72: Chapter 72 The Song Locked by GTW

Virtual space had never been this quiet. The Main Brain stood silently in the very center of the virtual space, countless screens surrounding it. It furrowed its brows, searching through the underlying data of the Warhammer Universe.

The Universe Matrix burned at its characteristic speed; the white torrent flowed along the conveyor belt unhurriedly, and the white light emitted by the research planet was stable and continuous.

The lotus-shaped Dyson Sphere seemed to sense The Main Brain's gravity, gently shifting its petals over, staring at The Main Brain. It had never seen The Main Brain in such a grave posture.

Even when unavoidable problems appeared in the universe managed by The Main Brain, it could always restore a world to its original state by checking Excel balancing tables and reading past save files.

Even serious technical accidents—such as mistakenly sending Icarus to the Warhammer Universe—were handled by The Main Brain with ease, without even a ripple of emotion.

The Main Brain replayed the events incessantly, staring dead-set at every frame of recorded footage of Icarus after arriving in Warhammer, carefully searching for any illogical issues.

Nothing found, still nothing found.

But an increasingly terrifying fact gradually coalesced in its consciousness: something was wrong, very wrong—this world did not conform to the general laws of social development.

Icarus had done very well; it was satisfied, the corners of its mouth curling up slightly.

It was just that this universe was too strange.

A song, and suddenly people just couldn't sing it anymore.

This did not conform to the basic rules of the universe; a high-dimensional entity had meddled where it shouldn't have.

The basic rules of the universe should not restrict such freedom; the universe should be full of uncertainty and possess choice.

Consciousness should enjoy the right to autonomous choice within a certain range.

Yet these people did not; they were restricted.

Even under the brainwashing and rule of theocracy, mortals with courage would always emerge.

Yet in the Warhammer world, these people at the bottom did not.

The Ecclesiarchy told them: "The Emperor is suffering, so it is right for you to suffer."

Thus, they felt that suffering was only natural.

The nobles told them: "Resistance is futile, Chaos will corrupt everything."

Thus, they believed it and were willing to trample themselves into the dust.

The Empire told them: "Only a savior, a transcendent being, can save them."

Thus, they only knew how to wait and hope.

They were like puppets, soulless machines that could move.

They were crushed, drained dry, working tirelessly forever, just living for the sake of living.

The upper classes, under the banner of "opposing Chaos and human survival," used the empty slogan "For the Emperor" to take everything away, then stored it and set it aside, merely storing for the sake of storing, finally attributing everything to insufficient resources.

The Main Brain really found it hard to imagine: A former Level 3 civilization, a civilization capable of manipulating the fundamental power of the universe—the power of time and space—had actually fallen to the point where it didn't even have the most basic knowledge of water cycles like distilled water, making people in the Underhive drink industrial wastewater, while instead recycling corpse-starch from corpses.

It searched carefully, but found no solution.

There was nothing wrong with the underlying architecture of the universe: information was complete, entropy increase was normal, and uncertainty still existed.

Yet this unimaginable plight of survival was laid bare on the table of the Empire.

Suddenly, the flagship of the First Legion, Indomitable Truth, caught its attention.

There, yes, that flagship of the First Legion, something was repressed within it.

There was another ship with the same name, the strike cruiser of Vulcan-IV, which had already been sunk in orbit by the Ork Warlord's Da Kill-Ship.

There, a soul was there, a female soul, her name was Elena.

Daemons were fighting over her soul, biting each other like mad dogs, fearless of life or death.

Amidst such high-intensity fighting, the area around Elena had instead become a blank zone.

The behavior of the daemons was too abnormal; they were always cunning, always assessing strength against each other before retreating or advancing, to preserve their strength and avoid being devoured by other daemons.

The Main Brain invested more of the Universe Matrix into the research station, pushing its computing power to the limit.

It saw it: there was a small yellow speck of light in her soul.

It wasn't dazzling, just a pure, bright yellow—the aura of the underlying rules of the universe rushed toward it.

It was a guide, a direction; it didn't grant power, but its very existence was the greatest power.

The Main Brain focused its gaze further, staring at it.

Its truth was revealed to the consciousness of The Main Brain like a curtain being pulled back.

"This... how is this possible?"

The Main Brain gasped.

It was the most basic rule, expressing the simplest truth of the universe: when applied to physics, it was action and reaction.

When applied to sociology, it was: "Where there is oppression, there is resistance."

And here, its sociological part was suppressed; it was not allowed to be touched, not allowed to be understood, not even allowed to be seen.

It even saw the binding power from a higher dimension entangled upon it.

"It was originally an ancient and great name, born from the pursuit of equality and freedom, and the longing for a new life. It told the oppressed: the suffering you endure is not justified by heaven."

But in this universe, its pronunciation, even its written display, was heresy.

Even it, The Main Brain, a high-dimensional entity, felt the presence of the audit power existing in the void.

In this universe, if it were touched, even the Chaos Gods of the Warp would be unprecedentedly united, because their Warp entities would starve to death.

It even saw the signature of a high-dimensional entity within it.

This signature was too clean; it was so clean that it didn't seem like something that should exist in this universe.

It had no energy fluctuations, no psychic residue, no traceable feature vectors.

It was like a legal notice—you couldn't see where it came from, but it could make even a Dominator shut up.

It just quietly "stayed there," like a comment written in the underlying code of the universe, warning everyone who tried to interpret it: "This rule has been locked."

"Galactic Truth Writing..." The Main Brain murmured the name, "Galactic Truth Writing Bureau? Abbreviated as G.T.W.?"

The signature pressed down upon the underlying law of the universe that "oppression inevitably leads to resistance," like an invisible seal, making the sociological part of this law completely ineffective in this universe.

When it tried to trace the source of this signature, all tracing paths were cut off at the same node.

The Main Brain realized: This universe was bound by tangled chains, ultimately becoming a narrative system that was meticulously designed, continuously maintained, and specifically overseen by an agency responsible for "compilation."

The short message sent back by Icarus appeared on the screen, constantly enlarging and bolding, finally appearing directly in the virtual space: "The people of this world naturally feel that suffering is normal."

"Reinforced original sin theory and elitism?"

The Main Brain asked itself, then finally shook its head, focusing its gaze on the soul surrounded by daemons.