Emperor's Bane

Chapter 698 The Hero is Me, Mortarion

Fate once again revealed itself to him.

Relying on the power of numerology.

As always, the blurry, chaotic, fragmented, and unclear words, as if a mountain of monsters dug out countless crazy words from their rotten intestines, and then poured them all into a rusty iron pot boiled with phlegm and filth, and then brought it in front of him.

He needed to drink it all in one gulp until even the rust on the edge of the pot became as bright as new, until the swollen, distorted pain filled his mind again, coming like a tide and then receding like a tide, leaving behind crystal-clear spots of light on the dark green beach: this was what he ultimately needed.

The future of life and the mysteries of the universe once again appeared before his eyes.

Yes, it is painful and a huge challenge both psychologically and physically. Swallowing those non-existent, bitter liquids like bile is no easier than personally exterminating an entire alien race. The real throat will even produce a genuine vomiting reaction: but this is precisely the core of numerology and its greatest charm.

Only by enduring the greatest suffering and experiencing the most horrible torture can one welcome the moment when sweetness comes after bitterness and pick the sweet fruits of the Milky Way with one's own hands: compared with the countless cosmic secrets that numerology has shown him in its predictions again and again, the pain it itself requires is nothing more than an equivalent sacrifice.

Moreover, doesn't this fit in with Mortarion's outlook on life: If you can't overcome the bitterness that ordinary people can't bear, how can you get the glory that ordinary people can't touch? The concept of survival of the fittest is the only truth that will be implemented in this cruel and barbaric galaxy, and truth will have its rewards.

He is a living example. Among all his primarch brothers, only Mortarion implements the pure truth, and fate has given him such powerful power: when his brothers are still drifting in the torrent of fate, he is able to look up at the real galaxy and become the first hero among all people who dares to go against the current.

He knew that everyone would look at him like a monster, and anger, ridicule and abuse would follow: let them come, he didn't mind offending everyone, nor did he mind making enemies with these poor blind people, and one day, they would be eager to thank him.

Even Magnus is no exception.

No: Magnus is particularly important. The monarch of Prospero and his crazy legion will be the first clarion call for the truth seekers in this war to eliminate ignorance. Although it will take a long time, what he lacks the least is sufficient patience.

In his life so far, patience is his greatest weapon, more deadly than the sickle and bullet in his hand: it is precisely because of his strong endurance that he can use his physical body to withstand the poisonous fog defense line that the alien warlords on Barbarus are proud of, and chop off the ugly heads of these monsters in the astonished eyes.

It was precisely because of his great endurance that he was able to withstand the terrible backlash of numerology time and time again, and in the countless changes of cards and symbols, he was able to glimpse the true secrets of the galaxy: a secret that even the Emperor and the Sigillite had to come forward in person and explain to him in euphemistic words.

They had to explain to him, or try to trick him into believing: that strange passage hidden beneath the Terra Palace seemed to lead to an invisible place; that the strange black stones were being secretly transported day and night to the world called Cadia next to the Eye of Terror, with a creepy aura all over their bodies; and that unnamed galaxy that was wiped off all the star maps of the Empire and located in the deepest part of the Solar Star Region, where Holy Terra could cover it at any time, but had the best protection in the entire Milky Way.

Under the brilliant Great Crusade, within the bright cloak of the Imperium of Mankind, some things that were obviously not wanted to be known by outsiders were growing secretly like a torrent underground: the Emperor and his most trusted servants were obviously handling some shady things. The so-called withdrawal from the Great Crusade and the appointment of a Warmaster were just smokescreens to cover up these dirty secrets.

Their loyalty had been betrayed, and the tears of the entire Great Crusade had been exploited: no wonder the Lord of Mankind had never told them why he wanted to return to Terra, for it turned out that this was just another lie that he had to make up after telling countless lies.

They even wanted to make him believe that all this was harmless and beneficial to the Empire and human civilization: especially his hypocritical gene father, who deliberately pretended to be concerned and tried to use sweet words to make him believe those clumsy lies.

They are all equally hypocritical...disgusting...

They were even kidnapping him, kidnapping his finally free emotions: On what basis could they assume that he was a hero who was willing to give up everything for the so-called empire, the so-called humanity? What qualifications did they have to force him onto the chariot of sacrifice? Without his consent, they casually promised him freedom and power?
Of course, he certainly doesn't mind being a respected hero, and he doesn't mind people cheering around him. Although such cheers will inevitably make him feel bored if they last too long, in the final analysis, he doesn't mind being a hero who needs to shed blood and even take the risk of sacrifice.

He saved Barbarus for this.

However, all of this must be based on his complete willingness, and it must be something he wants to do, rather than being forced into the arena: as long as he is given a reason and time to prepare, he can obviously become everyone's hero, but these hypocritical bastards always deprive him of this innate power!

He would be a hero, but not the hero they forced him to be.

Besides, what kind of hero would he be if he hid these suspicious secrets for them? Whether it was the webway hidden under the Terran Palace, the Black Stone gradually rising on Cadia, or the psychic energy emanating from the heavily guarded nameless galaxy, they all showed the abuse of the power of the warp.

Massive, unrestrained abuse.

So scary, so weird
This was especially true of the third system, for not even numerology could reveal to him what that heavily guarded system, with at least five hundred Custodians stationed there, held: what in the galaxy was so important that it required a thousand legions of mortals and an equal number of warships to guard just one system?
Guarded for fifty years!
But apparently, just knowing the existence of this system was enough to make the busy Sigillite Malcador personally visit his Endurance: just to prevent him from leaking the secret.

It was hilarious to recall the way the old man coaxed, threatened, bribed, and sighed before him: Malcador even dared to use the upcoming Nekaea Conference as a reward, promising him great glory at that meeting, in an attempt to convince Mortarion of his and the Emperor's poor cover-ups of the above three issues.

It was ridiculous: it was as if he hadn't predicted what happened on Nikaea.

……

Of course he predicted it.

That was a result he didn't like.

That's also why he planned to have a good talk with his witch sister.

"..."

"Tsk... it's really annoying..."

“This feeling of being looked down upon…”

"Malcador... you old dog..."

Mortarion opened his eyes, and the last curse against the Sigillite slipped out quietly from the corner of his dry mouth, echoing in the almost undecorated room, and finally disappeared on the dark green military flag with three snow-white skulls simply painted on it. This was the war symbol of the Fourteenth Legion.

The Lord of Death stood up, his sallow, thin face hidden inside the tattered hooded robe, and the corners of his mouth that were revealed were filled with deadly boredom as usual. He simply paced in his lounge, breathing the strange Barbarus air from the ceiling, slightly relieving the backlash of numerology.

The Primarch was not happy, he still hadn't deduced the result he wanted.

Pausing and pondering for a moment, Mortarion's gaze suddenly turned to the only brass door in the lounge. Two death shrouds, as silent as the dead, were guarding there, but the Primarch's gaze was not for them: with his superhuman senses, his ears were able to penetrate the iron door that was strong enough to withstand large-scale artillery bombardments, as well as thousands of meters of space, and hear the two footsteps he had been waiting for.

A man who was firm and steady, as calm as a knight patrolling the land.

This is Garo.

The other was cautious and restrained, and every step sounded exactly the same as it did a hundred years ago.

This is Typhon.

The First Captain and the Seventh Captain, the respective leaders of the Barbarus and Terran soldiers in the Legion, the two people he valued most, his most trusted friends and his most admired offspring: it was obvious that the two men had completed the tasks assigned to them by the Primarch at the same time, and met by chance when they were returning to report.

Mortarion didn't want to admit that this was intentional: he had always wondered if Typhon and Garro had met in private, if they had bumped into each other by chance without him, would they have started talking? And what would they have talked about?
Most importantly: Will he, the genetic father, be among the topics they discuss?
Would they express their dissatisfaction and shortcomings with Mortarion, which they normally dared not express: their advice had been piling up in their hearts for years, but due to the pressure and status of the Primarch, they could no longer point it out as freely as before?
Has pure friendship or father-son affection given way to fear and dread? An invisible barrier separates these heartfelt words?

The Lord of Death was not sure whether he expected to hear this, but the reality more or less disappointed him: when Typhon and Garro met unexpectedly in the corridor, both of them did show some surprise, Typhon greeted him enthusiastically, Garro responded indifferently, and then at the former's kind invitation, she walked with him to the Primarch's office.

That's all.

The two most trusted sons of the Lord of Death did not say another word before they knocked on Mortarion's door side by side: this made him a little angry. Although he did not hear the hateful private complaints, he also did not see the friendship that should be between fighting brothers.

They are both so outstanding, shouldn't they appreciate each other?

Such annoyance made the Primarch's face as dry as the bark of an old tree: so when Typhon and Garro pushed the door open, they were faced with a gloomy dark cloud.

Garro's brows twitched, but he maintained his expression as best as possible, trying not to think about what had happened. Typhon on the side looked more submissive. He was obviously trembling with the wrath of the Primarch, but in his invisible heart, Typhon only uttered a contemptuous sneer.

But no matter what, the two Death Guards lowered their heads, and after enduring the gazes of the Death Shrouds, they walked forward a total of seventy-seven and forty-nine steps, and finally stood in front of Mortarion: The Lord of Death cast his shadow like a mountain, and after thinking for a moment, he turned his gaze to Garro.

"People sent him away?"

"Yes, my lord."

Jia Luo bowed.

"I saw with my own eyes the Master Sealholder and his followers board the shuttle."

"grown ups……"

The Primarch chewed on the word, a hint of mockery evident deep within his hood.

"You don't need to be so respectful to him, my captain of the Seventh Company. Performing a few more courtesies will not make the seal holder look favorably upon our warship. Only power and truth will make that cunning old bone take a second look at you."

“The same applies to other people.”

Both descendants shuddered: they instinctively realized who that "other person" was referring to.

"Didn't he say anything else?"

"No." Jialuo paused.

"The Master Sigillite only praised the Death Guard's achievements to me."

"That's all he can give me: he can't even give me a decent medal."

This time, the Lord of Death simply snorted, no longer trying to hide his feelings: Garro continued to maintain his silence, trying not to dwell on the conflict between the Primarch and Terra, and although Typhon next to him was equally humble, he still muttered something quietly in his heart.

Even if you have a medal, I'm afraid you will throw it into the trash can, right?
The cowardice that dares not even obtain honor: Why is my Primarch such a pathetic creature?

Typhon's face twisted, and before he could recover, he felt the Primarch's gaze shifted to him. The captain quickly lowered his head to make sure Mortarion could never see his face.

"Don't be so nervous, Typhon."

The Primarch smiled as gently as possible, but Typhon still hesitated for a moment before slowly straightening his back: the bitterness that kept boiling in his heart proved that the captain was sure to blame Mortarion for this embarrassment again.

"How's your mission going?"

Lord Barbaros carefully considered his tone: he always felt that the friendship between him and his best friend seemed to be cooling down during these days, so he kept looking for solutions, but so far he couldn't think of any good ideas.

"All as you wish, my lord."

Typhon lowered his voice.

"Neither the Dawnbreakers nor the Ultramarines have refused our invitation. They will arrive on time. Lord Guilliman has specially expressed his gratitude for your invitation to Lord Morgan as well."

"That's all he has."

Mortarion spat.

"Without Morgan's eloquence, he can't even hide his ambitions."

"My brother Macragge thought I had invited him to the Endurance for some serious matter: he was merely an additional feature of my meeting with Morgan, and his positive value to the Imperium and the Great Crusade as a whole ended there."

"He also said that he prepared a gift especially for you. Do we need to reserve space for it?"

"Guilliman has some sense on this one."

Typhon's words caused the Lord of Death to pause for a moment.

He thought for a moment.

"No need. No matter what he intends to give me, I will not leave it on the Endurance. Also, Typhon, please help me prepare two gifts, one for Morgan and one for Guilliman. I don't want them to take the opportunity to gossip behind my back."

"clear."

The captain's obvious hesitation caught Mortarion's attention.

"Why, is there any difficulty?"

“It’s not difficult at all.”

Typhon hesitated.

"However, there are some different discussions among the battle brothers of the Legion: after learning that you will be solemnly receiving the Primarch of the Dawnbreaker Legion on the Endurance, many people are wondering why you are doing this. After all, in our previous understanding, you would not do such a useless thing, not to mention..."

"What's more, this is a sensitive time when the Nikea Conference is about to be held."

Garo added the second half of the sentence: Terran soldiers obviously have the same problem.

"Nikea..."

Mortarion shook his head helplessly: he was not surprised that these problems arose.

"It was precisely because of Nikea that I finally made this decision. Do you think I want to waste my precious tea on entertaining the Morgan sisters who study witchcraft and the useless Macragge wimp? I prepared it precisely for Nikea."

The two company commanders looked at each other and saw confusion in each other's eyes.

"Do you know?"

The Lord of Death raised his head and slowly raised three fingers.

"Thrice, I have divined three times: three times fate has given me the same result."

"On Nikaea, I saw three signs about the future of the empire. They will definitely happen, because numerology has never been wrong. It has shown me three futures that will happen three times."

"..."

The Primarch was silent for a moment.

His face was distorted, as if in fear and anger, but in this indescribable strangeness, the Primarch spoke slowly.

"First."

"Nikea is not the end of Magnus, at least not his complete end: in the distant future, one or some decisions made by Magnus seem to have a profound impact on the entire empire and even the entire galaxy."

“It will affect all of us.”

He paused: the admission made Mortarion look grim.

"second."

"After Nikaea, those psychic wizards will continue their activities."

"But it will be much weaker: my resistance and efforts will be effective after all."

"And the third point is the most important."

The Primarch's gaze grew fierce, and his sons trembled at his breath.

"Right here in the land of Nicaea, I saw the rise of a powerful psyker."

"An incredibly powerful psyker."

"A psyker as powerful as Malcador, and Morgan, and Magnus."

"Even scarier than them."

"..."

"I don't know who he is, just as I don't know what Magnus will do. The future doesn't tell me: but I am sure that whoever this rising guy is, he will disrupt the entire galaxy and mess up everything we have fought and bled for."

"And whoever he is..."

"I saw……"

The Primarch took a deep breath.

"I know it: he must be my brother, one of the Emperor's children."

"He rose in the land of Nikea and became the most terrible wizard who ever lived."

(End of this chapter)