Chapter 842 - 841
Vulkan carried grief and compassion in his heart as he searched for some hope of survival for the people who had endured this region’s devastation.
But once he analyzed the situation in detail, his mood grew heavy again.
For humanity to survive in this disaster zone would be brutally difficult.
Even the most basic survival needs would be a struggle.
Supplies, for example. Water, food, fuel, and more.
All Vulkan could do for now was forge the most basic energy infrastructure.
Then he would have to draw water from the drifting glacial belts and asteroids nearby. That alone would be enough only to keep people from dying of thirst.
As for food, they would have to extract promethium from industrial materials found in the wreckage, mix it with other organic matter, and produce starch energy bars to stave off hunger.
In other words, the very thing he had once despised so deeply—the stuff mockingly called corpse-starch.
At least in the short term, that was all he could do. After that, he would have to slowly establish a better system of operation.
Find new food sources.
"I should be able to do better. There may be another way..."
Vulkan was wracked with guilt, ashamed of the very solution he had imagined.
If he forced the survivors to scrape by in such misery, what difference would there be between him and the Imperium?
The Lord of the Salamanders regretted that he had not mastered more technologies related to survival. Now that they were truly needed, he found himself powerless.
"What’s wrong with the Salamander lord?" Aulk faintly sensed Vulkan’s emotions and found them strange.
Perhaps the lord was grieving for fallen comrades.
Thinking of the horror of this Black Tide disaster, he could not help lowering his head and sighing.
"What a catastrophe. Everyone’s been caught up in it. Who knows when it’ll finally end?
"Then I’ll be able to go home. Back to Ormus..."
Vulkan’s body trembled slightly at those words.
The fall of the Emperor—his father—had caused this disaster.
This poor mortal still did not know that the entire galaxy had been swallowed by the spatial catastrophe unleashed by the Dark King.
His homeworld had probably been torn apart, like the other planets Vulkan had seen, reduced to wreckage and debris.
Aulk had no idea what the Salamander lord was imagining.
With hope in his heart, he rambled on, unable to stop himself from smiling.
"My lord, I’ll definitely make it back safely. I know I will.
"I promised my wife I’d be home before Thanksgiving Day.
"You know, I have two children. One is four, the other is six. They’re both good kids, and they’re still waiting for me to come home.
"Haha, they know that every time I return, I always bring them the tastiest things I can find.
"This disaster is terrifying, but the great lords of the Imperium will definitely stop it. They’ll protect all of us..."
As Vulkan listened to this mortal speak with such hope, and with such trust in the Imperium, the sorrow in his heart only deepened.
His lips moved, but he did not know what to say.
Perhaps the Imperium had failed the people’s trust. With its rigid bureaucracy and its stagnant efficiency, it would be very difficult for it to stop a catastrophe born from the Emperor’s fall.
Worse still, those damned people would not care whether these mortals lived or died.
If the Imperium was still functioning, it would most likely fire a thousand, ten thousand cyclonic torpedoes into this sector to eliminate the possible spread of Chaos corruption and the black monsters!
At that moment, Aulk’s communication device rang. It seemed to be a signal from nearby. They were already close to the base.
He glanced at Vulkan without making it obvious, covered the communicator, and replied in a low voice.
"I’m safe now. I almost forgot today is Victory Day...
"And... Savior above, I found a Salamanders master artisan. Everyone, prepare the best food we have to welcome the lord!"
Vulkan had not deliberately tried to listen, but his sharp hearing still caught Aulk’s words.
The thought that these kind mortal survivors would bring out their precious food to entertain him, a primarch, made his guilt even worse.
With his size, the food he consumed alone might cause even more mortals to starve after losing those rations.
The primarchs called themselves legends, but they had failed the Imperium, failed humanity, and failed to protect them.
Vulkan looked at the mortal beside him, a man trying to offer him precious food while pretending nothing was wrong.
His heart nearly broke.
"I deserve death!"
Vulkan’s lips trembled. His naturally red eyes shimmered with tears, and he wanted nothing more than to slap himself hard across the face.
"Father, my brothers... how did we turn the Imperium into this? We not only lost our ideals, we made mankind endure such suffering.
"Perhaps we are all sinners against humanity. We failed everyone!"
Vulkan was overcome with grief, but he soon drew a deep breath and forced down the sorrow in his heart.
In his mind, he frantically called upon every scrap of knowledge and every craft he possessed, recalling the mechanical parts he had seen and the components that could be found in the nearby ruins.
He searched for a way to let these survivors live better lives.
At the very least, they should not have to starve. They should not have to eat corpse-starch contaminated with metal.
He was the Lord of the Salamanders, a legendary craftsman capable of forging divine artifacts. He could build super-heavy war machines, massive cannons, and defensive installations from battlefield wreckage.
It was impossible that he could not find a better way.
He wanted to use his abilities as much as possible to make amends for all of this, starting with this survivor camp.
"Found it."
Joy rose in Vulkan’s heart.
He had conceived of a mechanical facility capable of producing food. It would remove as many impurities and metallic contaminants from starch matter as possible.
It would give the survivors relatively safe food.
In simple terms, it was an upgraded, purified version of starch energy bars. Or, rather, corpse-starch—except easier to swallow.
Although this was still far from ideal, for a survivor camp facing an extreme disaster, it was already an excellent option.
At the very least, it would help them endure this difficult period before seeking further development.
After Vulkan found solutions for energy, water, and food, his mood improved considerably. The guilt in his heart lessened as well.
He believed he could care for mankind properly—whether in this survivor camp or among even more humans elsewhere.
Before long, Vulkan and Aulk arrived at a valley formed from ruins and followed the entrance inward.
The asteroid bases were mainly established on fragments of planets confirmed to be safe, and they were built in areas chosen specifically for ease of defense and difficulty of attack.
They provided temporary habitation sites for engineering personnel and refugees.
Otherwise, even with Blackstone Fortresses holding back the Black Tide, humanity would find it very difficult to survive long-term in a disaster zone filled with corruption.
Only primarchs like Vulkan, or high-ranking warriors, had the ability to survive outside.
Vulkan and Aulk reached the entrance of the base.
After undergoing a simple scan, they proceeded down a long alloy corridor. Along the route, specialized machinery sprayed purifying agents over them.
The system cleansed the filth and Chaos-corrupted matter from their bodies.
Vulkan frowned slightly. Something felt wrong.
The facilities in this survivor base were far more complete than he had imagined. Some of the details were things even he had not thought of.
He was puzzled. Could humanity truly build a survival base of this level so quickly in a land of disaster?
"Perhaps this place was originally a refuge for some sector noble. That would explain how it accidentally saved a group of human survivors after the disaster broke out."
That was what Vulkan thought.
It was the only explanation.
With the Imperium’s organizational ability, its administrative bureaucrats could never have built a shelter of this caliber after a disaster occurred. Nor would they have invested so much effort into it.
Truthfully, even the Imperium of the Great Crusade era would not have found this easy.
It demanded extremely high levels of transportation capacity, organization, and forging capability, as well as too many related technologies.
"My lord, we’ve finally returned to the base. It looks like the priests have already restarted the power.
"But now that you’ve arrived, our base is bound to become even better!"
Aulk was in a good mood.
This Salamander lord could repair the damaged facilities in the base and resolve many hidden dangers.
On top of that, he was a powerful warrior in his own right and could protect this base. If the other asteroid bases found out, they would be green with envy.
Of course, this technical worker from Ormus also knew that the Salamander lord would not stay here for long.
Once communications with the Redemption Engineering Corps were restored, the Imperium would probably assign the lord to a more important mission, such as garrisoning a Blackstone Fortress.
But that was already enough.
Because establishing contact with the Redemption Engineering Corps meant safety in itself. It also meant fresh supplies, and all the mechanical facilities would be repaired.
Aulk looked respectfully at the towering back of the Salamander lord, his anticipation growing stronger.
He had to seize this opportunity and ask the lord for some guidance. An opportunity like this did not usually come along.
After all, for technical workers of the Imperium, only those who reached the highest-ranking technical academies of the Schola Progenium ever had a chance to receive guidance from a Salamander lord.
"Aulk, I will not disappoint you," Vulkan said, looking down at the mortal before him with great seriousness. His words sounded almost like an oath. "I will teach you new technologies.
"This camp will no longer have to worry about food or water. Nor will it need to fear monster attacks again!"
He was so kind, so approachable, without the slightest trace of a primarch’s arrogance.
The Lord of the Salamanders looked enormous and intimidating.
But he was the gentlest and most capable of blending among mortals of all the primarchs. He would even eat and live alongside warriors and ordinary people.
Vulkan had already decided that once he reached the residential area of the survivor camp, he would publicly announce this matter.
Then he would teach these poor people the purified starch energy bar technology, easing the fear and despair in their hearts.
Aulk was even more moved when he heard this. His eyes nearly filled with tears.
He had not expected the Salamander lord to actually be willing to teach everyone technology. Could it be the latest masterwork craft, the kind that could assemble chips by hand?!
This Salamander lord was truly too kind, too easy to get along with. Otherwise, Aulk would not even have dared speak to him.
Of course, most Salamanders had personalities like this. Vulkan was simply even gentler.
Perhaps that, too, was due to the influence of their gene-father.
"My lord, p-please, this way!" Aulk said, so excited that his voice turned a little sharp.
He hurried ahead, almost bouncing as he led Vulkan toward the base’s residential area beyond the corridor.
As Vulkan followed him, he considered how he should intervene and take over this survivor camp.
Fortunately, for a high-ranking warrior, this was not a difficult matter.
The prestige accumulated by the Imperium over countless years would naturally make mortals obey willingly.
Yet the instant Vulkan stepped out of the corridor, his instincts sharpened. Then blinding light rushed at him head-on.
Had dawn come?
The Lord of the Salamanders had been walking for a long time through the Black Tide region, where there had been no light source at all. He had long since adapted to the darkness.
The sudden brightness dazzled his eyes. Then music rose, followed by the cheers of the people.
"Salamander lord!"
"Welcome to Charadon Asteroid Base No. 13!"
The base’s engineering personnel and surviving local citizens had formed ranks to welcome this Salamanders master artisan. Some were even waving flags, and others had hung temporary handmade banners.
It could be considered a specialty of the New Imperium.
Vulkan instinctively raised a hand to block the light and narrowed his eyes as he looked out.
Then he froze.
This was a survivor base?!
In his field of vision, some kind of artificial light source illuminated everything he could see as brightly as daytime.
The so-called residential area was not a slum of wreckage or lower-hive shanties. Instead, neat rows of two-story houses stood there, complete with planned streets.
Everything looked harmonious.
This was basically the standard configuration for a temporary settlement: artificial suns, plus prefabricated housing built from lightweight materials.
For the New Imperium, this was nothing difficult. Many disaster-relief facilities were standardized. They only needed to be transported over and assembled on-site.
As for stockpiles, that was even less of a problem for a logistics department full of hoarders.
The New Imperium could even build a residential zone with a complete ecosystem in a barren region.
Of course, there was no need to do that in the Black Tide disaster zone. A basic survival environment was enough.
But to Vulkan, who was used to the old Imperium, the impact was still enormous. And this place was a survivor camp in the middle of the Black Tide region.
What shook him even more was the welcome, the laughter, and the cheerful voices. They were nothing like the old Imperium’s gloom and decay.
Even the little houses were pale pink or painted in other bright colors, brimming with life.
Completely unlike the old Imperium.
In Vulkan’s memory, the mortals of the Imperium were always thin, ragged, and hunched over. Their brows were always furrowed as they prayed for the Emperor’s salvation.
Even the Imperial Auxilia, and later the Astra Militarum, had not been much better. Everything had been filled with oppression.
Especially after the Horus Heresy. And after the appearance of the Great Rift, that phenomenon had reached its limit.
People’s emotions, living environments, and buildings had all become like that—dark, oppressive, rotten, even mad.
There was no room at all for joy or laughter. Everyone struggled for survival at every moment.
Even on some wealthy worlds, ordinary citizens did not live much better.
In the regions of Warp turbulence, Vulkan had received far too much information about the old Imperium, so much that even his own mood had grown bleak.
He could not believe that this was the human realm his father had promised. Still less could he believe that they had allowed the Imperium to become something so hateful.
The Lord of the Salamanders had lived for a long time in self-reproach, and even developed a deep helplessness. Otherwise, he would never have exiled himself.
Many primarchs were like this.
That was why the laughter and cheer of the people in Charadon Asteroid Base No. 13 left him so dazed.
Was this the Imperium?
Vulkan pondered that question as he followed the people toward the residential area in a daze.
On both sides of the street, people smiled and waved at him. Others watched from the balconies of their little houses.
They were curious about this extraordinarily tall Salamander warrior, but their attitude was deeply respectful.
Not fearful.
Respectful from the heart.
The atmosphere was so friendly.
The street operated in good order. Vulkan could even see potted plants warmly donated by some garden world.
Those, too, were disaster-relief supplies.
In fact, the relief supplies also included some adorable small animals. They could bring more life to the temporary settlements.
There was no helping it. In the Black Tide disaster zone, the greatest threat was still the despair in people’s hearts. That was what the Dark King craved, the source of his power.
Once people were gripped by widespread fear and despair, corruption would seep in through every opening.
For that reason, the New Imperium poured resources into the Black Tide disaster zone with all its strength, doing everything it could to make the temporary settlements feel alive and hopeful.
It would also seize every opportunity to hold all kinds of events.
Now Aquila banners, Savior banners, and colorful flags hung along both sides of the street.
The warm greetings of the people and the smiles on their faces brought warmth to the cold, despairing, scarred heart of the Lord of the Salamanders.
Vulkan gently wiped the tears from the corners of his eyes, and a faint smile appeared on his face despite himself.
He quietly observed this survivor camp that left him baffled, even astonished.
Just where had he arrived? This place was far too unlike the Imperium...
Vulkan could even see that people had reclaimed land on the outskirts of the residential area and planted crops and vegetables.
The little seedlings were so full of life.
They were the people’s hope for the future. Perhaps before long, they would be able to eat normal food.
The people of the New Imperium always liked to seize any chance they had to plant something, anywhere they could. It had practically become a habit.
"Are the people holding a celebration?" Vulkan was even more astonished when he heard cheerful yet somewhat sacred music coming from not far away.
He realized that the people were gathering toward the center of this area.
(End of Chapter)
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