6: Chapter 6 West Sea

Colonel Gohl's transport shuttle turned into a frantic streak of light in the starry sky, disappearing completely into the horizon.

The lingering, performative warmth on Cheng Yu's face faded instantly, leaving behind only an icy, glacier-like coldness.

His consciousness, like invisible ripples, swept across the billions of identical faces at his feet.

"They might think we are xenos, livestock waiting to be slaughtered, or perhaps loyal subjects, just another tax invoice—none of that matters."

Hundreds of millions of Cheng Yus looked up at him in silence, their eyes devoid of any emotion, holding only absolute synchronization and anticipation.

The hunger was temporarily suppressed by starch, but a deeper sense of unease and restlessness permeated the shared consciousness network—the anxiety of being discovered, the sense of crisis from being coveted, and the desire to conquer the outside world.

Main Body rose from that ridiculous throne of Ork scrap, needing no assistance from his clones.

He surveyed his boundless "empire," a bizarre and massive realm composed entirely of his own self.

"But we are Cheng Yu."

His voice was not loud, yet it transmitted through the invisible connection into the depths of every clone's consciousness.

"If we do not consume others, others will consume us. That is the way of this galaxy."

He paused, his consciousness churning with fragmented memories devoured from the Orks and the Aeldari—cruel images of war, plunder, and survival.

"So, from this day forth, this is the Cheng Yu Empire. I am the Emperor. Your only Emperor."

There were no cheers, no worship. All the clones simply listened quietly, like a person listening to their own inner monologue.

"We have only one law: survive. Survive at any cost. To survive, we can be the Corpse Emperor Empire's most loyal dogs."

He pointed to the empty sky above, "Or we can be the madmen who flip the table."

"Now, the performance of loyalty is over. It is time to prepare to flip the table."

Consciousness is command.

The massive Cheng Yu Empire instantly shifted from stillness into a violent state of operation.

The speed of dismantling the Ork starship increased several-fold; countless hands, like an efficient assembly line, stripped away crude metal plating, twisted conduits, and those strange, thumping engines.

More Cheng Yus began digging underground, dragging out the wreckage of hidden Aeldari pirate vessels, attempting to forcibly combine the delicate technology of the Elves with the brutal strength of the Orks.

The STC pyramid roared into operation, white starch powder gushing out like an inexhaustible spring, to be packaged and transported, becoming the sole energy foundation for this frantic industrial effort.

They had no engineers, no scientists, but they possessed nearly infinite manpower and a shared brain that constantly accumulated knowledge through consumption.

One by one, bizarrely shaped, patchwork flying vehicles began to take form on the surface.

They featured the crude riveting and massive engines of Ork style, yet attempted to mimic the streamlined contours of Aeldari ships, resulting in something even uglier and more unstable.

They didn't even have weapon systems—there was no time; Cheng Yu's command was that they just needed to be able to fly and ram into things.

Cheng Yu walked through the bustling construction site, watching one clone after another work themselves to death—yes, to death. High-intensity labor and the rough industrial environment caused constant casualties, but the next second, new clones were born from the perimeter of the camp, silently taking over the work of the deceased.

Death here was merely an efficiency statistic.

Cheng Yu named this figure the Death Factor: the number of clones dying per hour divided by the number of clones born per hour, a figure currently stabilizing around 0.8.

Aria stood on a small hill a bit further away, silently watching this suffocating scene.

Her delicate face was devoid of expression, but her slender fingers were clenched tightly, nails nearly digging into her palms.

These monkeys... they were twisting technology and blaspheming creation in a way even more terrifying than the Greenskins.

And all of this stemmed merely from a single thought of that monkey sitting on the broken throne, calling himself Emperor.

Cheng Yu would occasionally glance at her. This Aeldari woman was a decent trophy, a window into observing himself, and perhaps she could be traded for benefits later.

But for now, her only value was to stay quiet.

Time slipped away in the frantic busyness.

About four Terran standard hours after Colonel Gohl's transport shuttle departed, the "fleet" of the Cheng Yu Empire had already taken initial shape—if dozens of cramped, black-smoke-belching, patchwork monstrosities that could fall apart or explode at any moment could be called a fleet.

Main Body boarded the largest of them, a flagship he named the "dont eat cilantro."

"dont eat cilantro" was the online nickname of the girl he had a crush on in his past life.

The "dont eat cilantro" would not participate in the first expedition; it was, in a way, a lingering remnant of his adolescent past life.

The core of this ship was the main engine stripped from an Ork warship, powerful but extremely unstable; the hull was welded together from starship armor plating and fragments of Aeldari ships, covered in rough weld seams and protruding rivets.

He stood at the violently trembling prow, feeling the roar from the engines beneath his feet that threatened to tear everything apart.

"First batch, depart."

There were no farewells, no blessings. Dozens of strange ships wobbled as they detached from the ground, spewing thick smoke and unburnt starch powder, lurching crookedly toward the gray, hazy sky.

Some warbands were able to have a strange ship all to themselves, such as the "Highest Good is Like Water" and the "Flowers Bloom with Prosperity."

But most of the strange ships were crammed with several warbands, such as the "Drowning Fish" and the "Hazelnut Latte."

As for the names of the warbands, Cheng Yu decided to settle some personal scores, because according to the nature of Warhammer 40K, the average survival time of recruits on the battlefield would not exceed half an hour.

For instance, the First Warband was called the "Homeroom Teacher Liu" Warband; this guy was Cheng Yu's high school homeroom teacher in his past life, an old pervert who often laid hands on the boys in the class.

The Second Warband was called the "Director Zhao of the Student Affairs Office" Warband; this guy was even more outrageous, shining a high-intensity flashlight in your face in the middle of the night, and if you dared to open your eyes, he would deduct your points.

The Third Warband was called the "Deputy Director Wang of the General Affairs Office," a guy who loved to take advantage of small things, taking home the brooms and dustpans from the company; seeing him every morning made Cheng Yu feel disgusted.

...

The warbands in the first wave did not have specific targets to conquer; their goal was exploration and testing.

They only wanted to kill whatever they saw, or be killed by whatever they saw.

Cheng Yu needed data, needed combat experience, and needed more resources and technology to feed his constantly expanding empire and his endless hunger.

He looked up, his gaze seemingly piercing through the atmosphere, seeing into the depths of the cold starry sky.

The bureaucrats of the Empire might still be slow-moving in drafting documents and assessing taxes.

But his Cheng Yu Empire had already opened its mouth and bared its teeth.