Emperor's Bane

Chapter 681: Immortals Are Numerous (2/2)

“It’s gold.”

“It’s a very rare color there.”

"Is it?"

Zefeng asked instinctively, but he did not expect an answer. Silence and rejection were things he had long been accustomed to. The descendant of Saint Guinius stretched out his hand and took the amber-like solid that was handed to his palm. Even this extremely simple action could only be completed with difficulty after his fingers trembled three times.

Fortunately, the person on the other side was very patient: because they had known each other for a long time.

Zefeng raised his head and gave a grateful smile to the old knight opposite him.

"Thank you, Lord Luther."

"It's ok."

Luther, the adopted father of Jonson, who had barely arrived with his Caliban fleet just before the Ullanor parade, nodded to the offspring of Sanguinius, and finally turned around to chat with others: Luther and Zephon had known each other thirty years ago and could barely be considered friends. He knew that what the [Murderer] needed more was silence.

Behind him, Zefeng sighed as usual. He didn't dare to look at the mighty fighting brothers on the parade ground, because decades ago, he had become a different person from them: ever since he lost his arms below the elbows and his legs below the knees in a battle with aliens, although he replaced his wounds with prosthetic limbs in time, the strong rejection reaction still eliminated his possibility of being a soldier.

As an Astartes, he could only pull the trigger once out of five attempts, and that time he succeeded he missed the bull's eye. Death might be a better consolation: he didn't even know why the Primarch had called him out of the nursing home in the Terra office.

Is this a chance for recovery?
Impossible: Even the best medical officer in all of Terra told him with regret that his injuries and the strong rejection reaction would require technology from at least the Dark Age of Technology to be healed.

What about the others?

Never mind, he didn't want to think about it any more.

Zefeng shook his head, throwing away all such distracting thoughts. He tried to hold the strange object in his hand tightly: this was a human eyeball sealed in amber, obviously a gift that had been carefully cared for, with golden pupils. In Luther's words, this was a very rare eye color in the local area.

"Because in Cadia, the natives there all have purple eyes."

The name that Luther discussed was not unfamiliar to Zefeng, as he had reviewed documents related to Cadia many times, including Terra's funding for the construction of the Cadia Fortress and the way to deal with the local indigenous people: Luther proposed to exterminate the indigenous people of this world because their religious beliefs and living habits made him feel uneasy, but Terra refused on the grounds that it would cause unnecessary panic.

Psychologically speaking, Zefeng actually agreed more with Luther's opinion. Although he had never seen the so-called natives of Cadia, he believed in the judgment of this old knight: looking at the golden eyeball that had long lost its life in his palm, the Blood Angel became more certain of his guess.

For some reason, these lifeless eyes gave him a very ominous feeling.

It is said that Cadia is near the great rift known as the Eye of Terror.

Maybe Luther would know more.

Zefeng looked at the Calibanite. A circle of battle brothers were surrounding him: Bernard and Luther of the Dawnbreaker were as close as good friends regardless of age difference. In between them was Shen, who was busy dealing with the topic from Shuangfen. Typhon of the Death Guard walked slowly over and seemed to want to get involved. Ahriman next to him was the entry point he had chosen.

Farther away, Fabius from the Emperor's Children Legion was observing each of them carefully with a very uncomfortable look, especially the way Fabius looked at Zephon, as if he was looking at some extremely rare experimental subject: in comparison, Kor Phaeron, who seemed out of place with the crowd, was not so disgusting.

Zefeng looked around, then staggered to Luther's side, and happened to hear how the old knight of Caliban told everyone about his experiences in the past.

"Yes, those Cadia natives were very resistant to the Empire's arrival. They claimed that we were not the ones their gods were waiting for. If the gap in strength was not so great, a battle would have broken out on the spot. But to this day, they are still resisting the Empire's rule."

"Hundreds of tribes are united under a priestess named Ingsel. I have seen her. She wears a human skin cloak and is dedicated to leading her tribe members away from the fortress we built. Cadia is not a very habitable world, so we temporarily tolerate them occupying those wildernesses. If they only rely on stones and animal skins, they will not be able to threaten the fortress we built in another ten thousand years."

"You know, there are a full thousand Dark Angels stationed on that world."

When he said this number, Luther's face was filled with pride: and Typhon of the Death Guard was the loudest one to respond among everyone present, and his voice immediately took over the next topic.

"You said they believed in strange gods?"

Typhon's voice was firm, with countless medals of honor hanging on his chest. He was the kind of person who could walk into any small circle of legion champions at any time and anywhere, but strangely, among all the people present, he was also the only one who stayed away from his primarch, who almost occupied both ends of the terrace.

"Yes."

Luther nodded.

"In fact, those primitive people of Cadia worship the Eye of Terror and the gods within it."

"Not surprising."

As Shen spoke, he looked at Zefeng and nodded in a friendly manner.

"Just like the ancients would worship the sun."

"Yes."

Luther was a little absent-minded.

"But if you ask me, there is one thing that is quite strange about those primitive people: as a civilization that remains in the Stone Age, the religious system they established is extremely complex and mature. Whether it is the description of gods or the rituals and prayers during various blood sacrifices, hundreds of tribes that are far apart and even have blood feuds with each other can achieve unprecedented unity."

"It's really unusual..."

"Like the perfect city?"

I don't know who was the first to come up with this metaphor in the crowd. For a moment, everyone was silent, and then they involuntarily glanced in one direction.

Lorgar, the Great Word Bearer, was standing next to his Imperial Fists brother. He and Dorn were not a very common combination. The two seemed to be discussing some very serious topics, arguing slightly, but not violently: Lorgar seemed to be the one with a milder temper but a firmer attitude. He talked a lot until some inaudible assurances made Dorn nod heavily.

Behind them, the two Primarchs' attendants did not join in the discussion with their colleagues, but stood behind their respective Primarchs. The son of Dorn was fully armed as usual, and no one knew who he was. He stood like a stone, and his tough posture made Kor Phaeron, who was standing on the other side of him, look weak. The old man did not join in the conversation either. He followed behind Lorgar like a servant, occasionally passing a glance to Luther and the others, but there was nothing else in his eyes except contempt and disdain.
However, I don’t know if it’s an illusion.

Zefeng tilted his head.

He always felt that in the look Kor Phaeron gave Lorgar...

Why all the fear? It's so strange.

Zefeng muttered in his heart.

Of course, he was not surprised by Kor Phaeron's attitude towards Lorgar. It was not uncommon for the Astartes to respect their Primarchs. Haven't you seen the Iron Warriors of the past? But the question that really concerned him was: even if Kor Phaeron was only a half-baked man after all, he was still a recognized Astartes warrior.

The Astartes warriors are fearless. This is not just a nice phrase, but a fact that has been established deep in their genes long before they underwent surgical transformation: every Astartes warrior does not know what fear is. This is also the reason why the Night Lords Legion was despised by various legions in the past, because the fear tactics they were proud of were nothing but a joke to other legions.

So: Why is it that an Astartes' pupils are filled with fear?

------

It's the emperor.

No, it’s the God-Emperor.

Angertai breathed impatiently, he could feel the sweat slowly flowing down his broad back, and then being cleaned up one by one by the internal circulation system inside the power armor: the workload was so heavy that it even exceeded that of an ordinary battle, emitting a low roar.

Angertai did not think that this was due to his inner nervousness, it must be because of the damn hot wind in Ullanor: today was not a suitable weather for a military parade, the sun was too thin, the air was too hot, and the Word Bearers Legion was not ranked high in the various queues being reviewed. It was undoubtedly a shame to witness others accept the honor first.

Especially the White Scars: Why are they first? Because their fleet was the first to actually declare war on the entire Ullanor Orc Empire? What else do they have to offer? A few achievements or a pathetic sense of responsibility?

Lorgar's son closed his eyes. He knew he had to stay rational: the God-Emperor and the Primarch were on the high platform in the distance. Their gaze would bring him supreme glory, but their words could not help him now. At this moment, he was the actual person in charge of the entire Word Bearers phalanx and he needed to shoulder the responsibility of the entire legion.

It's not easy.

Angertai looked left and right. On his left was the Dark Angels' column. At the front, he saw Koswain standing with his sword. Further away, the World Eaters were led by Kahn. On the right, the chief officer of the Raven Guards' phalanx was a warrior Angertai had no impression of. Then again, Angertai had no memory of every face in the 19th Legion's column.

Unlike the more distant Night Lords: Everyone on Ullanor knows Sevatar, with the legend of the Prince of Crows being powerfully realized time and time again in countless sword duels beside the campfire. Sevatar has used his power halberd to forever change the warriors' view of the Eighth Legion.

Now, there are many different opinions about the candidates for the three heroes of the Great Crusade.

But that had nothing to do with him.

Angertai retracted his gaze and focused on the tens of thousands of battle brothers in front of him. The iron-gray power armor was still engraved with dense prayers and scriptures, but compared with the simplicity in front of the Perfect City, Lorgar's descendants had learned to use all kinds of trophies and symbols of glory to prove that their piety to the God-Emperor was not just verbal.

The smell of blood between the power armors can never be washed away, but it does not need to be washed away: it is a symbol of honor and a symbol of piety.

The whole empire must be made aware of this.

Angeltai was surprised that it didn't take him long to make Luo Jia, the father of genes, accept his point of view: rather than faith, they needed to show their powerful side in front of everyone.

Angertai still remembered the expression on the Great Bearer's face when he took the initiative to make this suggestion to Luo Jia: it was surprise, but also joy.

Lorgar was curious as to why he was so proactive in expressing his thoughts, but Angertai did not tell the Primarch the truth.

That wasn't what he had in mind.

It's those voices in his heart.

The Word Bearer bowed his head slightly: a myriad of colors rippled in the center of his soul.

They whisper, they call, they laugh and cry, sigh and whisper.

They didn't always appear, but every word they spoke to him was so irresistible and far-sighted: Angertai didn't want to trust them completely, because while giving all kinds of advice, their occasional whispers of persuasion would send chills down the Word Bearer's spine.

They were promising him.

They were thinking of congratulating him.

They called him...Prince.

The Prince of Chaos.

The Prince of Chaos who bears the fate of everyone and the eternal war.

"..."

Inglet stroked his forehead, and the sound of distant military music awakened him. He noticed the concerned eyes of his brothers at the front of the line, and then signaled that he was fine: but his soul could hear it clearly, because the voice in his heart was counting the names of everyone in front of him.

They all need him to carry them?
Carrying their...fate?
"..."

Anglete said nothing.

I didn’t think further.

He resisted these voices: he just wanted to stand guard at his next post.

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Explain why it is divided into two chapters.

Because according to the background data, I noticed that once the number of words exceeds certain limits, such as eight or nine thousand or ten thousand words, the subscription of this chapter will decrease, although I am not sure if there is any logical relationship inside (it may be the wallet problem of some young readers, I understand this very well, I have been through this too, I am very happy that you can support the genuine version), so in the future, I will try my best to divide the ten thousand word chapters into two chapters.

By the way, please give me a monthly ticket here.

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(End of this chapter)