To fully utilize the new Mod, Ian split off several Clones to return to Minecraft to begin mass production of EMC Value.
He looked at the blueprints for the Equivalent Exchange Upgrade Mod, his eyes gleaming with Excitement.
'Unlimited Resources have arrived!'
The Clones crafted the items from the Equivalent Exchange Upgrade with astonishing efficiency.
From the Energy Collector all the way to the Ultimate Power Flower Pot.
When the first Ultimate Star was crafted, Ian felt an unprecedented Power within it.
The spherical item, shining with a rainbow of colors, floated silently in his hand.
He then flew to the edge of the World, using Blocks to construct a massive new Continent.
This land was shaped like a Basin, surrounded by high Walls, ensuring that the items about to be duplicated would not be squeezed into the Void due to sheer quantity.
One Clone stood at the center of the Basin, converting half of the accumulated EMC Value into a batch of Ultimate Power Flower Pots.
Immediately, the Ultimate Star was placed on a specialized Platform and began its duplication work.
"It has begun."
Soon, more and more Ultimate Power Flower Pots appeared in the center of the Basin.
He then sold a portion of them, converting the EMC to craft another Ultimate Star.
Following that, a huge number of Ultimate Stars were duplicated.
As the number of Ultimate Stars increased, the Duplication Speed grew exponentially.
The bottom of the Basin was gradually filled with Ultimate Stars, piling up layer upon layer.
A few minutes later, Ian stood at the edge of the Basin and looked down, facing a sea shimmering with strange Light.
The Ultimate Stars filled the entire Basin. Ian then sold a portion of them into the Transmutation Tablet.
Ian checked his EMC Value. The number had reached an absurd magnitude, now only displayable in nested Scientific Notation (e.g., $10^{10^{10^{10}}}$).
This was no longer a concept of mere Wealth or Richness, but a near-infinite control over Resources.
'From now on, I don't care about Money. Money is just a number to me. The concept of Money doesn't exist for me anyway. No one will ever be richer than I am.'
Following this, Ian's Clones continued to grind for EMC Value. After all, no one ever complains about having too much Money.
Some people say that the High Lords of Terra are greedy for Power, bloated, incompetent, and the primary cause of the Imperium's current corruption and decay.
Indeed, they consume vast Resources for their own pleasure and have done nothing to change the Imperium over centuries of rule, so their scorn is understandable.
However, it is precisely because of these High Lords, reviled by thousands, that the Imperium, a broken vessel, has managed to survive for ten thousand years in the Galaxy.
According to unofficial internal Imperium statistics, the average lifespan of a High Lord is far shorter than that of other Terra Nobles. About ninety percent of High Lords eventually die from Overwork.
You might say they are not capable, but you cannot say they do not strive.
Although the Technological Level of the Imperium in M41 is hard to describe, with most technology relying on archaeological excavation of Golden Age relics.
The Longevity Technology available to the High Lords of Terra is, however, no different from the Golden Age.
The Imperium spares no expense to extend their lives. Theoretically, they could easily live beyond a millennium.
In reality, few High Lords manage to live past three centuries.
Furthermore, the High Lords sitting at the pinnacle of Imperial Power have long understood the true nature of the Immaterium.
The Chaos Gods are merely a few despicable entities attempting to destroy Mankind in their eyes. The hallucinations brought on by Immaterium Corrosion have even become a kind of recreational distraction after work.
The rarest Food in the world, the most precious Treasures, have become commonplace in the eyes of the High Lords.
The High Lords are too busy—so busy they don't even have time to die.
There is a rumor that has circulated in the Imperium for years: the High Lords completely control the Human Imperium's Political Power; even if the Emperor were to rise from the Golden Throne, he would have to seize back Power from the High Lords.
The truth is quite the opposite. They would willingly return Power to the Emperor.
This is not out of Reverence, but because they see the hope of Retirement.
The High Lords long ago lost any Reverence for the Emperor.
They know full well that the Skeleton who has sat on the Golden Toilet for ten thousand years is fundamentally no different from an Immaterium Evil God.
The only difference might be that the Emperor was once on the side of Mankind. As for the future, who can say?
Guilliman is the most qualified to speak on how complex the High Lords' work truly is.
The Thirteenth Primarch, Lord of the Five Hundred Worlds of Ultramar, awakened from the Stasis Field still looked like a young man.
"He'll regret waking up," one High Lord had stated with certainty at the time.
Unsurprisingly, just a century later, this imposing demigod Regent, the Regent of the Imperium of Man, had hair that was already graying, his face covered in wrinkles, his appearance infinitely weary.
Today, Collins, the Lord Minister of the Departmento Administratium, was enjoying a brief sleep. Data on his Sleep Monitor showed he was only lightly asleep.
Suddenly, a shimmering golden figure appeared in his mind.
Although he had only seen the Emperor in ancient paintings and Imperial Propaganda, this recognition, branded deep in his Gene-Seed, made him confirm without a doubt that the figure before him was the Guardian of Mankind—the Emperor.
Collins realized he was dreaming, but not entirely dreaming.
"Your Majesty, what are your instructions?" Collins asked in his consciousness, his voice as calm as usual.
He did not wake up, and his heart rate didn't even accelerate.
Unless it was an Apocalyptic Crisis like the Chaos Army directly attacking Terra, or the sudden betrayal of the Martian Mechanicum, nothing else was urgent.
After all, with the Imperium's current efficiency, even waking up immediately to process documents wouldn't result in any substantial progress.
The Emperor's Phantom remained silent, the golden Light flickering, as if pondering something.
Collins waited, enjoying the brief moment of delay, because he could rest.
Then the Light suddenly intensified, and the Emperor's image became clearer. Collins could almost see the majestic face.
He expected some kind of Divine Revelation, some Command that would change the Imperium's Destiny.
But there was nothing.
Collins waited a few more minutes, and still no instructions came down.
'Perhaps the Emperor just came to check on me?' he thought.
"Since there are no instructions, let's discuss it tomorrow," Collins decided. "We'll bring it up at the High Lords Meeting."
He then sank his consciousness and re-entered Sleep.
The Emperor's Manifestation did bring an unexpected benefit. The relentless Chaos Whispers were gone. The Immaterium Murmurs vanished without a trace.
His mind was clearer than ever before.
The readings on the Sleep Monitor stabilized. Brainwaves indicated he had entered Deep Sleep.
The corners of Collins' mouth turned up slightly. This was the most comfortable sleep he had enjoyed in years.
"Praise the Emperor! Praise Mankind!" he mumbled in his dream. "Even if it's just to let me get some sleep."