Emperor's Bane

Chapter 603: Fulgrim's Thoughts (Part )
"For...myself?"

"Yes, for your own sake, my Lord Commander: and for all of us."

The Paladin's Phoenix was a cheerful sun encased in a flawless mortal body, meant to demonstrate to the blood and fire of the Great Crusade the true art: the art of war and the art of the soul, in which Fulgrim was evidently adept.

The Primarch had his long silver-white hair braided into a snake-like braid, and used the most gorgeous armor in the entire galaxy to protect his porcelain-like body: these armors were the same color as his pupils, both were flawless violet, and after being blended by the craftsmen families in the Terra Palace who had served the Lord of Mankind for generations, even if they were stained with filthy blood, it would not damage their elegance, but instead complemented each other.

Dressed in such gorgeous clothes, Fulgrim stepped onto the battlefield. He personally piloted his personal Firebird gunboat from the deck of the Emperor's Pride and fell into the most intense battle among the stars.

As this gorgeous bird of prey streaks across the sky, it leaves behind colorful plasma vortices. Any Emperor's children who witness this scene will sing praises to their Primarch from the bottom of their hearts, while the green-skinned Orcs confronting them will stand there in a daze, unable to understand the strange iron bird in the sky, and will fall into uncontrollable contemplation.

#I think this colorful iron lump in the sky should be very powerful... #
But before these great thinkers with brains full of spores could finish their thoughts, a deafening war roar brought them back to reality: the greenskins turned around belatedly, only to find that Fulgrim's iron wings had already rushed into the top floor of the greenskin warlord's fortress.

A moment later, the Primarch stood on the top of the fortress like a god, holding in his hand the ugly head of the greenskin warrior that was half the size of his body: it took only a dozen seconds from landing to killing, and most of the time he was looking for his opponent.

So, as it should be, the Ork army, which was still holding on to its position a second ago and was more stubborn than the Imperial Fist's fortress, was instantly transformed into a pile of defeated sand, and countless scrap iron defenses collapsed under the gaze of the Phoenix himself: these bizarre death traps had troubled the three companies of the Imperial Sons for half a day, but for Fulgrim, it was just a sand castle that he needed to knock down before inspecting his offspring on the battlefield.

After ending a battle with just one swing of the sword, the Phoenix Lord was too lazy to even continue chasing the fleeing greenskins: that was no longer a job for his class. On the top of the fortress that he had captured alone, at the highest point of the entire battlefield, the Primarch could clearly witness everything he wanted to see.

The aliens are fleeing, and the Orks' escape is as ugly as their attack. There is no glory in defeating them, it is just a task that must be completed: perhaps only the Shadow Moon Wolves and their masters will regard the defeat of the empire built by these stupid creatures as the greatest challenge and honor in their lives.

At this moment, there was a hint of malice in Phoenix's smile.

He was mocking Horus.

No, he didn't hate the guy.

He didn't hate Horus, he just looked down on that guy sincerely sometimes, looked down on his "accepting everyone who comes", and looked down on the wolf god's fanatical pursuit of every honor, just like a child who lacked recognition and so tried hard to get award certificates home.

However, Fulgrim always believed that not all honors were worth pursuing: there would always be some inferior, repetitive or unchallenging honors that should be given to those poor people whose abilities were not so outstanding.

Rather than keeping it to yourself.

Please, they are the Primarchs, they deserve the best, including the best honor and the best challenges: the honor belonging to the Primarchs should be unique, not the kind of [honor] that even ordinary people can get: for Fulgrim, relaxing the limits on this point would be tantamount to lowering his status.

In other words: if a Primarch saw no real honor in defeating an Ork warlord, how could he accomplish anything greater? In this crazy galaxy, there were many more difficult challenges than a bunch of greenskins.

At least, that's what he thought.

Phoenix ran his fingers through his hair, wiping away the dust of the battlefield. His bravest sons passed beneath his feet, hunting down the remnants of the greenskins until they reached the next difficult line of defense: a task worthy of them, and one that Fulgrim would not seek to steal.

When these warriors pass by the shadow of their genetic father, everyone will shout the name of the Phoenix Lord, singing the praises of his victory and perfect posture, and the Phoenix will respond to them with a smile, recognizing that they are picking their own honor on the battlefield.

At the same time, the Primarch did not forget to throw the greenskin warlord's head aside with disgust, and called upon the purple psychic flame to burn away the blood stains that were accidentally stained on his gauntlet: this might be the most useful change that Morgan's psychic tome had brought to Fulgrim's life.

For this reason alone, he would support Morgan's cause at the next conference to discuss the issue of psykers: Fulgrim did not care about the fate of Magnus, but he did not want the entire Empire's psyker plan to collapse with the defeat of the One-Eyed King.

After all, although the Emperor's Children Legion has never had a formal think tank, it inevitably has many psychics, a proportion that exceeds the average of all legions: how to properly place and teach these people has always been a problem of varying degrees of difficulty.

You know, in the view of Fulgrim and the Emperor's Children Legion, awakening psychic power is not a good thing: because psychic power itself is also a kind of mutation, and mutation naturally has nothing to do with the perfection they pursue, and may even become a stumbling block on the road to perfection.

Those Emperor's Children warriors who accidentally awaken their psychic powers will not only find their positions in the Legion awkward, but they will also most likely have psychological problems: although the Phoenix is ​​very good at and willing to adjust the psychological problems of his offspring, his energy is limited.

However, the emergence of the Holy Codex successfully helped Phoenix solve this problem: the psykers of the Emperor's Children rushed to order this book, not to develop their own strength, but to suppress their psychic powers in a timely manner through the guidance of the Spider Queen in the book, keeping them safe and controllable, and minimizing the impact of this mutation on their pure bodies.

So far, this work has been very successful: just follow the guidance of the psychic scriptures, perform meditation and rituals to eliminate distracting thoughts regularly, and keep a clear mind and few desires in life, then a psychic and an ordinary legionary soldier will look no different, and you can safely and boldly place these unfortunate guys into ordinary legion companies.

As for the necessary psychic work?
Just leave it to the mortal auxiliary army that is accompanying you.

The Emperor's Children Legion also generously placed an order for a batch of psychic guns: this type of weapon with stable output minimizes the loss of control of mortal psychics. The only drawback is that the supply is really insufficient and it is not sold to some places.

So far, Phoenix has been very satisfied with this system, and his impression of Morgan is definitely not bad: although the Emperor and the Sigillite have hinted to him that they hope he will play an insignificant actor and spy in the upcoming Psyker Conference, Fulgrim accepted this order only after receiving the guarantee that Morgan and the Psyker Codex would not be affected.

He likes this kind of work.

Phoenix laughed, but only the stench of his breath reminded him that he was still on the battlefield.

When the stain dissipated, the people the Primarch was waiting for also arrived: the Phoenix Guards broke away from their respective battlefields, and at their feet lay the most powerful bodyguards of the Orc Warlords. These monsters were ready to kill each other the first moment their master fell and choose the next leader, but only ruthless blades were waiting for them.

When the six accompanying Phoenix Guards gathered around the Primarch, the company commander in charge of this area of ​​the battlefield hurried to the Father of Genes: the silver hair falling on his shoulders, the jeweled armor, and the face that was meticulously groomed even on the battlefield, all told of the name of the man in front of him.

"Eidolon."

The Phoenix smiled at his brood.

"You understand what I'm saying, don't you?"

"For yourself, but also for the Corps and all of us. This is the fundamental motivation of perfection: the pursuit of perfection is not a selfish thing, but a great cause aimed at giving back to everyone. One person's ambition cannot support perfection. Only the expectations of a group of people can urge you to move forward courageously."

"We are stronger and closer to perfection, so we naturally have to shoulder more responsibilities. In order to shoulder these sacred responsibilities, we must become more perfect and protect more mortals under our wings. This virtuous cycle will allow us to find a path to truth in the chaos of this world."

"You understand, don't you, Eidolon?"

"..."

"Of course, my lord."

Under the sight of the Gene Father, Eidolon rolled his Adam's apple with difficulty: this model of the Emperor's Children Legion did not want to disappoint his Gene Father, although he seemed to have just disappointed his father once, and his proud company not only failed to smash the Ork fortress at the fastest speed. Instead, the Primarch had to intervene personally.

Although everyone knew that it was normal that the fortress could not be taken down with the number of Orks and the strength of Eidolon's troops, and that Fulgrim's aid was just another time when the Primarch was playing with his temper, this did not prevent Eidolon from being ashamed of it: his sensitive heart could not tolerate any words that were not related to victory and glory. Moreover, Eidolon did not think that this sensitivity was a bad thing.

On the contrary, it was the self-esteem brought about by this sensitivity that made him one of the eleven Lord Commanders of the III Legion, the first Captain personally chosen by Fulgrim, and the most outstanding of the Terran origin: even Akudona, who dominated the entire legion, was far inferior to Eidolon in many aspects.

Everyone knows this.

In other words, apart from his swordsmanship, Akudona has no other shining points.

The existence of the Second Captain symbolizes the imperfect part of the perfection pursued by the Third Legion: this is also the reason why he is favored by Fulgrim, because the Phoenix always knows that compared with the perfection of others, Akudona's imperfection is the more valuable one.

He hoped Eidolon would understand, too.

(In fact, before he pulled out the damned Laer sword, Fulgrim's concept of perfection was actually not a problem. It was more like a kind of self-motivation. After he pulled out the sword, his perfection gradually became crazy.)
But it was obvious that his proudest offspring did not understand his words at all.

The Phoenix pouted in frustration, he turned around angrily and cast his gaze on the battlefield farther away, until Eidolon stood carefully beside him and thanked the Primarch for the reinforcement in the most sincere tone.

"nothing."

After hearing the praises from her offspring, Phoenix's mood improved slightly.

"I did not know you were in charge of this war zone before I left the Emperor's Pride. I simply picked a war zone where the fighting was the most intense and the progress was the fastest. My arrival here is a testament to your ability, Eidolon."

Before he finished speaking, a sense of arrogance suddenly appeared on Eidolon's face.

"Your affirmation is worth more than a million worlds' praise, Father."

"Stop flattering me."

Fulgrim snorted lightly, but raised his neck with some pride.

"You know, Eidolon, I have no intention of winning any glory in this war: if I had really wanted to bring a new victory sculpture to the Emperor's Pride or to the City of the Sun, I would not have volunteered to come to the battle lines in the Far East."

"Everyone knows that Horus's fleet is the harvesting ground of honor."

"That's right, Father."

Eidolon nodded. He sensitively sensed the problem. Perhaps Eidolon was not a humble gentleman, nor a perfect warrior, but his qualities as a commander were absolutely qualified: the model of the Third Legion was not an empty statement.

"Excuse me, I have always been confused about your decision, sir. Why did we leave the battlefield where Horus was and come to this remote Eastern Front Group? The battle here is far less intense than imagined. The combined forces of the Dawnbreakers and the Ultramarines are enough to deal with it, and the White Scars are even more than enough."

"Moreover, this more loose and mobile confrontation is actually not very suitable for the style of our Emperor's Children Legion: we are used to fighting in large groups under your command, rather than breaking up into small teams and fighting each other in this mess. Our numbers do not support such a split."

"If we continue to fight like this, we won't get a share of Ullanor's honor."

"you're right."

Phoenix nodded.

"But the problem is..."

"From the beginning, I didn't really want the so-called [honor of Ullanor], which is why I left voluntarily: after learning about the establishment of the Eastern Front Group, I took the initiative to find Horus and asked him to use his power as commander to transfer you and me here."

"Do you have any plans?"

"It's actually nothing."

Phoenix shrugged.

"Rather than this kind of petty, unchallenging honor, I am looking forward to more challenging things, things that will happen after the Emperor leaves: about my responsibilities and a broader honor, which will belong to all of us."

"what do you mean……"

Eidolon guessed something, and his voice became eager.

"That's right, Eidolon, my dear Lord Commander."

Phoenix laughed.

"Before setting off, I have already taken over my responsibilities from the Emperor."

"It belongs to me: the Phoenix Court."

"Your country?"

"Yes."

At the corner of Fulgrim's mouth, a smile appeared that he didn't even notice.

"My country, my paradise, my earthly paradise."

“We will build it with our own hands and make it into a ladder to perfection.”

"And the first step is to observe the appearance of these semi-finished products in the East."

(End of this chapter)