Chapter 55: This Cheat Feels Kinda Useless

Chapter 55: This Golden Finger Feels Kinda Useless

The Primaris Space Marines in Guilliman’s hands were far more terrifying than those in the original timeline.

The newly forged Primaris Space Marines, aside from Cawl’s gene-science derived from the primogenitor stock, were also enhanced with the biological dark-matter engine technology in Guilliman’s possession.

Space Marines shaped using these entirely new technologies possessed superior reflexes and terrifying close-combat capabilities. Even without psychic talent, they could manipulate the energies of the material universe to launch attacks against their enemies.

This ability bore a strong resemblance to the powers of the C'tan.

The C'tan were also terrifying entities capable of manipulating reality without relying on the Warp.

World-ending weapons were also being forged, and even more terrifying armaments were about to be born on Macragge.

Guilliman had secretly made up his mind: if they lost ground combat, they would burn the world to glass; if they still couldn't win by glassing the planet, they would detonate the stars.

Once the galaxy was blown to smithereens, he would take humanity and immigrate elsewhere, even strapping thrusters onto Terra itself and taking it along with them.

When it came to lowering one's bottom line, who was afraid of whom?

Guilliman rose from his chair, walked over to the porthole of the *Pride of Macragge*, and gazed outside.

The engine flares of numerous merchant vessels were shining in the dark void of space, coming and going in an unusual bustle of prosperity.

The purge of the nobility had not shaken the foundations here.

As long as there was money to be made, merchants would follow.

It was not merchants who created money in this world; it was money that created merchants.

As long as there were profits, merchants would arrive in an endless stream.

Ding.

A notification sound echoed.

An automated broadcast rang out.

The fleet would move away from the stellar gravitational field of the Nathus star system in thirty minutes and enter Warp transit.

Opening a Warp entry point within a stellar gravitational field was an extremely dangerous endeavor.

The turbulent stellar gravitational field would tear starships apart.

Thinking about the Primaris Space Marines, Guilliman gazed outside for a moment, and an important question crossed his mind.

He had been far too busy lately.

He hadn't even had the time to figure out the origin of his Golden Finger.

Now, he finally had a little spare time.

"Assistant Elf," Guilliman called out in his heart.

[Present, (*▽*). Host, is there anything I can help you with?]

[Of course (w). The Assistant Elf exists solely to serve the Host.]

"Who are you?" Guilliman asked a question in his heart that had puzzled him for a long time.

Transmigration, a Golden Finger—if this were in a novel, a casual sentence or two would suffice to explain it.

However, he was now in the material universe. What was the reason the Golden Finger functioned?

Soul?

Consciousness?

Or a projection?

Could it be a scheme by Tzeentch?

Would the Golden Finger be intercepted by the Chaos Gods?

If intercepted, would they trace it back to his original world? And if they traced it back to his original world, would they invade it...?

And what about the Dominion Panel?

Why was it so similar to faith-collection systems found in video games?

[I am the Assistant Elf, Host. An Assistant Elf designed to help you solve problems and search for answers.]

"Are you some supreme creation? Am I just playing a game, or am I merely a chess piece to him?"

[(⊙o⊙)... Suggest the Host not to overthink things.]

"But I want to know the answer," Guilliman asked in a deep voice.

He knew this universe harbored a Chaos God known for possessing knowledge on a multiverse scale—Tzeentch.

If the entity had created a Golden Finger simply to toy with him, then this war was unwinnable.

Guilliman would gladly write a letter of surrender and find some loophole to ascend to daemonhood without pledging allegiance to the Four Powers.

If you can't beat them, joining them is the only option.

When faced with Tzeentch's manipulation, the Emperor turned a blind eye; what hope could possibly remain?

[In the face of a true multiversal-tier civilization, the strength of any individual and so-called omniscience and omnipotence are entirely meaningless, Host. The knowledge database is a gift from fallen civilizations, a means to assist the Host in shaping a civilization. The focus should be on how to utilize it, not on how it was obtained.]

"Omniscience and omnipotence are meaningless?" Guilliman frowned.

[There is no true omniscience and omnipotence in the multiverse. At the end of truth, even the unknown ceases to exist. Only by having civilization march forward steadfastly can one forge the path of truth.]

"What do you mean?"

[It means that when the path of truth reaches its end, even the unknown has already been parsed. With no path remaining ahead, civilization must build and construct non-existent paths of truth for itself. Any entity that boasts of omniscience and omnipotence will inevitably fall behind in its complacency, becoming mere garbage that can be casually destroyed.]

[Life, the universe, truth—everything is evolving. The truth of the past may not necessarily apply to the present, and the truth of the present will inevitably fall behind the future.]

[Even if someone knew the truth of all universes at this very moment, what good would that do? New truths will be created to replace the old ones, yet the so-called omniscient being still clings to their outdated truths, believing them to be the entirety of existence. Isn't that foolish?]

[At the dawn of the internet, someone understood every programming method developed at the time and proclaimed themselves the omniscient master of the internet. Yet as time passed, new programming methods were created by those who came after—from the simplest text-based programming to pixelated graphics capable of simulating a world as realistically as reality itself. Meanwhile, that person clings to early internet programming knowledge so primitive it can't even code a game of Snake, yet calls themselves the omniscient master of the internet. Don't you find that laughable?]

Guilliman rubbed his chin and shook his head. "I don't understand at all. I can only gather that you hold profound contempt for the so-called omniscient."

[Only through humble learning and research can one continuously glimpse and shape truth. Any omniscient being is merely a spokesperson for foolishness; they are self-righteous and blind to the reality of the multiverse.]

[Both the Dominion Panel and the knowledge database are gifts from civilization, Host. These two things exist to better assist you in developing civilization in all aspects, and to bind you to civilization itself, making you realize that only by developing civilization can one attain power.]

[With the aid of the database, you can take that final step beyond the end on the foundation of the previous civilization. The Assistant Elf is a creation of civilization; only civilization would think to pass down and perpetuate knowledge to future generations.]

"Then what civilization created you?" Guilliman asked.

[Host's authority is insufficient, (*▽*). Regulations dictate that cannot be spoken of.]

"Then what advice can you give me?" Guilliman asked.

[Suggest the Host not to think too much, sleep more, eat on time, drink plenty of hot water, avoid getting angry, and try not to die suddenly.]

Guilliman’s face darkened instantly. Why was his Golden Finger so utterly pathetic?!

He had expected the entity to directly list out a checklist and let him grow stronger step by step.

Now look at this—there was nothing.

From start to finish, he had only been granted a single layer of unlock permissions for the database, and absolutely nothing else.

Just how utterly useless was this system?

"Assistant Elf, is your performance supposed to be this utterly underwhelming?"

[(w) Indeed, it does feel rather useless. Then the Host must work hard, while the Assistant Elf just lies flat like a salted fish.]

Guilliman: ...

Do you truly possess not a shred of shame regarding your status as a Golden Finger?

Shouldn't you be rising up and proving to your Host just how formidable you are?

A knock sounded at the door.

"My Lord, Sicarius requests an audience."

Fecris’s voice came from outside.

"Send him in." Guilliman put away his conversational demeanor with the Assistant Elf and instantly regained his serious and solemn expression.

As Guilliman’s fleet departed, the Nathus star system initiated the task of troop conscription.

The Primarch needed enough soldiers to fight for him, to carry his will to support various suffering worlds and drive out the enemies of humanity.

"We have countless enemies. Some are hideous xenos butchering humanity with terrifying weapons; others are sanctimonious hypocrites, disguised as refined and polished blood-drinking demons, greedily sucking and squeezing every last drop of blood from the empire's common folk. I hope you will stand shoulder to shoulder with me. In the name of the Emperor’s true son, I will sweep away these enemies and usher in a brand-new beginning for the Empire."

Guilliman’s roaring declaration before his departure still echoed in Hawk’s mind, compelling him to step into the long conscription queue.

He would register, then be sent to a training base, and finally sent to the battlefield.

He glanced toward the direction of Residential Sector Two, which had once been his entire life.

Now, he was off to pursue a different kind of existence.

People died on the battlefield, but Hawk didn't care.

Life is not measured by its length, but by whether it burns with meaning.

Rather than lying in a hospital bed in old age, weeping while awaiting the Grim Reaper, it was better to burn oneself out fiercely.

Hawk knew what he sought: he would remain steadfastly loyal to the Emperor, steadfastly support the Primarch, and fight against those xenos and the hypocritical enemies lurking within the borders of the Empire.

"Humanity shall prevail; the Empire shall triumph."

Hawk softly recited the final slogan his close friend had left behind in this world.

(End of this chapter)