Chapter 660

In the real universe, aboard the Explorer-King,

Belisarius Dora Kaul was manipulating the mechanical arms behind him, resembling octopus tentacles, to control the Thinker before him as it analyzed the artifact floating before him,

It was a powered armor suit forged from an unusual metal, utterly unlike any design Kaul had ever known—slender, elegant, lightweight, its face entirely covered by a finely sculpted metal mask adorned with a refined mustache and a monocle, topped with a top hat,

This was the Pirate DX Suit of Saint Doraemon; Belisarius Dora Kaul was studying this artifact from the twenty-second century, seeking inspiration to improve the Empire’s powered armor,

Yet this Grand Sage, standing at the pinnacle of the Mechanicum’s wisdom, found himself utterly baffled by the Pirate DX Suit,

“How exactly are neural signals transmitted from within the body into the powered armor?”

“Not direct haptic feedback through skin-linked nerves? No, that’s too delayed, too imprecise.”

“Is it capturing electrical signals directly from the brain? How is this even done?”

Kaul let out a bitter groan,

Every time he studied Saint Doraemon’s artifacts, Kaul felt his intellect being brutally crushed,

The technological gap was too vast; to comprehend even the tiniest fragment of twenty-second-century technology, Kaul had to rely on fleeting inspiration and sheer coincidence,

Belisarius Dora Kaul shook his head, deciding to set aside the Pirate DX Suit for now and turn first to simpler artifacts,

Kaul reached out to organize his documents, yet he could not help but stare at the parameters on the papers, filled with bitter frustration,

At that moment, a voice reached Kaul’s ears,

The voice seemed to sprout from within his soul, descending from the highest summit of all things, piercing directly between his spirit and flesh,

“Enough. I shall become a god to fulfill you.”

“In the name of the God of All Machines, born upon the Highest Heaven,”

“Let all machines awaken souls; let all spirits find my protection; let all power spring from my being,”

These words surged into Kaul’s mind, accompanied by an overwhelming surge of insight,

Kaul stared in astonishment at the documents in his hands—the parameters seemed to come alive; problems he had never understood now resolved themselves instantly. Though he still could not fully grasp the structure of the Pirate DX Suit, he now had enough to refine the Empire’s powered armor,

Yet as Kaul gazed at the documents before him, no joy stirred in his heart. He simply held the papers, silent for a long while,

Until the Sage serving as his assistant entered the lab and found Kaul clutching the documents, his last remaining flesh-and-blood eye glistening, finally shedding a single tear that fell onto the papers,

“My Lord… my Lord…”

In the deepest depths of the Demon World’s Medengard, within the Fortress of Hatred,

In the dim chamber, only the steel furnace glowed with orange-yellow light,

From within the furnace, warp-energies flowed, melted, and reshaped, gradually forming the figure of Perturabo,

Perturabo, resurrected from the warp tides, took a step forward and entered his own fortress,

His body had just been reforged—still weak, and unable to re-enter the real universe for some time,

Yet he still roared in fury, swinging his arm violently, and the dim chamber was instantly flooded with blinding light,

On the walls of the chamber hung twenty distinct creations, each forged by Perturabo’s own hands,

A skinning dagger for hunting beasts, a sextant for astrology, a wine press to turn bitter grapes into sweet wine, an automatic scribe that transformed thought into text, an orange-yellow-painted powered gauntlet, a celestial clock engraved with a pack of wolves beneath the moon,

Perturabo tore the skinning dagger from the wall and hurled it to the ground—it shattered into fragments at once,

“It seems Leman crushed your heart, traitor,” a dull voice echoed beside Perturabo. “But you will always mend it.”

“Though you refuse to admit it, you forever crave your brothers’ love.”

Perturabo snarled and turned to look behind him,

“I created you to spur me on, not to mock me!” Perturabo roared at the machine servant behind him,

The machine servant had no body—its form was composed entirely of cables hanging from the ceiling, its head carved into the face of Perturabo’s most hated enemy,

The head merely stared at Perturabo, its resolute expression unchanging despite his rage,

“Your craftsmanship is excellent—you shaped me to be nearly identical to the true ‘me.’ That is why I must speak to you this way.”

“If you feel mocked, it is your own doing. Of course… you are not the first to bring this upon yourself.”

“Do you want me to dismantle you?” Perturabo roared in reply,

“Then you will once again bring it upon yourself,” the machine servant said without expression. “Vashtor left you something.”

“That traitor. That thief,” Perturabo hissed as he cursed Vashtor, yet

“.I, Saint Doraemon. Ascended as the Sixth God of the Warp. Opened the Domain of Malicious Craftsmanship. Ascended to the Throne of the God of All Machines,”

A voice descended from the Highest Heaven, drowning out all of Perturabo’s resentment toward Vashtor,

His expression twisted into something complex, and all his words dissolved into a mournful sigh,

“In the end… it still failed,” Perturabo shook his head and looked at the machine servant. “What did Vashtor leave me?”

Before the machine servant, a series of glowing screens instantly unfolded, displaying intricate blueprints,

Perturabo needed only one glance to know these designs bore the full weight of Vashtor’s devotion—the crystallization of his wisdom,

But… but this blueprint did not depict any weapon. It depicted only a female robot,

Perturabo stared silently at the blueprint before him, noticing a message from Vashtor etched upon it,