162: Chapter 166 No need for incense, persuade the machine spirit with physics

The circular crater on the equator of Mining Planet No. 3 now glowed like a miniature sun being pressed against the ground.

The high-level Federation energy stolen by the two thousand Iron Cube Parasite Ships burned in the forging slot at a terrifying temperature sufficient to melt the planetary crust.

Li Cang was not just sitting idly in the cockpit.

His holographic perspective was pulled to the very top of the equatorial construction site, like a ghostly overseer suspended in mid-air.

The three planetary-grade solid Macro-cannons, originally installed at the volcanic mouth to defend against Scavenger Mercenaries, were being dismantled piece by piece by two thousand dull-eyed Servitors using the crudest plasma torches.

The molten, low-quality scrap iron mixed with newly added abyss alloy fragments was poured into the equatorial forging slot by massive mechanical arms.

A four-kilometer-long, pure black keel slowly took shape amidst the incandescent heat.

Various pipelines and armor plates seized from the Battle Royale, and even the biological activated keratin scraped from the Abyssal Star Beast, were all forcibly fused together by Li Cang in a haphazard manner through the [Mass Production Logistics Coordination Array].

This was not some streamlined interstellar Cruiser being built.

This thing looked like a Gothic cathedral of steel rising from the ground, its entire body covered in sharp anti-collision spikes and unsettlingly massive exhaust vents.

The most skin-crawling part was the interior of the ship.

The blueprint "stolen" from Mars did not feature high-level computing photonic computers like those of the Federation to handle the coordination needs of this four-kilometer giant ship.

What to do without computers?

Warhammer's solution was extremely cruel.

In the panoramic view, hundreds of manufactured, defective Servitors were physically hoisted by their companions and stuffed into the massive cable openings of the hull.

Then came the flying welding sparks.

They welded themselves onto the oil-scented main control lines, using their lobotomized brains as wetware processors and forcibly connecting their central nervous systems to this ramshackle Cruiser.

Li Cang watched the [Manpower Loss Rate] flashing red with total indifference as the engineering progress bar beneath his hand reached ninety-nine percent.

Forty-eight hours of frantic smelting.

The moment the final piece of biological outer armor slammed shut on the four-kilometer-long main bridge, the surface of the entire dead star system trembled under the impact of that compacted weight.

A system notification sounded in the cockpit.

It was not a pleasant chime.

But a piercing screech, like an old gramophone leaking electricity.

[Heavy Cruiser prototype construction complete.]

[Warning! Detected that the underlying construction blueprint carries a red extreme-danger negative trait: Machine Spirit Fanaticism/Displeasure.]

[This unit has not undergone the holy oil anointment and system appeasement of the 'omnissiah'; the underlying mechanical logic is experiencing severe rejection!]

The startup cursor on the control console had just turned green when it suddenly turned red across the board without warning.

This four-kilometer-long steel black beast lying in the equatorial shipyard had come "alive."

It hadn't awakened some intelligent AI, but was instead thoroughly infected by the twisted Warhammer mechanical religious power within the deduced blueprint. It believed itself to be a creation of holy Mars, and this barbaric base before it, which didn't even understand incense or prayer, was a great sacrilege.

The Heavy Cruiser's massive engine vents suddenly erupted with an unauthorized roar of thrust.

Dozens of adamantium chains fixed to the hull and ground snapped taut, letting out screams of imminent failure.

Dozens of Servitors connected to its external power terminals were instantly electrocuted into charcoal by this sudden energy overload.

[System Notification: The ship's machine spirit refuses to accept commands from outside the Adeptus Mechanicus system.]

[Estimated that in seventy seconds, it will snap its chains in a frenzy and trigger a core explosion, performing a self-sacrifice to maintain 'purity'.]

A top-tier giant ship just built by exhausting all resources.

The first thing it did upon launch was to despise its master for not being pious enough and prepare to commit suicide.

Any normal card player would have panicked and spent a fortune on purification cards.

But Li Cang only looked coldly at the arrogant string of error codes on the screen.

"A broken ship dares to put on airs with me."

He opened a hidden compartment by his side that he rarely used.

Inside lay the absolute trump card that had been with him since the beginning and laid the foundation for the entire terrifying materialistic spirit of Warhammer—[Imperial Truth].

"Number One, take your men to its main neural bridge. Smash it open for me."

The command thundered out from the highest authority channel.

Recruit Number One, standing at the edge of the massive shipyard with a heavy black box on his back, unsheathed a two-meter-long Chainsword.

Leading a dozen Astartes, he ignored the high-temperature air currents spewed by the raging Heavy Cruiser and air-dropped directly onto the Gothic bridge of the massive warship.

For a stubborn system with a "machine spirit" temperament like this, Warhammer's solution was never to call a programmer.

It was to call a repairman.

Recruit Number One stepped directly above the main neural pipelines. Below this was the core where that arrogant, fanatical will pulsed most strongly.

The adamantium teeth began to spin frantically under the thrust of the motor.

"Clear the way."

The Chainsword was thrust straight down.

Sparks and blue plasma representing the virtual mind instantly sprayed all over Recruit Number One.

The Heavy Cruiser emitted a massive, agonizing metallic resonance. The hull struggled frantically in the shipyard, trying to shake off the insect that dared to perform a "craniotomy" with a saw.

Recruit Number One's magnetic boots were locked firmly onto the armor.

The Chainsword brutally tore a meter-long, terrifying gap through the metal partitions covered in holy anti-write encryption.

The Central Optical Core, flickering with frantic red data, was exposed within.

"Plug it in." Li Cang pressed confirm on the console.

Recruit Number One did not perform any gentle electronic interface.

He removed the Compressed Physical Module carrying the logic of the [Imperial Truth] from the black box—a block of pure black iron that contained no faith, only cold rationality and absolute obedience.

He raised the iron block with one hand and aimed it at the bleeding wound cut by the Chainsword.

Like driving a nail, he slammed it in violently and ruthlessly.

Crack.

The vibration of the Heavy Cruiser's massive body stopped abruptly at this strike.

[Absolute materialism logic intrusion detected.]

[Machine Spirit Fanaticism trait undergoing physical forced overwrite... Overwriting...]

[machine spirit has been suppressed.]

The previously irritating engine roar, which had carried the frequency of religious chanting, was like a vicious dog being strangled by the neck; it let out a deep, steady hum that even carried a hint of awe and submission.

The entire four-kilometer-long, massive Heavy Cruiser.

Bearing a hideous gash on its back from the saw, and covered in mismatched armor and traces of flesh.

The moment Li Cang's console lit up green again, it fell completely silent.

No incense burners, no oil prayers.

Under Warhammer's primal violence and Li Cang's calculation, all mysterious things were transformed into nothing but tools.

Li Cang reached out and gripped the brand-new master control lever of the Heavy Cruiser.

It's time to turn the page on the map's lockdown phase.

Almost at the same moment the Battle-axe class Heavy Cruiser's engines stabilized.

One hundred light-years away.

Deep within the Star Crown Palace, inside a supercomputing matrix the size of half a planet.

Among millions of useless data streams filtering for "Natural Lane Friction Attenuation," a spectral bar that was originally green was flagged by a string of cold code because its loss rate over a short period had exceeded the extremely faint red line of "five thousandths."

The "Chess Player" on the throne.

Opened eyes composed purely of digital spots of light.

The final trace of that one-ten-thousandth unreasonable loss pointed directly to Mining Planet No. 3, which had already been ordered into a complete physical network disconnection.

"Not only did he not starve to death."

The Chess Player's emotionless voice echoed in the hall.

"He can even bite tooth marks into the Federation's blood vessels."