Emperor's Bane

Chapter 656 Emperor: My Turn!
"Is there anyone among us who hasn't arrived yet?"

"Where's Morgan? Where did she go?"

"We must find her: my father's triumph would be marred by her absence."

In the thin daylight of Ullanor and the scarlet haze that smells of rust, the Imperium's Wolf Shepherd God maintains his authority: with the gentlest words and the friendliest smile, he stands on the highest seat among the Primarchs, showing his joy and pride to the world.

Horus' joy was genuine, and so was his pride.

The sixteen brothers closest to him and most trusted by him in the world came one after another. Each of them was like a god incarnated on earth. Their every move showed unparalleled power and authority. Their individual brilliance was far brighter than the great army that swore to follow in their footsteps, making them unforgettable.

The Wolf Shepherd God stood on the parade platform prepared for them and the Emperor. A huge triumphal arch had just been built here. It was a work of art made by crushing the skulls of 30 million powerful orc leaders into powder, and then reforging it after many complicated processes. The casting process took six months, and tens of thousands of Terran craftsmen and artists poured their hearts and minds into every brick and tile of it.

This is the throne on which the Emperor sat when he visited Ullanor. It is a glorious symbol of his achievements in razing all the dens of evil that plagued the galaxy and opening up the world for eternity. It is the embodiment of his wrath that swept across the universe. The laurel wreath, thunder and golden double-headed eagle serve as substitutes for the unsightly face of the Lord of Mankind, and they are rising like the sun above the many statues of the Primarchs.

The one who proposed the construction of this horrific wonder was the Phoenix Lord in charge of the Third Legion, the Primarch Fulgrim. He personally designed the draft and carefully supervised every casting process: in the words of the Phoenix Lord, nothing can better demonstrate the supreme national strength of the human empire and the Emperor's great military exploits in wielding the sword across the galaxy than this "moderate waste."

Although they always felt that this idea seemed a little wrong, Horus and the other Primarchs did not say anything in the end: after all, the Emperor did not oppose this plan, and the Mechanicus's large-scale construction around Ullanor had already accumulated astonishing consumption, so it was no big deal to build another wonder.

The lives of millions of robot servants and labor camp prisoners are far less valuable than a nod from the Lord of Humanity.

Besides, it was beautiful: Fulgrim had good taste.

The wolf god's fingers brushed over the opal-colored sculptures of the primarchs on the Arc de Triomphe one by one, from himself to Alpharius, matching the heroic features with his blood brothers one by one: Every time he confirmed one, Horus would review his relationship with him and how well he knew this brother in his heart.

The result made him feel relieved. About two-thirds of the brothers had a friendly relationship with him, and he knew most of the rest. He knew their obsessions or weaknesses: only those in the Far East were still shrouded in mystery. Fortunately, most of them were not worrying.

Morgan of Avalon was just a capable but petty shopkeeper whose ambitions had never reached the other side of the galaxy, nor had her kingdom: not to mention that the sister's character was indeed impeccable, and there was the possibility of establishing a permanent peace between them.

As for Conrad, he is a struggling Alice, trapped next to a bizarre tree hole. His life is destined to be tortured by fate, and the past and future are like a crazy fairy tale book: Horus pities him, but doesn't know how to help.

Because Konrad refused to have more interactions with his brothers, he wandered among the Emperor's children in a unique way, as elusive as a phantom: Corax was similar to him, but the Corvus King's sternness was more directed at Horus alone.

This made the Wolf God very distressed.

The Wolf God knew very well that due to certain grievances in the past, he and Corax might not be destined to be good brothers, but this did not mean that he did not want to compensate the Crow King and at least maintain a superficial peace with him: it was just that Corax's coming and going without a trace made all these attempts come to nothing.

But that's not the real problem.

While thinking, Horus walked to the very edge of the relief. A solitary Primarch was excluded from his brothers, but no one could ignore his existence. This guy has always been like this: arrogant and rejecting everyone, but powerful enough to make them have to be wary of him.

No one could tell what was going on inside Guilliman's sovereign heart, not even Horus, whose ignorance bordered on fear: the only thing that was certain was that the Macragge was hiding a great ambition beneath his lonely exterior, waiting for him to unleash it and burn the galaxy.

This can be seen from the fact that Guilliman pushed their sister Morgan forward as the nominal spokesperson for the Three Kingdoms of the Far East, so that he could stay out of the matter, stay away from everyone's sight, and hide his own purpose: he was really skilled in diverting trouble. I wonder how many times Guilliman's quill pen rustled?

Horus asked himself this question, but as usual did not get a satisfactory answer, so he could only return to the private stand that the Emperor had prepared for him in advance with a worried look on his face: the good field of vision enabled him to quickly capture every Primarch who came to the ground, and the silk awning was carefully protecting his forehead during the dry season. His sea-green eyes swept across the smooth granite floor where his mighty brothers were walking.

Most of his brothers were no different from ten years ago, as if time had stopped for them. The Wolf God briefly and quickly assessed each of them: except for Dorn, because he had always been by Horus' side, and his loyalty had not changed over the years, which was reassuring.

In comparison, even Zhuang Sen has changed a bit: the lion's clothing style has obviously improved a lot this time, and it seems that someone finally cares about him. Although his face still does not look very good, he seems to have more brothers around him.

Not to mention Conrad, who was clinging to Jonson and couldn't be driven away, and Corax, who seemed to have some common topics with the lion. The steel robots belonging to Perturabo kept the same speed as Caliban's team, while Guilliman fell far behind.

The lion frowned, looking impatient with this bloated combination: but when Corax and Conrad stopped to argue about some issue, Jonson did not take the opportunity to speed up and leave, but just stayed there with an impatient look on his face until his two brothers caught up with him again.

The wolf god saw all this, nodded, and was sincerely happy for Zhuang Sen's change: deep in his heart, Horus always regarded the lion as a strong opponent, and he longed for Zhuang Sen to become stronger. Only in this way could his victory be more meaningful.

Following the steps of Zhuang Sen, the primarchs who arrived earlier appeared one after another.

Fulgrim and his Phoenix Guard seemed a little more gorgeous than they had been not long ago. The Wolf God could no longer understand the meaning of the countless patterns, carvings and decorations on the lavender armor of the Phoenix Army. He actually preferred the simpler beauty of the past.

Many of Chagatai Khan's Keshik guards had already shown the demeanor of rulers. Horus heard from others that his brother was generous in rewarding his mortal officers. Large tracts of planets and land were divided out by him. These fiefs were called [Ordinary Areas], and they were encouraged to expand outward on their own. Together with them, [Special Areas] were also established, which were directly managed by the Keshik warriors of the White Scars Legion.

Leman Russ and his guards were perhaps the ones who had changed the most among all of them, especially his guards: the Wolf King had obviously made careful preparations for this feast. The rough-looking, long-haired Wolf Guards that people usually remembered had disappeared, and were replaced by cold-blooded soldiers who followed orders, like killing knights hidden behind cold armor.

On the contrary, Lorgar's Word Bearers have regained some of the former style of the Space Wolves. Horus no longer wants to listen to the bloody rumors surrounding the 17th Legion. His recent focus is on other interesting things: such as the close cooperation between the Iron Warriors and Mars, the psyker unrest in the Ferrus region, and the emergence of a new religion in the Baal region that worships Sanguinius.

Oh, and there's Luther: I heard that there's been some trouble in his Caliban district recently, with several large-scale riots even affecting several surrounding galaxies. Luther suppressed them with cruel and ruthless means, and blood flowed all the way to Cartier. The old knight's kindness and power impressed Horus.

Why doesn't he have a mortal hero like this to assist him?
The Wolf God was muttering in his heart, and just then the last brother, Angron, arrived. Horus quickly walked down from the platform, and along the way he dragged away the Lord of the Imperial Fist who was squatting in the corner to inspect the results of the project, and together they rushed to the long-awaited reunion with their Primarch brothers.

The scene that followed was enough for the Wolf God to remember for the rest of his life.

The shock of the first collective appearance of 19 demigods was impressive. Even though they had devoted themselves to it wholeheartedly, only an event that could influence the fate of the entire galaxy could be worthy of such a spectacular sight. Compared with this moment, those expeditions that were forced to stop due to the transfer of the primarchs and the countless stagnant battles on the edge of the galaxy were all small sacrifices that could be ignored.

Arriving with the Primarchs were 200,000 Astartes warriors from 19 legions, including many champion warriors who were famous throughout the Great Crusade. Their exploits resounded throughout the royal court of Holy Terra. Behind them came the warriors from various mortal auxiliary forces, totaling 16 million, waiting for inspection. Tens of thousands of flags, emblems and medals of honor formed a solemn ocean. Even the Titans, standing like giants, seemed so ordinary.

"I have never seen such a gathering of warriors in my life."

Horus embraced his last brother with equal enthusiasm. Both Perturabo's coldness and Mortarion's loneliness melted in front of the wolf-god. The mirror-like granite floor now reflected the smiling faces of the primarchs.

Brother with brother, blood relative with blood relative.

What flows in the air is only the purest laughter and the simplest family affection.

"I do not have either."

The first to respond to the Wolf-God was his kinsman Sanguinius.

"After all, in the Great Crusade, there has never been such a powerful opponent, worthy of mobilizing every Astartes Legion."

“But now I have it.”

Fulgrim snorted.

"That is the Empire, the Great Crusade and the glory of the Empire itself. If we do not use our full strength, we will never be able to describe what we have built: our great achievements have become the greatest enemy."

"If we want to make further progress."

There was laughter between the brothers.

"Do you wish to improve, Fulgrim?"

"I really want to: I am only over 100 years old, which is the right age for struggle."

#MoreLaughter#

"Honestly, guys, I feel so bad for these chroniclers and artists."

Who would have thought that the person who said this was Leman Russ.

"They are at the pinnacle of history, in the Garden of Eden that any of their colleagues would be willing to sacrifice their lives for, but they are doomed to be unable to turn this luck into reality: it is almost impossible for mortal talents to embody the glory of this moment one by one. I feel sad for them."

"Please don't be sad for me."

The Khan glanced at his brother.

“The artists I brought here are fully capable of handling today’s scene.”

"They depict the magnificence of nature, whose power has reached perfection, and everything created by humans or other civilizations is pale and temporary in the face of the might of nature."

"are you serious?"

"There's no place for lies on the prairie, Ruth."

"I don't think so: the freest place is the most disorderly place, which needs to be maintained by human consciousness, but human consciousness is never trustworthy."

"I think we've reached a consensus."

Khan stroked his beard.

“On the issue of [consensus].”

The wolf king grinned, and his eyes met with the Khan's in mid-air for a moment, then they quickly looked away. Neither of them was angry because of this sudden friction. Instead, the Wolf God tried to smooth things over.

"Don't quarrel over mortals yet: this is not the time to use them."

"We still have brothers who haven't arrived yet."

With that, the wolf-god walked up to Perturabo's armor and knocked on it. The harsh sound told everyone present that there was only a body of pure steel inside: the real Olympian was obviously somewhere else.

"Does anyone know where Perturabo is: is he still busy with Nikaea?"

The Wolf God looked around, but no one could give him a definite answer.

"It has been over thirty years since I last saw Perturabo."

"He has been staying at home quite a lot lately."

"Yes: but I heard that I have a close relationship with him now on Mars. In recent years, Kalberhal has frequently visited Perturabo's Blood of Iron. Many mechanical priests from Mars and small forge worlds are now joining the expedition fleet of the Iron Warriors Legion: I have never heard of so many before."

"Perhaps we should ask Ferrus about this matter."

"Ferus?"

"Don't look at me. My relationship with the Adeptus Mechanicus has not been that close in recent years, and I am worried about things in the north: my jurisdiction has not been very peaceful recently. Too many out-of-control psykers have emerged near the Eye of Terror. They even destroyed two worlds." "I'm sorry, brother: but you should be able to handle the problem of the wasteland, right?"

"That's my specialty."

"【Prosperity in the Wasteland】: I swear I will surprise you."

"Then we'll see."

As the Phoenix chuckled, the topic gradually veered off topic until Angron, who had been walking on the edge of the crowd, suddenly took a step forward, looked at Horus while attracting everyone's attention, and nodded.

"Speak freely, brother."

Horus smiled. He liked his brother Angron very much. His courage and blood consciousness amazed the Wolf God. Although the two had only met three or four times decades ago, their cooperation was very pleasant and the fighting power of the World Eaters Legion was also impressive.

"I've seen him."

Angron’s voice was still hoarse.

"Perturabo?"

"Yes, he is in Nicaea: not a robot, but a real person. He took too long to elect the Nicaea Council, but he promised me that I would arrive in time. I am not surprised by his relationship with the Mechanicus, because he gives me the feeling of a piece of steel, real steel."

"Steel?"

The Primarchs nodded.

"That's normal. Perturabo left each of us with the impression of a piece of steel..."

"Do not."

Angron interrupted.

"I mean: his soul seemed to be gradually transforming into a piece of steel."

"From human, to steel."

"..."

This decisive statement created a low pressure among the Primarchs, but Angron didn't care about the looks of his brothers. He turned and retreated to the edge. Horus's eyes were fixed on him, and he easily connected with Jonson and Conrad beside him, and...

and many more……

"Where's Morgan?"

The wolf-shepherd god realized it later.

In many cases, Morgan is like her Far Eastern frontier, which should have a strong presence in theory, but in fact it does not: whether it is the powerful Five Hundred Worlds or the famous Nostramo for its richness, they seem to have more reasons to attract attention than it.

The Primarchs looked around because of Horus' confusion, and found that their only sister seemed to have disappeared. Only a few people remained calm at this time: such as Jonson and Conrad, and Magnus who was almost blindly convinced of Morgan's ability.

"She must have her own thing."

The Father of Thousand Sons spoke briskly.

"Don't use ordinary people's thinking to understand the psychic's ability to act and time. It's not surprising that Morgan shows up at any time. After all, she has enough means to rush back here. The two of us have the same ability in this regard."

“But the attitude is different.”

Mortarion's voice was suppressed in the dull echo of poisonous gas.

"I hate to be boastful, but she is different from you, Magnus."

"She would never put her personal affairs above everyone else's business affairs."

"Don't assume that everyone is like you."

The irony of the Lord of Death made the Prospero frown in annoyance. The contradiction between the two of them was almost concrete. After all, the Conference of Nikea was just around the corner. Horus and Vulkan walked forward tacitly, blocking the gaze of the two brothers with their figures, but Mortarion's words were enough to make them uneasy.

Morgan is in trouble?
After all, she was never late: where else could she be going?

Thoughts like these were born in everyone's mind.

Even Jonson looked at Conrad next to him with an inquiring look: but when he found that the idiot was waving enthusiastically at the two mortal women on the tower in the distance, the Caliban man couldn't help but remain silent for a moment, barely suppressing the urge to draw his sword.

Then, Jonson thought for a moment.

Soon, the lion's gaze began to merge with the majority of the people. They all naturally associated Morgan's failure to keep his promise with some not-so-nice words. When they thought of these disturbing things, the Primarch's gaze could not help but...

Looking at the edge of the crowd, he saw Guilliman trying to follow the crowd.

#Extreme Silence#
"Is there... anything?"

The Macragge blinked innocently, not understanding why he deserved the attention of so many brothers: after a few seconds of self-examination, Guilliman silently hid the coffee cup in his hand behind his back.

This scene brought several contemptuous glances from the Primarchs.

"Rob..."

Just as the Wolf God had recomposed his emotions and was about to speak, the sound of mechanical friction in the distance attracted the attention of every Primarch: this sound was unique in the entire galaxy, and it belonged only to the shuttle exclusive to the Lord of Mankind.

The golden eagle swiftly pierced through the thick clouds of Ullanor, and its magnificent roar announced the glory of the Emperor, leaving behind a series of sonic booms: one hundred thousand warriors witnessed its arrival, and the Imperial Guards, who had arrived on the surface at some point, had already expelled all irrelevant people. Only the Primarchs who had hurriedly arrived were able to pass through their defenses.

I don’t know why: the sight of the imperial guards seems particularly intimidating today.

They all seemed to be in a bad mood.

But Horus had no time to care about these: when he led his brothers and hurried to the Emperor's shuttle, intending to welcome the arrival of their gene father, an unexpected scene appeared before his eyes.

As the golden door of the shuttle slowly descended, the Primarchs were greeted not only by the golden light behind the Emperor, but also by a strange yet familiar color.

A touch of silver.

Not the cold silver frost of a Custodian's blade: but Horus would rather it were.

It is a softer, more approachable, more familiar silver.

That is……

------

In the sudden silence of the Primarch, the sound of Horus's fist clenched instinctively was so harsh.

------

[Do we really have to do this, Father?]

Morgan smiled: a forced smile.

As the shuttle door in front of her and the Emperor gradually lowered, revealing the surprised or delighted faces of each of her Primarch brothers, the Spider Queen, who was trying hard to put on a smile, was constantly regretting in her heart: regretting why she didn't sneak back to the Aurora before the Emperor set off.

It’s obvious that Malcador runs that fast.

But at the critical moment, the emperor grabbed her fateful ponytail: If she had known earlier, she would not have listened to Conrad's instigation and grown her hair so long.

Wait a minute...Conrad...

＋Isn't it too late to ask now, my daughter? ＋
There was an obvious pleasure of revenge in the laughter of the Lord of Mankind, but it was drowned in the false mercy of that sacred face: the Emperor did not allow anyone to go with him, only Morgan rode in the same shuttle with him. At this moment, he let his daughter stand beside him and put his right hand on Morgan's shoulder, as if he was accepting the greetings of everyone together with his most respected minister and most trusted heir.

【…】

Morgan felt like she was on fire: she decided to make one last effort to remedy the situation.

sucker Punch.

[But this scale is still...]

＋I agree. ＋
[I mean…]

＋I promise. ＋
＋Besides…＋
Morgan had never hated the smile on the Emperor's face as much as he did now.

＋Some things can only be done by you. ＋
[I am not this...]

＋I understand. ＋
The Lord of Mankind smiled and nodded. The sunlight outside the gate shone on his face, and he looked like a living saint.

＋I understand. ＋
＋I understand. ＋
＋After the reception is completed. ＋
+ I'll find some time for you and your brothers to spend alone together. +
------

【…】

Oh shit.

This old bastard who never takes revenge overnight!
(End of this chapter)