shut up. In truth, he could have used a kind of prophetic ability to foresee the consequences of continuing, but he didn't, even though this ability was always accurate and rarely went astray.

The two fell into a long silence, neither speaking. But it was clear that Angron was much more restless than Tristan, who was completely absorbed in the pleasure of soaking in the water. He kept glancing away, calculating how much manpower and resources would be needed to build the pool and its rooms, while also wondering how old Tristan really was.

The other party had revealed knowledge far beyond what was available in this era to him more than once, but he did not believe that anyone could travel from an ancient era to the present tens of thousands of years ago. Even though his brain, filled with countless knowledge by some unknown power, could not find any relevant examples.

Before he could come to an answer, a series of footsteps from about several dozen meters outside the room interrupted his thoughts—his ears heard the sound, but his soul also felt a strange malice, like a filthy stench, carrying unspeakable conspiracies and disgusting viruses, approaching him step by step.

The door to the room where the pool was located was pushed open, and a thin man appeared. He looked at the two people soaking in the pool, smiled slightly, snapped his fingers, and four beautiful maids appeared, each carrying clothes.

"We apologize for any inconvenience caused, gentlemen."

"No, you've been very hospitable, Mr. Tark."

Tristan opened his eyes, his tone relaxed.

"Then please change your clothes. I have prepared a gladiatorial match for you, which I am sure will satisfy you."

Elon Tarker said this, and Angron turned to look at Tristan, only to find that the other man had stood up at some point, stepped out of the pool, and let the two maids dress him in the white clothes that had been prepared for him.

“Angron, we’re leaving now. Let’s not let Mr. Tark’s good intentions go to waste.”

Angron blinked. He didn't believe Tristan hadn't seen the deep malice hidden beneath Mr. Tark's smile, but since the other party had said so, he had no reason to disobey. After all, even if he couldn't read the other party's mind, he could still trust that the other party wouldn't do anything harmful.

Stepping out of the room by the pool, the harsh sunlight of Nukelia beat down on his eyes. He stopped and looked up at the sun in the sky.

A peaceful afternoon in Nukelia, nothing more.

--------

The wind blew from afar, carrying with it the ancient particles of the desert. These ancient things, which had existed on this planet since the very beginning, moved silently, arriving at an object built by the new inhabitants who had arrived about ten or twenty thousand years ago. This object was composed of countless smaller and larger particles, and they watched a "daily" activity unfold.

The aging gladiators gripped their swords tightly, preparing for the upcoming duel with dozens of companions, some anxious, some silent. They had received better equipment than ever before—the newly forged armor and weapons gleamed with their own unique cold light under the sun. But for someone with extensive gladiator experience, this was not a good sign—the slave owners were not the type to provide better weapons for no reason; if they did, it meant that what lay ahead was a gladiatorial contest far more dangerous than any before.

"Ono, what should we do?"

A rough, broad hand landed on his shoulder. The old man didn't respond immediately, but shook his head, letting his white beard and hair tremble slightly in the air.

"I don't know, Hess, but I can say with certainty that from now on, all we can do is fight desperately while hoping for divine protection."

The old gladiator named Ono Mermas said that as the oldest gladiator in the entire arena, he had actually faced such a situation before, or rather, he had encountered similar situations three times in total.

The first time was when he first entered the arena. The Tark family, to celebrate their successful suppression of the largest uprising in history, summoned almost all the nobles on the planet to the arena for a gladiatorial contest between the remnants of the rebels and hundreds of berserk war beasts. The second time was after another power transition within the Tark family, a blood-soaked feast offered to the new ruler. He was present that time, fighting alongside a swarm of bloodthirsty sandworms.

Then comes the third time, which is now.

I wonder what kind of opponent we'll face this time.

Ono closed his eyes and began to think silently. The dozens of people standing here were all outstanding talents in their usual gladiatorial combat, and with their current equipment... they were probably at least a group of Oglins with Butcher's Spikes stuck in their heads.

The stone gate, representing the opponent, began to open.

The temperature began to drop inexplicably, and white, cold crystals gradually appeared on the dry ground. Before even seeing his opponent's true face, Ono's eyes widened in surprise, and in the next instant, his body reacted, directly tackling a companion beside him who was bewildered by the change.

"wizard!!!"

A terrifying word was hurled from Ono's aged throat. Then, before anyone could react to the words, a twisted, silvery-white beam of light ripped through the air, brutally piercing through the three people standing in a row.

"boom!!!"

Ripples spread through the void, and dust was stirred up by the wind created by the scattered light. But none of this affected the spectators in the stands. Whether they were ordinary people in the scorching sun, holding their betting slips with faces full of fervor, or nobles in the VIP boxes, enjoying the temperature-controlled environment and sipping their treasured wines, they all basically only saw a dazzling flash of light, followed by several gladiators turning into dust and dissipating on the ground.

As the gaunt figure emerged from the dark hole, a hint of interest appeared on Tristan's face. A glint of light flashed in his eyes, and then he swallowed hard, uttering a single word in a low voice.

"Gamma".

"What do you mean?"

Anglong frowned slightly as he looked at the person who emerged—it was a girl of about fifteen or sixteen years old, dressed in tattered clothes that barely covered her body. Her hair was disheveled, and a scar ran from her cheek to her neck on her dirty face. But even in this beggar's attire, the dangerous aura emanating from her was undeniable. Her eyes, no longer having pupils, only gleamed with a lightning-like light.

"It's just one level, but Angron, can you tell what kind of power that is?"

Angron carefully sensed it and felt a faint sense of familiarity between the residual power and his own innate special ability.

"Psionic energy?"

"Yes, psionic."

Tristan nodded. As a perfect creation, Angron was born with a wealth of knowledge that ordinary people could not know or master. However, whether it was intentional on the part of his creator or not, his understanding of psionic energy, a field that had developed considerably during humanity's golden age, was remarkably poor. Even his innate abilities were something Tristan had to teach him little by little.

That guy must really dislike psionics, but he himself must be a master in the field of psionics who has far surpassed the current human level.

The search scope and candidates were narrowed down once again, and just as Tristan was pondering this, a brutal and inhumane battle broke out in the arena.

Ono ducked down and rolled away suddenly. In doing so, he dodged the invisible attack from the girl who had killed several of his companions as soon as she entered the arena, and picked up a spear from the ground.

He seized the opportunity, stood up from the ground, and then exerted all his muscles. In that instant, his aged body burst forth with tremendous power, turning the spear into a shooting star that pierced the air and stabbed into the girl's frail body.

The glint in her eyes seemed to intensify, and the girl opened her mouth, revealing her tongueless oral cavity. She let out a silent roar, while trickles of blood flowed from her seven orifices.