Emperor's Bane

Chapter 687 The Days of Horus (2/3)

Going clockwise, the first person who catches your eye is of course your father.

Compared with him, all the stars in the galaxy are like stones in the ruins, so inconspicuous: the elegance of the Lord of Mankind no longer needs to be described in any language, and your thin sentences are not enough to describe even one-tenth of him.

On this sacred day, he was still as usual, wearing the golden armor that he almost never took off. This armor accompanied him to kill people all over the galaxy and created such unprecedented hegemony: since the creation of the world, no conquest has ever brought so many victories and rewards to the entire race. Your name will be destined to be famous for thousands of years with the Emperor.

But in your heart, there is one thing that is more important than the feat of conquering the entire galaxy: you remember clearly: a hundred years ago, on the most important day of your life, when your father walked into the shabby garbage pit of Cthonia and took you out of the worst hell in the entire galaxy and brought you back to your common country, he was wearing this golden armor, his symbol.

Perhaps outsiders would say that this is the most common outfit of the Emperor on a daily basis, but in your heart it is special: your eyes linger on the golden double-headed eagle, stay for a moment, then slightly raise your head and look into the eyes of your great genetic father in mid-air.

He nods and smiles at you, just as any father would do to his dearest son: the Emperor's noble face is always so perfect, as if it embodies all the beauty, glory and miracles that this world can create. Just one look at it, and an entire legion of soldiers will swear allegiance to him without any reason.

You too.

Going further up, you saw the golden olive laurel crown that had stirred up countless changes in the entire Great Crusade. It was the Emperor's most iconic ornament and almost a symbol of power for the entire empire, but your eyes only briefly grazed on it before you left in boredom.

As time goes by, you realize more and more that the laurel that once made you hesitate is just like this: power was not what you wanted from the beginning, and compared with the sadness of the Emperor's departure for the Great Crusade, the joy brought by controlling thousands of stars is not even a worthy compensation.

A part of you will be lost forever with the Emperor's departure: in this respect, at least, you share the feelings of millions of soldiers out there.

Yes, you can still conquer the world, yes, you can still conquer the stars, but what is the meaning of these conquests now: if they are not conquered for the sake of your genetic father.

His eyes dropped.

At the same time, your father also saw your worries, and although you were separated by an entire palace, the Emperor still gave his response loyally: everyone could see that he stretched out a hand and clasped it forward, as if placing it on someone's shoulder.

You may not understand others, but you know that this is the Emperor's silent words to you: in Ullanor, in Goron, and in the thirty years when you have been together day and night, He has made such a gesture in front of you countless times.

It was a gesture from a father to a son he was proud of.

You responded with a smile, feeling warm in your heart: this little secret that only father and son would know made all your previous worries and heavy thoughts disappear in the blink of an eye. Your mind became clear again and your eyes looked elsewhere.

There is no time to feel sorry for yourself. This is a good opportunity to carefully observe the blood relatives you want to unite: when each gene leader stands from the perspective of a spectator and witnesses you reach the pinnacle of your life, nothing can better explain what each person is thinking than the look and micro-expression on their faces.

You can use this opportunity to distinguish friends: at least you can pick out temporary enemies and find ways to soften them later.

Guided by this idea, the first person to come was Morgan: because she was standing on the right hand side of the emperor, with her hands raised flat, holding a bright red cushion, on which lay quietly an olive branch-shaped laurel wreath, the style of which was exactly the same as the one worn by the emperor, except that the color was slightly different, a little duller, almost platinum.

That is your crown.

You didn't look at the crown, but took the opportunity to glance at Morgan's face: through the few verbal exchanges before, you are very aware of Morgan's sharp reaction speed and her superb facial changing skills: any opportunity to see the true feelings on the face of the Spider Queen is so precious.

Morgan didn't lower her head, so you could clearly see her eyebrows and lips: Sejanus and the others were right, your sister was indeed wearing a long dress today, which was very rare. It was a warm white and very conservative in style, revealing only a circle of moonlight around her neck and jade-colored arms under the plush shawl.

The golden threads were like ribbons, tying the dress to Morgan's slender body. Each knot was skillfully tied to reveal an imperial double-headed eagle, while the emblem of the entire Dawnbreaker Legion was on the chest: a silver sun protected by an ancient Celtic round knot.

If I were to describe it in words, it would be like two long snakes entangled together, circling a round sun until their heads and tails could no longer be seen: you are proud of your outstanding ability to express yourself in words.

With a sense of victory, you carefully scanned Morgan's face at this moment: in your past impression, Morgan's face was like the sky in early spring, which always gave people a warm feeling after walking out of the severe cold, but it was also extremely changeable. If you were not careful, it would be cloudy and rainy, or even cold in late spring.

And now, her expression remains at the stage of continuous rain and gloom.

His eyebrows drooped, his forehead sank, a few strands of hair hung lazily around his ears, his lively eyes were too lazy to even respond to your prying eyes, his thin lips neither wanted to raise an arc nor pretend to be angry, so they just lay there without any burden, full of dissatisfaction: Morgan stood so close to your cheerful genetic father, forming a sharp contrast.

The main point is that it is completely voluntary.

Honestly, you have never seen a more vivid expression of helplessness than this one, which reminds you of the mortal soldiers on the Vengeful Spirit who had just taken their turn to rest but were forced to return to their posts due to an emergency: they seemed to have the same expression on their faces.

But Morgan is different from them. In the Spider Queen's lifeless look, you vaguely see a kind of calmness, as if she is not surprised at her current situation at all: this kind of calmness, which comes from having experienced it all and is no longer surprised, makes you confused.

She seemed to have become accustomed to this kind of compulsory labor: It's really interesting, who can casually demolish a Primarch and make him work like a slave like the Emperor does?

I really don't understand.

You sighed inwardly, for missing an opportunity to try to understand Morgan's point of view, but your eyes did not linger on him: because in the shadows behind the Spider Queen, surrounded by the Imperial Guards, you seemed to vaguely glimpse the figure of the Sigillite, but you were too lazy to look at him carefully, and you didn't want to know too much about this person.

He always wears a hood: how real is this mortal's outward appearance?

Of course, deeper inside, in those secret chambers that you yourself would not easily open, that you were not even aware of, there was another real reason: you did not dare to know the real Malcador, and you resisted doing so from the bottom of your heart.

You need him to be your rival, to continue to be the concrete face of your archenemy, the mortal bureaucracy.

In your point of view, you have always understood one thing, that is, your genetic father is not a person who can be easily bewitched by others: since the Sigillite has been able to gain the trust of the Emperor for a long time, it means that the Emperor must have a reason to trust him. Although you can't think of this reason, it doesn't mean that this reason does not exist, it's just that you haven't discovered it or are unwilling to find it.

You are afraid to search.

You fear the answer will make the anger inside you lose its footing: if Malcador is truly innocent, then who is it that has the power to control the Sigillites and bring evil upon you, the Primarchs?
You can't dwell on it.

The sinner must be Marcado: that is the final conclusion, no further speculation is needed.

Lowering your head, the flames of anger ignited in your ocean-blue eyes once again. You threw Malcador's figure out of the corner of your eye, drowning him in the resentment in your heart, and then quickly looked at the other brothers present.

You don't have much time. To outsiders, you seem to be just looking around habitually, perhaps less than a second: but the physiological structure of the gene origin determines that you can complete extremely complex observation and thinking tasks in this brief moment.

Turning clockwise, standing at one o'clock is Jonson: this lion of Caliban has dressed himself spotlessly today. You have to admit that his dress is very tasteful even by the strictest standards, but more importantly, the vague aura of barbarism that has been lingering around Jonson before has now disappeared completely.

You would have thought that Jonson would retain some of his old habits, such as hiding in a more obscure corner, or using wild symbols to symbolize his feelings about the world of death, but today that was not the case: the Primarch of the Dark Angels stood at the intersection of lights with his head held high, like the greatest knight.

Even though you never felt this way before: but now, even the Wolf God has to admit this: Zhuang Sen now has some real kingly style.

The Warmaster is yours, but no one will think of the Calibanite as a failure.

As for his gaze?

You took a glance and left: Zhuang Sen is still Zhuang Sen, all the words that could be said to each other have been said, and the contest that could be started has long been over.

The war has begun, and the lion now comes to attend your warmaster ceremony with the attitude of carrying out a mission. He nodded as a recognition of your ability and congratulated you on your promotion: there was no loss or anger, this is the best mode for you to get along with the Caliban people.

Maybe in the future, you will have the opportunity to fight side by side? You believe that as long as the time and reason are right, Zhuang Sen will not refuse to go to the battlefield with you. You will not be superiors and subordinates, but brothers: you quietly buried this plan deep in your heart. But no matter what, you know that Zhuang Sen will not change: and you are the same.

Your eyes lingered on the ink-colored armor, ruby-colored silk, golden lion-shaped shoulder pads, snow-white cape, and pure black cloak for a moment, and you were impressed that even Jonson could find such an excellent image director in his First Legion. Then you moved your eyes slightly to the position standing next to Jonson.

Guilliman was there.

It was surprising, but he did seem to be standing next to Jonson willingly, and there was a subtle distance between the two brothers, and although they could clearly reach out and touch each other's shoulders, there was also a feeling of a chasm: Guilliman was still the Macragge man, and he was just short of having notes with Ultramar or Macragge written all over his armor.

Just like Luo Jia.

You have always felt that the two brothers, Guilliman and Lorgar, are actually quite similar. In a sense, they are both devout believers, but Lorgar believes in the God-Emperor, whom you can barely understand, while no one knows what Guilliman believes in.

Maybe it was pure atheism, or maybe it was his five hundred worlds themselves.

But he must have faith, because his persistence in many things can almost only be described as religious fanaticism, and this is exactly what you fear the most: because you know that Guilliman is different from your other brothers, and he has a most precious quality.

The determination to stick to it.

No matter what he wants to do, no one will be able to stop him in the end.

This is a good thing and a bad thing: the advantages are self-evident, but the disadvantage is that he will always reach a dead end, and you think of what happened in the whirlpool.

You remembered that among the many powerful governors you met, there were senior officials from Badab: that place was the core of the confrontation between Guilliman and Malcador, and every move could pry open the two great powers.

But in your impression, these officials from Badab are not so loyal to Guilliman: although their loyalty to the Lord of Macragge exists, it is far less firm than those of the Five Hundred Worlds, and they also have their own ambitions. If he fights for these people, Guilliman may encounter troubles he did not expect.

You suppressed the corner of your mouth and decided not to tell him the bad news for the time being: the two of you looked at each other with a nodding friendship, but Guilliman's attitude towards you was a little more complicated. You were sure that he had good intentions towards you, but this thin kindness was drowned in the chaotic hearts and grand ambitions of the Macragge people.

You actually hope that Guilliman can be a little more kind to you.

Emperor: Because you do not want to be an adversary of Guilliman. It would be wonderful if either he or Morgan could become your friend. With their help, the Wolf God would be truly invincible.

You want them on your side.

Or at least, don't both of them be your enemy at the same time: two rustling quills, one of which has a true friend?

You'll have a terrible headache.

A sigh remained in his mouth, because what followed were the twins in the shadows: if it weren't for the different legion emblems on their chests, no one would be able to tell the difference between Conrad and Corax, these brothers who looked too similar, especially when they had the same guardian and therefore dressed so similarly in solemn occasions.

If there is any difference, it is that Midnight Haunter seemed to have anticipated your gaze and was grinning, staring at you nonchalantly, while Corax seemed to be slower to realize it. He just glanced at you, nodded, expressed his respect, and then quickly looked away.

These two brothers are a no-man's land in information for you, and you know very little about them, but you are at least sure that Conrad is definitely not the poor guy as people say: in the hands of the Midnight Haunter, there may be a complete industrial base that allows him to do whatever he wants, as well as at least 100,000 terrifying warriors who have been through many battles.

One of your most trusted advisors, Malohurst, once reminded you that Conrad could be considered an appendage of Morgan who could in turn influence Morgan's decisions. This view was somewhat disrespectful, but when you saw Conrad standing there lazily, not caring about anything, do you think this conclusion was actually quite correct?
Perhaps, perhaps his most important duty is to serve as a supplementary force for the Dawnbreaker Legion, which is running out of stamina: if they want to break down the entire Far East border defense line, they must take into account the Eighth Legion, which will do its best. They do not have the Dawnbreakers' shortcoming of difficulty in replenishing their members. If they are allowed to gain a foothold in Great Avalon, it will be almost impossible to completely annihilate them.

Unless they are lured out.

The same is true for the Ultramarines.

As for the Raven Guard...

You smiled at Corax with a hint of apology. Facing this brother, you always felt a little insecure. You had been thinking about whether there was a way to compensate Corax and the 19th Legion, but to no avail.

As for his power, it is not worthy of your attention: Corax's kingdom is isolated in the center of your few supporters, and the Raven Guard Legion, apart from its notorious reputation in the shadows, has nothing that can shake the galaxy. Perhaps with just a decent campaign, the 19th Legion will no longer be a threat.

This idea is dangerous.

You warned yourself, casting your gaze on the other brother’s face, the aftereffects of your previous thoughts still lingering in the corners of your eyes, but this man clearly didn’t care: Angron’s smile gave off an extremely sinister vibe, but you could sense that the King of Red Sand was simply congratulating you on your promotion in a very plain way.

He is in terrible shape.

You heard Morgan mention that it was because of the maintenance equipment: although the equipment protecting Angron was far from reaching its service life under the careful maintenance of the World Eaters, the problem lay on the other side, namely the raw materials.

No matter how frantically the XIIth Legion hunted down the Comorian fleet, their catch inevitably became less: half a century had passed, and even the Black Aida, who had long been numb to the passage of time, were keenly aware of what would happen to their compatriots who encountered the World Eaters.

And this is the greatest racial advantage of these damn slave owners. As long as they want to hide, almost no one in the real universe can catch them: the elusive Webway Gate has caused the World Devourers' vanguards to fail countless times. You heard that they are trying to establish cooperative relations with other legions and import the necessary [raw materials] from other fleets.

But this was just a drop in the bucket: the only good thing was that the number of times the Imperial worlds were harassed by the Dark Eldar dropped drastically. They changed their strategy and launched large-scale collective attacks each time. Not all Imperial fleets had the ability to resist or capture them.

Although Angron's warriors have been looking for alternative raw materials, the results have long been unsatisfactory: the operation of the maintenance equipment began to stop briefly. In most cases, the equipment can still protect Angron, but the sudden and intense pain in the long peace, although fleeting, can also make the Primarch [moved].

This is Angron's current situation.

Perhaps, in the next few decades or even longer, Angron's life would be safe: to put it bluntly, even if the maintenance device completely lost its effect, the Butcher's Nails would not be able to completely kill Angron in more than ten years.

But if there is no solution, his condition will definitely deteriorate.

You remember sharing this concern with Morgan: your sisters once told you implicitly that they would find a way to solve this problem once and for all, but before that, they also hoped that you could use the power of the Warmaster to actually help Angron.

What's your reason for refusing?
Of course you would do this if it was to help a brother in distress, and if as a warmaster you asked other brothers to capture as many of those damned dark elves alive as possible: I'm sure no one would refuse your request.

In fact, after witnessing the predicament Angron encountered, you heard that more than a dozen brothers, including Ferrus, Fulgrim, Vulkan, Mortarion and Lorgar, had secretly taught their children how to capture as many Commorran scum as possible alive.

Of course you did.

You gave him one last concerned look. You didn't want Angron to discover your worry. For a brother who had lost everything and rose up in the slave owners' arena, the compassionate concern from others might be more painful than naked contempt: although Angron might know very well that you brothers all viewed him that way.

But no one would point it out, the only remaining brotherhood in their blood carefully safeguarding the gladiators' last dignity.

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This is a long chapter of ten thousand words. I will post the first six thousand words. The remaining four or five thousand words are still being deleted and revised, so you have to wait a while.

(End of this chapter)