In Warhammer, My System is Minecraft-Chapter 158: A Terra Residency Permit for the Necrontyr

Tep looked at the footage in the log, projecting a thought of confusion. But soon, this thought was completely overturned by the scenes that followed.

The green light in his eyes flickered erratically. After Tep crashed and rebooted for a full eight minutes, he put down what he was doing and walked toward the depths of the tomb without looking back.

The Overlord ruling this region was the Silent King's cousin, Overlord Simut.

He sat upright upon the high-terraced throne in the command room of the Tomb Ship. He wore exquisitely carved, gleaming golden armor that covered his shoulders and spine, with Gauss energy cables hanging by his side to power his weapons.

"Tep, I was just about to summon you. A single human spaceship—why hasn't it been taken down after so long?" Strands of energy erupted from the Overlord's body, dancing around him, clearly displaying his displeasure.

Tep ascended the steps. "My Overlord, there is a combat log here that you absolutely must see."

He received the combat log transmitted by Tep. "The contents within had better be worth you interrupting me."

Overlord Simut did not simply extract the combat log privately; instead, he projected it openly for all to see.

The footage played out in full view of everyone. The Plasmancers and the Crypteks all saw the "combat" scenario within the recording.

In the footage, there were two Necron Warriors, imprisoned in a cramped cell filled with an unfamiliar aura.

"They have been imprisoned." A Tomb Warden noticed the surrounding setup; this was clearly a cage.

The footage continued to play. Inside, the two Necron Warriors were constantly rubbing against each other, performing actions of unclear meaning.

"What are they doing?" a Plasmancer asked in confusion.

"Why are you bothering me with this nonsense?" Just as Overlord Simut was about to fly into a rage, he was interrupted by the cry of a baby.

The gazes of all the Necrons present zeroed in on the combat log.

Overlord Simut opened his mouth but made no sound; he didn't know what kind of emotion to use to express the bizarre scene he was witnessing.

"Oh, heavens, that is a Necrontyr! How is this possible? That is a true Necrontyr!" a Plasmancer exclaimed in disbelief.

The Plasmancers in the command room, and the Crypteks still holding their repair tools, all began to move. Like iron filings drawn by a magnet, they converged and stared intently at the footage.

Under the Overlord's orders, the Crypteks mobilized all their instruments and equipment to analyze it, confirming that the footage was not forged.

A single thought immediately surfaced in Overlord Simut's mind: Get it. I must get it at all costs.

"We must report this to the Silent King immediately," Tep spoke up at this moment.

"No, we cannot." Overlord Simut suddenly became agitated, before realizing he had stepped out of line. "There is no need to notify my cousin. I can handle this matter well myself."

Wild ecstasy surged within Overlord Simut's heart. This was a monumental opportunity!

The Silent King was the sovereign of the Necrons. Although Overlord Simut was dissatisfied with this, he dared not voice it under the King's oppressive might.

Now, an opportunity lay right before him. As long as he could obtain that human's secret, he could absolutely rally a group of Overlords who were equally dissatisfied with the Silent King. When that time came, who's to say he couldn't sit upon the Necron throne himself?

"Mobilize all our forces! I mean all of them! That human—capture him at any cost!"

In the footage, Zeke's villainous laughter echoed, and his face was seared into the minds of every Necron present.

Tep took a step back. He had long anticipated that Simut would have this reaction.

This useless glutton of an Overlord had only reached his commanding position purely by relying on his relationship with the Silent King.

Tep ran a mental search for the Canoptek Scarab he had sent out earlier. The message was almost in the Silent King's hands. As long as he stalled for a little while longer, the Silent King's grand army would arrive here.

–

Zeke sat on a metal chair. In front of him, Guilliman was still digesting the words that had just come out of Zeke's mouth.

What in the world is all this? Necron breeding?! Is this world changing too fast, or have I simply fallen behind the times?

"So," Guilliman finally spoke. "The true Necron offensive is imminent, and it's all to seize this thing in your hands called a Necrontyr."

"Yes. Negotiations must be built on the premise that the strength of both parties is roughly equal. The Necrons will definitely try the hard way first."

"As long as we withstand the Necrons' offensive and let them know the hard way won't work, there will be massive benefits." Zeke began to paint a grand, pie-in-the-sky picture for Guilliman.

How it wasn't entirely impossible to make the Silent King an honorary Terran, or how the Necrontyr could be given Terra residency permits.

"Look at it this way, Guilliman. In the future, we'll designate a specific room on Terra solely for Necron breeding. Then, we'll issue a Terra residency permit to the Necrontyr children of those Necron parents who behave well."

"As for those Necrons who stubbornly refuse to obey? Exile their young to the frontier planets." (TL/N: Damnnn)

With the reproductive rights grasped firmly in Zeke's hands, he had a full hundred ways to make the Necrontyr, and by extension the Necrons, serve humanity.

Under this subtle, imperceptible influence, the orthodoxy of the Necrons would eventually shift to the Terran faction—a terrifying form of cultural invasion.

"Am I being a bit too racist?" Zeke realized what he was saying and asked Guilliman.

"Not at all." Having sorted out the cause and effect, Guilliman patted Zeke righteously. "I think what you said is absolutely correct."

"When dealing with this kind of xenos race, we absolutely should squeeze their potential dry and ruthlessly exploit their value."

And then wipe them out in one fell swoop at the appropriate time so as not to leave any future disasters behind, Guilliman silently added in his heart.

"Primarch!" Sicarius shouted urgently. "The augurs indicate accelerated xenos activity. A second wave of xenos fleets is approaching at high speed."

The Tech-Priests in the command room also suddenly quickened their pace.

"How many?" Guilliman walked briskly to Sicarius's side, glancing at the data terminal set up in the camp.

"It is only an estimate: over twenty warships, with at least five capital ships."

Guilliman was momentarily speechless. Earlier, when they had just arrived on this planet, the Necron commander had only dispatched two warships. Now, they were sending ten times that number.

"You really predicted it, Zeke."

"Of course."

The fiercer the offensive, the more bargaining chips he would have to throw onto the negotiating table when the time came.

"Their time of arrival?"

"Eight minutes."

With all sorts of potions and Enchanted Golden Apples provided by Zeke, the various reforms made by the Officio Logisticarum, and the ultimate weapon of mass destruction that was Sanguinius—they could fight this!

Guilliman immediately made his judgment. The Imperium was no longer the Imperium of the past. No matter who wanted to attack them, they would have to pay a tragic price.

"All units, prepare to engage the enemy head-on."

--

Goal = 2000 Powerstones (Not Complete)