Vulkan was filled with compassion as he searched for hope of survival for the survivors in this region.
But after he analyzed the situation, his heart grew heavy again.
For humanity to survive in this place of disaster was simply too difficult.
Even the most basic survival was a hard thing.
For example, obtaining survival supplies—water, food, fuel, and so on.
What Vulkan could do was forge the most basic energy facilities.
Then draw water from the drifting glacier belts and asteroids nearby. That would only ensure people did not die of thirst.
As for food, they could only extract macro-elements from industrial materials found in the wreckage of the ruins, then mix them with other organic matter to make starch energy bars to fill people's stomachs.
In other words, that thing he had loathed so deeply before, mockingly called Corpse Starch.
At least in the short term, that was all he could do, and then slowly establish a better operational system.
Find new food.
"I should be able to do better. Perhaps there's another way—"
Vulkan felt deeply guilty, guilty over his own plan.
If he made the survivors struggle on in such hardship, then how was that any different from the Imperium?
The lord of the Salamanders regretted that he had not mastered more survival-related technologies, so that when they were truly needed...
He was powerless.
"What's wrong with Lord Salamander?" Ork faintly sensed Vulkan's mood and found it a little strange.
Perhaps that lord was grieving for fallen comrades.
Thinking of how terrible this Black Tide disaster was, he could not help lowering his head and sighing. "What a disaster. It involved everyone. Who knows when it'll end?
Then I'll be able to go home, back to Ormus Planet—"
Vulkan's body trembled slightly at those words. The