"Emperor's Image Transformation Card ×10??" Datch clicked to view the mission rewards in detail. This transformation card could make him look like the Emperor. While it didn't grant the Emperor's power, it perfectly replicated his aura. The card could be combined with Sadako's videotape—though not a standard horror movie route—to randomly assign it to a subspace baby who loved watching TV, refreshing the Golden Big Guy and scaring him senseless.
"Alright, I'll help repair the Golden Throne."
Datch accepted the task, and the minimap updated automatically, with a dozen red exclamation marks appearing, marking places to be repaired in sequence before the final restoration.
He glanced at Guilliman, who still looked pained and shaken, unable to digest the Emperor's ssage.
"Forget it, let's just go fix the Golden Throne first."
Datch shrugged and dashed from the throne room, heading for the passage leading deep underground.
Tribune Heracleon stood by the Gate, halberd in hand. When he saw Datch running deep into the under-palace, he instinctively followed. Chief Trajann of the Custodes had ordered that no one interfere or resist this mysterious, naless figure. But defending the Golden Throne was the Custodes' highest duty—especially as the throne was everything to them. Thus, they had to supervise Datch to prevent any accidents.
The main structure of the Golden Throne was enormous—the throne room was only the tip of the iceberg. Most of it was buried deep within the crust and mantle of the Himalayas, fused with the planet itself. The entire mountain range and plateau had been utterly transford to construct and maintain the Golden Throne.
Datch followed the minimap, proceeding down the main passage surrounded by huge cable conduits. The walls and ceiling were bristling with heavy chanical structures, both stabilizing the channel and neatly arranging energy and data pipelines. Tiny lun lamps embedded in the arch ribs emitted cold white halos, while the floor was filled with mist-cooling liquid leaking from the cooling system.
Occasionally, blue sparks crackled from connectors or exposed wires, filling the air with the sll of scorched tal. Along the way, groups of patrolling Skitarii could be seen—their electronic eyes flashing red as they silently followed preset routes. Regular hydraulic hissing ca from their joints, and forgotten binary prayers mumbled from their speakers. Servo-skulls buzzed overhead, their eye sockets scanning equipnt and pipes with dark green beams, uploading data in real ti to the tech-priests maintaining the Golden Throne.
Shhhh!
As Datch passed a node, a cooling pipe overhead suddenly burst, sending out a torrent of scalding steam. The out-of-control pipe thrashed violently, slamming into others with a pounding noise. Not far away, a panel suddenly emitted a burst of sparks, casting flickering shadows and the sll of burning.
"Damn, everything's a ss,"
Datch muttered to himself. The Golden Throne was on the verge of structural collapse. Once it reached a critical point, the entire chanism would seize up.
A few minutes later, Datch arrived at a fault node marked by a red exclamation mark—a ring stabilizer over ten ters in diater, made of dark silver psychic alloy and unknown crystal. Its function was to stabilize energy within the circuit by spinning at high speed, ensuring smooth operation of the Golden Throne. But now, it trembled dully as it rotated, wheezing like an old dying ox. At the center of the ring, a sphere of energy that should have glowed steadily was flickering with the ring's erratic motion.
Clearly, the stabilizer's internal structure was faulty, unable to stabilize incoming energy, making the entire psychic circuit unstable. The usual solution was to add external power and compensators, but that only increased the load, making the situation worse—an endless cycle of ever-growing, ever-less-efficient machinery.
When the Emperor built the Golden Throne, he reserved enough redundancy in its design. Otherwise, with the chanicum's crude and primitive maintenance, the throne would've exploded long ago.
Datch pulled out a golden hamr and knocked the stabilizer several tis. Golden light spread, and the ancient stabilizer was instantly renewed. The harsh grinding and gasps ceased, replaced by a harmonious chanical symphony—the ring spun smoothly, the energy sphere stabilized with a gentle milky glow, and the output curve on the monitor flattened perfectly.
"One down."
Satisfied, Datch put away his gold hamr and leapt to the next location per the minimap. Heracleon, trailing behind in the shadows, watched in shock. No complex rituals, no replacent parts—just a few taps with that odd hamr, and a critical device that had stumped the most skilled tech-priests was restored to perfection. This was nothing short of divine.
Heracleon quickly reported the situation to Chief Trajann and notified the responsible tech-priests, who soon arrived in their red robes and cybernetic gear. They thoroughly scanned the stabilizer and processed the data at high speed.
Soon, the lead tech-priest looked up, his synth-voice trembling with excitent:
"The stabilizer's paraters are perfect—9.7% above design standard. No additional power needed—energy use reduced by 41%..."
"Praise the Omnissiah! Only godly wisdom and power could make such a miracle!"
After receiving the detailed report, Trajann spoke with more solemnity than ever:
"Heracleon, priorities have changed. Follow the naless one at all tis, and provide whatever assistance he needs for the repairs. This may be the hope for our Lord's release after ten thousand years of suffering."
"Understood, Chief."
Heracleon replied in a low voice, quickly resuming the hunt for Datch through the maze of pipes.
Heracleon soon found Datch, who was already repairing a cracked energy repeater. Hearing footsteps, Datch glanced back to see Heracleon nearby. Datch ignored him and kept working deeper into the palace. Heracleon maintained a respectful distance, neither too close nor too far.
"Why is this NPC following ?!"
Datch grumbled as he fixed another device.
He approached Heracleon and eyed the golden helt. The man stood silently, helt concealing his expression. Heracleon had learned from Officer Navradaran that the naless one was cold, disliked small talk, and often yelled "Skip, skip!" during conversations before leaving abruptly.
Seeing the statue-like silence, Datch had an idea. He took out his hamr and tapped Heracleon's helt.
Ding!
Golden light concentrated on the impact point and flowed through the Custodian's body like rcury. Every scar vanished, his armor restored as if new. Years of wear, subtle wounds from endless battle, even dulled functions from age—all were washed away in sunlight. Heracleon felt vitality bursting from within, senses sharpened, organs clearer. In an instant, he was back at his youthful peak—an incredible miracle. Even the Imperium's most advanced dicine could only slow decline, not reverse it. Normally, after ten years, Heracleon would have retired from the front lines. Now, after the naless one's touch, he felt he could serve the Emperor for centuries to co.
Excited, Heracleon wanted to remove his helt and thank Datch. But Datch ignored him, diving deeper into the palace to repair more nodes. Left standing, helt in one hand and halberd in the other, Heracleon was stunned. Not even the High Lords of Terra ignored the Custodes so. He took a deep breath, donned his helt, and hurried after Datch.
Datch's repairs soon dramatically improved the Golden Throne's efficiency. The tech-priests sang hymns to the Omnissiah, so even bowing to the machinery in worship. Datch ignored them and headed straight for the throne room.
Guilliman was still standing there, face twisted in pain, overwheld by the Emperor's information. Datch glanced at him a few tis, then leapt up the pyramid, kicking aside useless equipnt on the stairs.
The vast pyramid was covered in patches, most made by Magnus, which weakened the Throne's power and made it difficult for the Emperor to suppress daemons—ultimately leading to failure.
Datch dashed to each patch, hamr in hand, knocking on the tal. Broken cables and structures automatically reconnected, returning to their original state. Each repair strengthened the Throne, the machinery humming ever more harmoniously.
Despite swiftly repairing all the pyramid's damage, but the mission wasn't marked complete.
…
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