Warhammer: I don't want to become a stinky can!

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"You can't beat me."

The old general said, and it believed this to be true; Tarasin's circuit calculations might be no less advanced than its own, but its combat experience was simply too poor.

But—Tarahim has his own plans!

The Endless One wielded its merciless annihilation staff.

"I see,"

The Endless Tarasin said it realized this was an opportunity.

Zandreuk's trip was definitely unannounced, because the Storm King would never allow his subordinates to coexist peacefully with other races.

"Then listen to my reasons for declaring war, Zandrek!"

“I want you to submit to me, Crowned One.”

Hades' pupils dilated in shock. He looked at the Endless One standing atop the Stalker's head and realized what Tarashin was planning.

Sure enough, at the same moment, Hades received a coded message from Tarasim.

"Hades, allocate some computing power to me—and can you crack Zandreuk's key?"

"It's okay, it's okay..."

Hades replied, twisting his neck as he realized he couldn't watch any longer. A silvery-white light flowed from Hades' feet and flashed by.

"But you have to catch them alive first."

Hades said he glanced down at Magnus, who was almost pale with shock. The Primarch seemed unaware of the many ambushes his new alien friend had laid.

"Can you do it, Tarasin?"

Tarasin laughed.

“If a general can stop me… then I will never succeed… Hades, please follow my command this time.”

"OK."

Hades reached out, lifted Magnus, and then flashed into another dimension.

The silvery liquid metal climbed up Tarasin's body, flowing like blood vessels to continuously provide it with power. It felt its overheated circuits cool down again, and the Endless One even felt a kind of bone-chilling cold.

Its eyes will gleam with a dazzling light.

"I misjudged you,"

The old general did not seem angry about Tarachin's reasons for declaring war.

"Are you also a slave to power, Tarachin?"

The man wearing the crown spoke with a hint of disappointment.

“I realized that no individual can ever remain unscathed in this slow upheaval.”

"I just want to live for myself and regain true freedom—to complete the rebellion and long-overdue revenge that I should have completed hundreds of thousands of years ago."

Tarasin replied, and as he spoke, the howls of pterosaurs echoed across the sky, along with the sudden roar of "waaagh!" from the earth.

"And what do you live for, Zandrek?"

"A war full of pleasure,"

The crowned creature said, and its guards glanced at it in shock.

For a moment, Obi-Dragon even believed that its former ambitious king had returned.

"We possess immortal life, which is precisely what makes us born for war."

Tarasin chuckled softly.

"I understand, so you will obey Storm King, that martial arts madman."

"But is this truly immortal life?"

Tarasin asked,

"Aren't you senile yourself? I doubt anyone understands this better than your guards."

"Zandrek, you've lost a part of yourself. Don't you realize you've been confused before? Or have you simply forgotten them?"

Obi-Long clenched his fist. The Endless One was right; the old general was senile, sometimes confused, sometimes lucid.

It initially thought that Zamberick was just pretending to be confused, but later Obi-Long realized that he was only sometimes lucid.

"You're the one who's crazy,"

Zandreuk murmured.

"I still hope to use our previous reason for declaring war."

"You still hope to let me off the hook."

Tarasin tilted his scepter forward, pointing it at Zandrek.

"But I don't want to be a civil servant hiding behind a tyrant."

“I think that under my command… you can still enjoy wonderful wars, and I am far more democratic than the Storm King.”

A giant dinosaur raised by the barbaric Eldar joined the battle, along with the green-skinned troops released by the Endless Ones.

The pterosaur tore through the Nightscythe's armor, and the greenskins rushed over excitedly.

The more diverse army greatly consumed the Crowned Ones' computing power. If it were an ordinary space necromancer commander, the circuits might have already started overheating by now, but the old general remained unharmed.

Before he became senile, Zandrek was a sharp scythe under the Storm King's command.

But after it became senile, the Storm King neglected it and almost banished it, yet he still sent it on missions from time to time because of the Crowned One's still superb war command ability.

"Bring it on!"

Behind Tarasin, the hypercube unfolded, and the temperature around the space necromancer instantly rose. If there were any hostile carbon-based life forms nearby, they would be reduced to ashes in an instant.

“I also have a piece of advice for you, Zanderrick,”

A agonizing roar emanated from the spatial cross-section as a gigantic hand of pure energy struggled to break free!

Tarasim stood calmly in place, the flaming hand patting at its side, followed by another giant hand.

"You can kill me countless times, but I only need to kill you once."

"You can kill my army countless times, but my army is endless."

"You have experience in billions of wars... while I have... a collection spanning hundreds of thousands of years!"

The Star God Fragment Burner roared as it struggled out of the hyperdimensional labyrinth behind Tarasin, spewing out earth fire and melting countless space undead forces in the intense heat.

Well, Tarasin thought,

The metallic surface of Tarasim reflected the wreckage of the Netherworld constructs that had been instantly shattered by the raging inferno.

Perhaps some people cannot understand the meaning of "wealth".

The literal meaning of "wealthy" is that even after Pluto devoured three fragments of the Star God, Talasi still had a sufficient number of Star God fragments!

The crowned figure brandished his staff, and the hypercube maze appeared in his hand. The old general muttered incoherently as he aimed at the God of Pain, who was wreaking havoc on the obelisk.

"No,"

Tarasin waved his hand toward a spatial cross-section beside him.

“Do not ambush. Zandrek has not used his Death Seal army, so I will also uphold my honor.”

Broken metal splattered around Tarasin, yet left no scratch. In the distance, the obelisk was obliterated with a silent flash, and one of the old general's armies vanished in an instant.

In the white light that nearly malfunctioned the sensors, the Burner, its form suppressed by the hypercube maze, screamed.

Tarachin felt no pity for the Burner. Beside it, whispers arose as countless eyes peered out from the spatial cross-section.

"...Just how many Star God fragments do you have?"

Hades' words echoed helplessly in Tarasin's ears. Tarasin smiled.

"Enough to exhaust all the hyperdimensional labyrinths of a great dynasty."

It said that countless fragments of the Star God, Ishtar, peered out from behind it.

"I can eat more—"

"you can not."

Tarachin said calmly, "First, work to pay back all the debts you owe me."

"coming!"

Hades shouted, "Good morning! Working people!"

It's just showing off, Hades knows that.

Tarasin's entire body was covered in shimmering silver metal, forming his cloak.

"You've taken a fancy to the one wearing the crown?"

Hades asked,

Tarasin nodded.

"...It has already been neglected by the Storm King, and the Storm King will not repair its body. As it wears down...the Crowned One will eventually fall on the battlefield."

"You seem to have acted on a whim."

"The answer is that I have a collecting obsession."

Tarachin said that he remained fully focused on the battlefield—he would never have acted so recklessly today without Hades.

But since Hades is involved... then let's go all out!

Yay! That's it!

Good luck on your exam!

Chapter 660 Tarachin is best at playing dirty tricks.

“It is the most foolish coward of death, but that is why I have come here.”

----------

It has always been a rather unruly, death-fearing creature.

Whether it's adventures in other undead tombs or infiltrating the palaces of other races, Tarachin loves adventure; life should have some fun, otherwise it's no different from death.

The death ray grazed past once more, and the distorted space of the Star God Ishtar caused the Crowned One's attack to miss again.

The shrill, scorching ray of light grazed past and then exploded on the ground far behind Tarasin.

The thought circuits should have overheated, the liquid coolant should have hissed in its head, the runes should have warned it of overrunning, but none of that happened. On the contrary, Tarasin felt more wonderful than ever before.

Is this the wisdom of someone willing to cooperate with a star god?

The shimmering silver-white metal inscribed runes on its gray-black body, altering the temporary form's programming to make it more suitable for computation and warfare.

Its consciousness was dispersed, onto the doomsday scythe swooping down from the sky, into every swinging soldier; Tarachin felt himself become a more advanced version of some kind of automaton spirit.

It can control everything.

The thoughts of the cosmic necromancer drifted far away. Millions of years ago, the collaboration between the Fearful Ones and the Star Gods brought the entire galaxy to their feet, which was enough to demonstrate the potential that their cooperation could unleash.

Realizing that Taracin had little command experience, Hades even thoughtfully provided it with a lot of data. Taracin felt its algorithms were evolving rapidly, and it even began to deliberately practice what it had learned on the battlefield to test these skills.

If it were an ordinary crowned general, perhaps the war between them would already be over.

But the old general was still fighting, and it even seemed to be in high spirits. How long had it been since it had encountered a nobleman willing to fight it fair and square?

As for the other nobles… Zandreuk’s thought engine flickered for a moment, but he couldn’t remember.

But its guardian, Obiron, remembered that Obiron had cleared away the Death Mark troops from other nobles countless times for the Crowned Ones, some from the Crowned Ones under the old general, and some from enemies of the outer dynasties.

This is not a rare occurrence.

The Death-Fearers are an extremely cruel race; from birth, they sleep alongside war and class.

Below the nobility, those who fear death need not possess a self or personality; they need only war to prove their worth.

Obi-Long, a commoner, was fortunate enough to become a royal guard of Zandreuk the Crowned One because of his battle record and the merits of his father.

The nobles, on the other hand, proved themselves through war. They were born noble, but they had to use war and intrigue to secure their position. If they were incompetent...