Warhammer: Rebuilding the Golden Age Starting with Farming

Chapter 77 The Endless Tarachin

Chapter 77 The Endless Tarachin

Accompanied by that extremely annoying synthesized subwoofer, a palm-sized scarab beetle, emitting a ghostly green glow, nimbly climbed up Caul's messy pile of life support tubes.

It not only climbed, but also quite casually tapped on Kaul's breathing mask with its thin metal legs, making a crisp "ding-ding" sound.

The Canopytek Scarab is a basic maintenance unit for space necromancers and also a favorite spying tool of some old necromancer bastards.

It climbed up to the metal face of the carapace, which was covered in sensors, and stopped. The carapace on its back opened, projecting a beam of green holographic light.

With a whoosh, the beam of light converged in the air to form a huge face wearing a metal mask.

Because of the projection ratio, this face is ridiculously large, and the nostrils are facing Kaul directly.

Tarasin the Endless.

The overlord of the Solemnas Tomb world, the curator of the largest museum in the galaxy (self-proclaimed), an expert in cultural relic protection (self-proclaimed), and a notorious deadbeat who never returns anything (generally acknowledged).

"Amateur monkey."

Tarasin's voice came through the scarab's sound unit, accompanied by a static sound.

"I just casually scanned your pile of junk."

"Is this the mechanical ark that you humans are so proud of?"

"Tsk tsk tsk."

Tarasin's holographic face shook its head: "The shield generator's phase is off by 15 degrees, and the reactor coolant is still leaking. You're trying to save the galaxy in this barely functional pile of space junk?"

"If I were to turn a perfectly good ship into this state, I would find a singularity and jump in right now."

Kaul was not angry.

I'm just so angry.

In the past few days, this old, skinny bastard has harassed him no less than fifty times.

They always use the same old phrases; they never come up with anything new.

"Shut up, alien."

As Kaul's main consciousness controlled the servo arm to tighten a screw, he replied coldly.

"If you're here to help, then unlock the seventh layer of logic lock on the Blackstone Obelisk."

"If you're here to watch a show, then go back to your grave and sleep."

"help?"

Tarasin let out a strange laugh, like two rusty pieces of iron rubbing together.

Why should I help you?

"I am a great being, an immortal being, while you are nothing more than a slightly smarter monkey."

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"Giving you data and scarabs is already an immense favor."

"And what about you? What did you do?"

Taracin extended a holographic finger and pointed at the messy data models in front of Kaul.

"You're just using this precious knowledge to play in the mud?"

"Open your cheap electronic eyes and take a look at this piece of code you wrote. What have you even written?"

"You're actually trying to explain multidimensional matrices using binary logic?"

"It's so ugly! So inefficient! So...human!"

The technology of the Necromancers in space is on a completely different level from that of humans. They play with reality modification and treat the laws of physics like clay.

Meanwhile, humanity is still struggling to tinker with this and that, picking up scraps of the golden age to use.

Kaul's attempt to understand Blackstone Technology using human logic is indeed asking too much of a question.

But Kaul also had something to say: "That's because your instruction manual is poorly written."

"All the data packets I found were based on an encoder with extremely disgusting underlying logic."

"In order to understand how this thing works, I first need to crack its encoder."

"Is it my fault?"

Tarasin shrugged.

"Who told you humans to be so narrow-minded?"

"Tens of thousands of years have passed, and all you've learned is how to build bigger churches; you haven't made any progress at all."

"If I weren't afraid that those chaotic lunatics, who are even worse than you, would damage my precious collection, I wouldn't bother with you at all."

That old bastard Tarachin, despite his extremely wicked nature, was serious about protecting cultural relics.

In his eyes, the entire Milky Way is a giant museum, and all civilizations, all historical events, and all heroes are his exhibits.

The Chaos faction, whether they were Khorne's hack-and-slash group or Nurgle's dung-splashing group, all shared a common hobby: destruction.

Wherever they go, they can destroy not only cultural relics, but even civilization itself.

This was absolutely intolerable to Tarasin, who was the museum's director.

Once the dam at Kadia collapses, the warp waste from the Eye of Terror will flow back into the physical universe.

At that time, all his precious statues, his rare Space Marine figurines, and even the treasures he hadn't had time to steal—no, borrow—would be corrupted and destroyed.

This is a crime against art! A murder of history! A heinous blasphemy!

Therefore, Tarachin had to take action.

But he also looked down on humans, thinking they were too weak.

This led to this awkward situation: he was providing technical support to Caul while simultaneously unleashing a torrent of venomous remarks to maintain his superior sense of superiority.

"Since you know so much about this, then tell me why this anti-phase beam can never be focused?"

Kaul interrupted Tarasin's attack.

"I have reconstructed the launch array according to your drawings, but every time I turn it on, the energy overloads the focusing lens."

Taracin brought the holographic face close to the data model and pretended to look at it for a while.

"Oh, isn't it obvious?"

"Your lens material is substandard. Come on, let me see what you're using."

"My God, crystal? Are you trying to use this broken glass to contain stellar-level energy?"

"You need living metal, a living metal that can self-repair and change its refractive index according to energy frequency!"

"Don't you listen to what you're saying?" Caul snapped. "I don't have that kind of thing on my ship!"

That's your problem, not mine.

Tarahim looked completely innocent.

"I'm just a consultant; I'm not responsible for providing materials."

"However—"

Tarachin then changed the subject: "If you are truly sincere in asking me for help, I might consider borrowing a small piece from my private treasury."

"Of course, this will incur interest; you must give me a few Primal Space Marines in exchange."

"make a deal."

Kaul agreed without hesitation, not even blinking.

In Kaul's opinion, such verbal promises are no different from farting.

When they arrived in Cardia, a fight broke out, and who remembered who owed whom anything?

Besides, how much did that old bastard steal from the Empire?

He stole several Space Marine companies!

Do you need three or five more?

Trading a few Proto-Craft Space Marines for a key material—that's a steal!

What? You're saying my behavior is heretical?

Let me tell you something you might not know.

"Great." Tarachin nodded in satisfaction. "But you haven't asked me for anything yet."

He said: "Oh, great Tarasim the Endless, save this foolish monkey!"

Kaur: "————"

Kaul was silent for three seconds.

"I'll send you another class of Space Marines."

"Deal!" Tarasin replied instantly.

Clearly, the majesty of the Necromancer Overlord is worthless in the face of a rare, limited-edition figurine.

"But how can I give it to you?"

Kaul feigned ignorance and changed the subject: "Aren't you in Solemnas? That's thousands of light-years away. Are you going to send a subspace express delivery over there?"

Or perhaps—

A sly glint flashed in Kaul's electronic eyes.

"You were actually here all along?"

"Right next to me, sailing your perpetually invisible, dilapidated ship, watching the show while fiddling with your wretched little toys?"

Tarasin in the holographic image froze, his embarrassment at being exposed almost overflowing.

indeed.

That old bastard Tarachin wasn't even staying in his hometown; he'd already led his troops into battle.

At this very moment, we are less than 500 kilometers to the left of the "King of Explorers".

A Shroud-class light cruiser is in a state of complete stealth, maintaining a near-stationary relative speed with the Mechanical Ark, and flying parallel to it.

Taracin was sitting on the bridge, and he was indeed assembling a figurine while watching the show.

He felt that relying solely on Kaul, a human, would definitely not be enough to resolve the chaos in Kadia.

Such a grand event, which only happens once every few thousand years, would have been impossible to record if he hadn't been there!

Therefore, Tarachin had to go to the site in person.

He had to personally turn all those heroic figures and legendary weapons into figurines, freezing those epic moments in his static force field.

This is the self-cultivation of a qualified museum director.

"After all, I need to make sure you, this piece of trash, don't die halfway through, so I'll reluctantly follow you for a while."

Tarachin tried to salvage the situation: "You should feel honored, you amateur monkey."

"To have the great Endless One personally escort you is a privilege that many civilizations would beg for."

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