On the other side, the hangar to which the former Fists of the Empire were assigned.

"Our pharmacists...... Why haven't you arrived yet? Lysander took half a step with a little agitation, he knew that he was not in a very right mood lately, but when a person constantly doubted the truth of what was happening around him, and kept convincing himself not to think about it, but to accept and deal with it, it was difficult to blame him for such a small matter.

His Terminator Armor has been retrieved from the Armory, and the troubles he has encountered include, but are not limited to, asking him to fold the quilt six times for some disgusting Barra war blacksmith (why does he still use a full set of bedding?!). ), go to the gladiatorial cage and fight with anyone with your bare hands for eight times, or go to the pharmacist to volunteer for seven bactericidal drug trials, etc.

But he's fully armed now, and he's at the peak of his biochemical state except for his mood, and he doesn't know how the armory priest here does it, but Lysander has never felt like he has ever felt like a finger on his armor, and more importantly, he hasn't encountered any blasphemous uses that he's heard of or seen throughout the armor process.

If anything, he had a strong suspicion that many of the service spirits here might have actually crossed the red line set by the Mechanics. Oh, and also, the skeleton on the iron halo at the back of his head has changed shape, and the motto below has been replaced with obedience or death.

Brother Reverend Lee Kevin had peacefully anointed and blessed everyone's power armor and weapons: the hangar was now home to a group of blackened shoulder armor, the Starlight Skull emblem, and the armor plating into a kind of understated silver Terminator, the same silver Centurion Armor looked as new as fresh out of the forge under the hangar spotlights.

These forces are actually a devastating force for most planets, but unfortunately Bella Karn is a long-established forged world, so things are not so simple.

And what they want to carry out is a special operation, especially in an operational objective like this one, which completely captures a world-making world, how to use these forces has become a matter of great caution.

Lysander had previously tried to use his own identifier to call up the Iron Blood's onboard database, and to his surprise, he was able to get the information he needed without hindrance, and with speed, detail, and clarity.

The Ironblood's mech didn't even need him to ask again, but sent him a detailed stereoscopic map of the intended landing site, details of the Lightbringer Titan Legion's location, information on each member of the Mechanical Council, and more.

Seriously, if it weren't for the Iron Blood, I'd start to like the ship a little bit, and the bad thought was erased from Lysander's mind, and he focused on the current events.

The powers available to them this time included seventy Terminators, thirty normal power armors, and thirty Centurions that could be connected to them, and their weapons and ammunition were all replenished in the Iron Blood's armory.

The living saint of their genetic father, Lord Niraidoa, will follow him as an apothecary on their side.

There were also two squads of recruits assigned to them, whom Lysander had disliked very much until Brother Niraidoa told him the names of the warbands they had originally belonged to.

Lysander knew the name of the glorious but derezoned subgroup, and he was saddened and wonderfully ...... Mixed happiness?

Kevin Lee and he had already taken care of the others in advance, and they would do their best to teach each member of the two squads, everything an Imperial Fist should learn.

In a word.

Lysander couldn't think of any reason why they had failed.

As long as those Iron Warrior bastards don't hold us back.

Also, when will Brother Nira Idoa come?

Finally, a figure they had been waiting for appeared at the door of the hangar.

"For the glory of Dorne!"

"Do not forget to praise the glory of the owner of this land." Ignoring the paleness of Lysander and the others (he couldn't see under the helmet anyway), Parogov walked to the front of the queue quietly, "Everyone," he took off his helmet, and his countenance immediately caught everyone's attention, "My plan is to ......"

————————

Grand Sage Daedus had ruled Bela Karn as the supreme ruler of the Mechanical Council for more than three centuries, during which time the genius of Stagnant Position had delved into the oldest and deepest technical mysteries on his own for decades in order to salvage the declining production of stagnant products from the increasing number of failing ancient devices.

As for why not find a few helpers or companions, if you're familiar with a mechanical sage, this is not surprising, given that in the Om Messianic Sect, the term "scholarly struggle" has always included "physically destroying each other's organic and inorganic existence" and "plundering each other's data storage units".

There is no such thing as "academic exchange", unless it is used to release code viruses into a rival's hard drive or to rob the storage units of his apprentices or even younger bodies.

Among the most famous examples is that Belisarius Kaul himself was subjected to academic bullying by his superiors who threatened his best friend in an attempt to plunder his body and devour his soul, and of course, the end result was that Kaul won even at such a disadvantage, and that intruder became part of Kaul's personality, and now, along with other parts, embedded in hundreds of pieces of his personality.

As such, you can see how valuable and lethal things like "other people's secrets" can be in the Cult of the Mechanicus, especially if your planet's data link layer is likely to be shared by unequal subordinate agreements.

So, Fisher, the junior creature sage, was now holding his secret, trudging through the frozen ground of -40 degrees Celsius and the filthy iron-red ice of Bellakahn, where the season of iron was approaching, where the raging wind and snow had nearly frozen some of his remaining flesh into ice, and he could feel the surface of his biochemical skin cracking open and falling downwards piece by piece.

But he didn't dare to stop until he reached the black-market ship that was occasionally mentioned in the low-level data streams to the near-planet orbital platform.

Just a few hours or so ago, due to a malfunction in his daily routine of the Great Sage's servile labor in handling the biochemical wastewater discharge, he had to go down and manually switch pipes, and it was then that the Biological Sage's optical matrix casually swept through the container of the wastewater to be treated, and then Fisher was horrified to see something that should never be here: a few strands of detached biomass fibers, and dissolved fragments of some other tissue.

If it were a sage who specialized in logic or exploration, they might not have immediately discovered the problem, but Fisher was unfortunately a biological sage in the direction of neuroscience, and his biological analysis lens immediately laid out in front of him something he didn't want to know at all.

He recognized it as a part of a human cranial nerve that was rotten.

The irrationalities and strange details about Bella Karn that have been handed down over the past decades and centuries, and the fact that they are now in a severe resource shortage, yet the Mechanical Council is still reluctant to export more in exchange for resources - the answer to the question has never been so clear and logical in Fisher's data loop.

The junior creature sage shuddered, disposed of the waste water with the least amount of care and speed he could, and then returned to the upper level as casually as he could, using the most plausible reason within his authority to find an excuse to leave the Cogwheel Tower of the Machine Council—

The memory unit stored in the data cassette is being read continuously.

Wail.

I was going to write a pleasant spring outing, but it turned out that as long as I dipped in other Warhammer places other than the Iron Blood, it wouldn't be funny

I'm going to help out early in the morning until I'm done with dinner tomorrow (uh, ah, and two days in a row)

SO must take a day off tomorrow

Please tell each other, and I'll say it again tomorrow

In addition, book friends who have already read the previous chapter guess that the process is correct and the result cannot be considered all right hahahahaha

The pony has a trait that only he has vaguely hinted at in the original text, but is unconsciously reinforced here, leading to the current result

(End of chapter)