Chapter 142: Paid Overtime
Compared to the distorted appearance of other tech-priests, Cawl's figure was tall and upright, draped in a heavy yet exquisite mechanical robe, its surface adorned with intricate pipes and runes. His face retained almost all human features, with only a portion replaced by mechanical prosthetics. His eyes, in particular, conveyed profound wisdom and an ageless sense.
This created a very discordant feeling.
Moreover, he seemed engrossed in constant conversation. He stood motionless, his lips moving slightly, but unlike a normal person, he wasn't making clear sounds. Instead, two completely different tones came from his throat simultaneously, a deep, rational voice as precise as mechanical calculation, and another filled with resentment and madness, as if searching for answers in the debate.
"No! I'm not Cawl! Who am I?" the maniacal voice asked, with a hint of struggle, as if other consciousnesses were suppressing it.
"I am of course Cawl, the Archmagos Dominus of the Adeptus Mechanicus," the deep, mechanical voice responded, cold and unquestionable. "Before the great Omnissiah, there are no lies."
Two voices alternated in his mouth, as if they were engaged in an endless debate.
Francis stood at a distance, frowning. Suddenly, the Lion King's orc phone rang.
Purur-Puru!
As soon as he answered, he heard Lion's angry roar, though his pronunciation was somewhat unclear.
"Francis! What on earth did you give me?!"
"My lips have been swollen for seven days!" Lion on Caliban roared madly.
He had been initially excited that Chaos hadn't destroyed Caliban, even though they had still taken some Fallen Angels with them.
But none of the Dark Angels dared to look at him until someone laughed aloud, and he realized his lips were swollen like two sausages. The swelling hadn't gone down for seven whole days; heaven knows what kind of medicine Francis had used.
Countless drops of saliva spurted from the orc speaker, and Francis could tell that Lion was truly furious.
"I know you're anxious, Brother, but don't rush," Francis said slowly and deliberately, like an old medicine doctor. "Just tell me, is it any good or not? Did Father intervene directly?"
Lion: "..."
His face turned pale, then green, his expression full of struggle before he finally managed a sentence.
"It's really good. The effect is immediate! My lips are just too..." Upon hearing this, Francis immediately continued.
"Brother, don't panic. We Soul Drinkers have just finished developing a highly effective medicine for treating swollen lips. You just need to..."
After that, no matter what Francis said, Lion couldn't stop nodding. Even when the call ended, Lion couldn't help but sigh.
"Francis is indeed a good brother!"
At that moment, Malcador walked in and overheard everything that had just happened.
"What kind of poison did Primarch Lion El' Johnson receive?" he asked curiously. "Even the Primarch couldn't resist it."
"Ah! I don't remember very clearly either," Francis replied, scratching his head and giving an awkward smile. "But it was a few kinds of local specialties from Catachan that were modified. The toxicity has been diluted, but I haven't developed an antidote yet. Hahaha..."
Malcador: "..."
Tech priests: "..."
Imperial Guards: "..." 'We did not hear anything.'
"Then what was the antidote you just promised first primarch?" Malcador continued.
"Ah! I just brought back some special products from the Dark Eldar. They can cause hallucinations, so he won't be able to see others laughing at him! This toxin will metabolize on its own in about half a month, and it will even have a whitening effect."
Francis stroked his chin, feeling that he had been too lax lately and should focus on studying technology.
Malcador: "..."
Little did they know, the temperature in the throne room was dropping even lower.
The Emperor had also seen that Perturabo and Ferrus were so engrossed in building Gomorrah that they had stopped returning to Terra. The Khan pursued the Dark Eldar throughout the Webway and did not return either.
It seemed that anyone who spent time with Francis became irresponsible and carefree.
Click!
The sound of blackstone shattering echoed through the chamber. The Emperor controlled his few remaining emotions and gripped the Golden Throne tightly with both hands. The throne even emitted a metallic creaking sound.
But that wasn't all. Francis recounted everything he had seen and heard on the road.
"Father!" he finally said, looking directly at the Emperor. "Nobody believes in the Empire's truth anymore. If this continues, things will descend into chaos! How about we establish a state religion? I'll be the pope. Let Sanguinius be the messenger of God! Or perhaps we brothers will be chosen as divine children, and when we grow stronger, we'll storm into the warp and seize their divine thrones..."
The entire hall fell silent instantly, as if the air itself had frozen. No one dared to breathe loudly. The Emperor's face darkened, and his fists emanated a destructive aura.
"The Emperor..." Cawl's voice rang out again, but this time the two voices were in unison.
The Emperor looked at Cawl, or rather, at the other soul within Cawl's body, and his aura instantly relaxed.
"Francis, I've called you here today to have you and Cawl go together to find the blackstone," the Emperor said.
Francis frowned upon hearing this.
'If it's just about finding Blackstone, He wouldn't have called me back, would he?' He felt there was something fishy going on.
"And there's Cadia. Dorn is there, but Terra needs him more right now. You need me to switch places and defend Cadia."
The Emperor's voice had been gentle, which was completely unlike the old man's usual manner. There had to be a conspiracy involved.
Francis looked at them with suspicion, feeling increasingly uncomfortable, and then retorted.
"Why do you always call me? Aren't Russ and the others good enough?"
"Because you're the fastest and most efficient," the Emperor replied.
Francis found it strange that he was contradicting the Emperor, but the logic wasn't unreasonable.
"Huh? Just because I'm efficient, you treat me like this?" Francis's voice rose. "What kind of abominable rubbish is this? Does high efficiency mean keeping people constantly working? I won't do it! I absolutely won't do it!"
Francis roared and sat cross-legged on the ground. There were no benefits to this; all he wanted was to work without constant demands.
What kind of unscrupulous capitalism is this?
Emperor: "..."
Everyone: "..."
Malcador began. "So you want war...?"
"No!" Francis interrupted him immediately. "Father should take on the role of war commander himself. I'm afraid I'm not tough enough to handle it."
The Emperor's fist hardened again.
"So what kind of technology do you want?" Cawl asked tentatively.
Francis rolled his eyes and went to Cawl's side, whispering something to him.
"I need technical information about the Primarchs. If you support me, I'll share some of that information with you. How about that?"
Cawl remained silent for a few seconds, but his mechanical limbs began to move restlessly, showing intense interest. His mechanical eyes gleamed with excitement, and countless plumes of white smoke billowed from his head, as if he were about to overload.
He turned to the Emperor and said, "Your Majesty, I think the Primarch has a point! Perhaps giving him some rewards would help him complete the mission better. After all, he is the only one in the Empire with any experience in finding and developing blackstone."
Suddenly, there was a mysterious certainty in Cawl's voice, and it did not go unnoticed.
Malcador's lips twitched; he really wanted to recruit Francis into the organization.
A long silence followed.
"I shall give it to you," the Emperor finally said, "but you can only use it within your own legion. You cannot give it to other legion, and you must keep it a secret."
As soon as the Emperor finished speaking, Francis, who was sitting cross-legged on the ground, suddenly stood up. He looked as excited as if he had just won the lottery.
"Great Emperor! You are truly wise and generous! From this day forward, I, Francis, will dedicate myself to serving humanity to the utmost!" He raised his arm high, his voice filled with exaggerated enthusiasm.
Malcador: "..."
Everyone: "..."
Ignoring the strange looks from those around him, Francis turned and grabbed Belisarius Cawl, who was standing to the side.
"Master Cawl! We need to get going! We can't delay the Emperor's decree. Time is money, right?" Francis practically dragged Cawl's massive mechanical body away.
Cawl's mechanical eyes narrowed slightly, clearly unaccustomed to Francis's sudden "enthusiasm." He gently patted Francis's hand away with his mechadendrites but did not break free.
"While your enthusiasm is commendable, technical work requires meticulous planning, not such haste," Cawl said, his tone mechanically steady.
"Huh? Plans can't keep up with changes. It's just Blackstone, right? I'll take you tomb raiding in no time." Francis waved his hand dismissively as he pulled Cawl toward the exit.
As he watched them leave, the Emperor looked at Malcador, his voice tinged with weariness. "What do you think of Francis?"
Malcador remained silent for a long time before finally managing to utter a sentence. "Good Enough"
Then he added another. "The Grey Knights idolize him and reportedly used the interrogation methods Francis taught them, achieving a seventy percent success rate in getting daemons to surrender."
"Hmm? What about the remaining thirty percent?"
"They couldn't hold on. They collapsed, my Lord."
"....."
On the Abyss Roar
Cawl observed tens of thousands of white orcs standing behind Francis, shouting "Waaaaaaagh!" repeatedly.
Francis, holding a compass, stood at the front and roared. "The search for the dragon vein and the division of gold is fraught with peril! Each layer of meditation is a barrier, and within these barriers lie eightfold joy... The blackstone has appeared!"
Buzz buzz buzz~
The compass indicator spun and finally settled on the east. Francis pointed.
"Fly this way!"
Cawl "..."
'Perhaps I should not have come.'
[End of Chapter]
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