29: Chapter 29 The Art of Deception

Fu Haoran stared at Father Karen's metallic face, feeling that things were getting tricky.

Reasoning with the Adeptus Mechanicus? These oil-heads would chant machine spirit prayers three times just to fix a flashlight and would need permission to change a lightbulb.

Try telling them you're "in a rush"?

They'll tell you the machine spirit will be displeased.

In the words of the tabletop gamers, the core technology of the Adeptus Mechanicus isn't building things; it's being overly dramatic.

In their eyes, innovation is heresy; they would even worship a toaster they dug up from an archaeological site that couldn't be replicated. It was hopeless.

Reasoning with the Adeptus Mechanicus? Fu Haoran knew with his toes that he wouldn't be able to settle it even in three days and three nights.

But he had pinpointed a fatal weakness of these oil-heads.

"Father Karen." Fu Haoran became serious. "Can't you see? This is a creation from the early golden age of humanity."

Father Karen's brain lagged for a second.

"...Governor, this cannot be a relic from the golden age."

Fu Haoran shook his head and explained: "This is a semi-finished product manufactured by early humanity using an STC. The craftsmanship isn't very refined, which is why it lacks standardization, but look at this glider kit. It's golden age assembly line craftsmanship, standard specifications."

Father Karen was silent for five seconds.

His Servo-skull flew over and repeatedly scanned the glider interface.

"...Scan result." A hint of fluctuation appeared in Father Karen's electronic voice. "Interface tolerance is ± 0.01 millimeters. Confirmed as assembly line mold formation."

The look in Father Karen's eyes changed from suspicion to shock, his metallic bionic eyes staring fixedly at the bomb as if he had seen a rare treasure.

The good news was that the bamboozling worked.

The bad news was that Father Karen suddenly blocked the bomb, his attitude even more resolute than before, looking like he was ready to risk his life:

"No! I absolutely do not allow you to use creations from the golden age. What kind of blasphemy is this? What kind of sacrilege!"

"Damn, has this oil-head gone crazy?" Yuri hid to the side, muttering softly.

"He was shocked just a moment ago, and now he's turning on us? Is there any need to be this extreme? If we miss the timing, the factory will be gone, and our throne coins will be gone too!"

Fu Haoran's head hurt; at this critical moment, Father Karen was dropping the ball.

There was no choice but to use a bigger lie to fill the hole.

Fu Haoran stepped forward, his voice lowered to a whisper, like a devil's murmur: "Father, I actually have an STC fragment."

Father Karen shuddered. Suspicion, shock, and sudden realization appeared on his face in succession. His bionic pupils shrank, and his first thought was to report it:

"Such an important STC must be reported to the Forge World immediately. This is the guidance of the omnissiah!"

Fu Haoran wasn't too surprised. To the Adeptus Mechanicus, innovation was heresy, and archaeology was the real business.

"Don't you want to replicate it?"

Father Karen's voice caught.

Fu Haoran stepped forward: "Father, how many years have you been on Planet Scylla IV? Ten years? Twenty years? Has anyone on Mars asked about you? Does anyone on the Forge World remember you?"

Father Karen didn't move.

"What is your title in the Adeptus Mechanicus? Archmagos? Tech-Priest? Or... just a plain Father?"

Father Karen felt a tightness in his chest.

But he had replaced his heart with a mechanical one a hundred years ago, so why did it still... ache?

However, the knife didn't stop there, continuing to twist:

"I mean no offense, I'm just curious. Are all Tech-Priests like the legends say—devoid of emotion, devoid of desire, devoted entirely to the machine god, the omnissiah?"

"Otherwise, I really can't understand why anyone would be willing to guard a remote planet for fifty years, doing work no different from other Fathers, copying templates that others have replicated ten thousand times, writing reports that no one reads, sending applications that no one approves..."

Every word Fu Haoran said felt like a stab to Father Karen's heart, causing turbulence in his data processor.

Finally, Fu Haoran played his trump card: "After the war, I will show you this STC. Although it is just a fragment, I believe that with it, it is enough for you to be promoted to an Archmagos."

"You might even be recalled to Mars and become an honored guest of the Forge World."

The aperture of Father Karen's lens contracted.

The silence lasted for ten seconds.

"...Confirm that it is an STC." Father Karen repeated.

"Yes."

"Why not report it?"

Fu Haoran smiled: "Father, who do you think this STC will be given to for research after it is reported?"

Father Karen didn't answer, but his electronic components emitted a faint hum.

Father Karen knew very well that his qualifications were mediocre, his abilities were mediocre, and he had no chance of promotion in this life.

Having been "exiled" to this remote planet, he had been ignored for many years.

He craved progress, craved knowledge, craved to escape this mediocre fate, and craved to become a revered Archmagos.

On one side was the doctrine he had guarded for years, and on the other was the opportunity he had dreamed of.

A moment later, he suddenly raised his head, his eyes becoming firm: "If this guidance system is proven to be an STC, I must be the first person to study it!"

"No problem." Fu Haoran agreed immediately.

"...Servitor." His electronic voice returned to stability. "Retrieve the pylon adaptation parameters. Complete all loading operations within fifteen minutes."

Father Karen instantly changed. The previous rigid dogma vanished without a trace.

"Move faster! Load all these golden age relics onto the valkyrie gunships!"

He was even more anxious than Fu Haoran, wanting to do it himself, his heart filled with the desire to see the power of these golden age creations.

Fu Haoran breathed a sigh of relief.

"Finally bamboozled him."

Yuri appeared from nowhere and leaned into his ear: "Damn, what kind of love potion did you feed that oil-head? He was ready to risk his life against you just a moment ago."

Fu Haoran ignored him.

As for how to cover the lie later, that was a problem for later.

Don't bring tomorrow's worries to today.

...

Fifteen minutes later, the Talon-type valkyrie gunships finished loading.

18 FAB-3000 aerial bombs were securely suspended under the fuselage.

The pilot climbed into the cockpit and started the self-check.

A line of parameters flashed across the screen, and the pilot was stunned.

"Sir, the carrier requirements for this bomb... the airspeed cannot exceed 500 kilometers."

"Yes."

Hearing Fu Haoran's reply, the pilot was somewhat troubled.

You know, although the top speed of the valkyrie gunship wasn't fast, it reached 1100 kilometers. Now having to reduce the speed by half was simply...

"What kind of weapon is this, so trashy." The pilot muttered silently in his heart.

As the three Talon-type valkyrie gunships took off, Fu Haoran issued the combat order:

"Listen to my command. Detour to the middle-rear of the coalition forces and perform a standoff drop."

"Why go to such trouble?" Yuri was very puzzled.

"If you were a noble, would you run to the front line?" Fu Haoran asked back.

"Definitely not." Yuri said as a matter of course.

"Right, the middle-rear is the command hub and supply station for the Noble Private Soldiers. That's where the enemies are most concentrated; they are all the nobles' elite private soldiers. Bombing that place will not only cause massive casualties but also cut off the supplies and command for the cannon fodder gangs on the front line. It kills two birds with one stone."

Fu Haoran ordered the pilot again: "Remember, withdraw immediately after dropping the bombs. Do not linger."

"Understood!"

The valkyrie gunships flew around towards the middle-rear of the coalition forces.

The coalition's anti-aircraft units soon discovered the valkyrie gunships, but seeing them flying so far away, they didn't take it seriously at all.

At such a distance, even if they dropped bombs, they wouldn't be able to hurt anyone, at most causing some insignificant harassment.

The valkyrie gunships traveled unimpeded, arriving 60 kilometers above the middle-rear of the coalition forces. The pilot's voice came through the communicator: "Sir, arrived at the designated position. Entered the bombing range. Requesting to drop bombs!"

"Drop bombs!" Fu Haoran ordered in a deep voice.

18 FAB-3000s detached from the mounts one by one. There was no roar of boosters, only the faint sound of air friction, falling silently.

In the air, the bombs' folding wings slowly unfolded. The two retractable large right-angle wings and the V-shaped tail wings fully opened, steel bars firmly fixed to the bomb body, the posture as steady as a rock.

The inertial guidance component activated. Under the precise guidance of the satellite, the bombs slowly turned in the air like 18 clumsy iron birds, pouncing towards the dense cluster of Noble Private Soldiers below.

On the ground, the Noble Private Soldiers wore neat standard armor, heavy bolters set up in front of the formation, and Leman Russ Tanks were arranged neatly, vigilant yet completely unaware.

The sound of the bombs flying was lighter than the buzzing of a Servo-skull; no one paid any attention to the anomaly in the sky.

Father Karen stared at the image transmitted by the communicator, his face gradually changing, his tone full of confusion:

"This is not right. How can a creation from the golden age be so crude? No machine spirit roar, no holy energy fluctuation... have I been played?"

As soon as he finished speaking, an incredible scene appeared. Those seemingly clumsy bombs were not only flying steadily, but they could also turn precisely, flying towards the core area of the private soldier cluster without the slightest deviation.

Father Karen was completely stunned. In his processor, thirty-seven entries from the scriptures he had memorized fifty years ago scrolled by—none of them could explain the scene before him.

His metallic bionic eyes stared fixedly at the screen, unable to speak for a moment.