Emperor's Bane

Chapter 706: Will is being strengthened...

Although Magnus had imagined from the beginning that he would encounter all kinds of difficulties and hardships on Nikaea, and then achieve a victory that would not be easy at all: he never expected that the challenge would come so quickly and be so difficult.

The King of Prospero had not even had time to adjust to the pungent, sulfur-scented air of Nikaea and come up with a topic befitting his status as a dear Sister of Avalon: before these logical steps could be taken, the Gene-Father of the Thousand Sons felt his most trusted lieutenant whispering to him via psychic communication.

It's Amon.

He had never been so...weak?
Magnus paused.

He turned his head and apologized to Morgan with a smile: he had some private matters to discuss with his offspring.

What surprised the Primarch a little was that his silver-haired sister seemed to have anticipated the scene before her: Morgan looked at him quietly with her eyes as bright as a lake, and just when Magnus felt a little uneasy, the Spider Queen suddenly smiled again and generously said that she would go and call the other brothers first.

Then, Morgan floated away like a white ghost, with her chief guard following closely behind her. Before leaving, she only gave a perfunctory salute to Magnus: This made the Gene-Father of the Thousand Sons a little confused. He still had some impression of Lana. This old warrior was not such a rude person in the past.

The Primarch thought for a moment, but could not come up with any overly original answer: it was probably Leman Russ and Mortarion's doing again. Their decades-long anti-psychic propaganda could easily lead to this ignorant rebellious mentality among the ignorant masses, and even the Astartes warriors were no exception.

It seems that the difficulty of getting them back on the right track has increased.

Magnus shook his head, feeling that the responsibility on his shoulders had unconsciously become a little more important, and cast a serious look at Amon and others. The Primarch deliberately waited until the guards and mortal servants around him were far away before allowing his adjutant to speak in the Sea of ​​Souls.

In a place like Nikaea, it was always better to be cautious: even Magnus knew that.

and so……

"what happened?"

The Primarch asked first, his eyes focused on Amon first, and then swept over every son who followed him: Magnus didn't actually need their answers, because he saw through the problem at first glance.

Then the Primarch frowned.

"Where is your guardian spirit?"

"That is the thing, my Lord."

Amon held his forehead in pain. His condition seemed worse than others, and Magnus knew it well: he saw ripples floating over the souls of other Thousand Sons warriors, which meant that their guardian spirits had temporarily left and were unwilling to accept the call of their masters in the real universe.

But it was different with Amon: over his soul there was a horrible silence.

His guardian spirit was gone, completely gone. The Primarch stretched out his hand and covered Amon's forehead, trying to find any clues or remains: but what greeted Magnus was only deathly stillness and silence, as well as the shivering coldness that was invisible.

Someone killed it?

Use psychic energy? Grind the bones and spread ashes?

Right under his nose?
Magnus could not help but remain silent. He tried to understand the content more deeply, but when his soul perception touched the place where the guardian elf should be, a different kind of tingling sensation made the Primarch retreat involuntarily: in an instant, the Gene-Father of the Thousand Sons widened his eyes, and a drop of cold sweat flowed down his red skin as his sons stared at him.

"What's the matter, sir?"

"No...nothing..."

Magnus' lips were dry, and he felt that he already knew the answer: at the crime scene where Amon's guardian elf was reduced to ashes, the criminal was not even bothered to clean up his traces. Although it seemed nothing, the Primarch only needed to touch it simply to feel the residual warmth of the fire passing through the ashes.

But this is not the point.

The important thing is...

Magnus turned around and quietly wiped the sweat from his forehead.

He didn't know if it was an illusion, but he would never mistake this psychic aura: because the owner of this aura was the most important person to him, the one to whom he was willing to offer his loyalty, life, and soul, and the teacher who personally guided him onto the path of true mystery in the warp.

They had spent countless years together in that wonderful world, and Magnus was sure that he would never mistake the Emperor's aura: whether it was the unusual coldness or the illusion of flames, they were almost identical to the psychic aura of the Lord of Mankind.

The more I think about it, the more it resembles it.

Yes, Magnus could sense the difference in details, but even if these details were magnified, there could be no one in the entire galaxy who could be so similar to the Emperor: this must be the power of his father!
In other words, his father... killed Amon's guardian spirit?

In front of him?
How did he use it? Why didn't he realize it?
Could it be through Morgan...

impossible.

Magnus rejected this possibility almost instinctively.

Morgan could not do all this, and she would never betray him: Magnus was sure that her silver-haired relative was at best a master of psychic powers on par with him, and even with the Emperor's help, she would not be able to expel a creature of the Warp so secretly in front of him.

This was not something a human could do, not even a Primarch could do it: the one who could kill this creature must be a pure incarnation of psychic energy, a manifestation of reality in the Warp, a monster that even Magnus dared not imagine...

It could only be his father.

But...why did the Emperor do this?
This question made Magnus more uneasy than the pain of all the Thousand Sons present. He didn't even dare to think about it. He could only cough pretentiously and warn his sons in the most serious voice possible.

"My children, obviously."

Magnus dropped his eyelids.

"My father, our Emperor would not want to see any large-scale psychic activity on Nikaea at this time. Look at the meeting hall in the distance. It is made entirely of inert materials to limit the use of our psychic power."

"You all have to remember: there is going to be a debate, or a trial, here first."

After the Thousand Sons nodded in turn, Magnus looked at Amon.

"I think my gene father is using this unpleasantness to warn us."

The Primarch patted Amon on the shoulder.

"I'm sorry, Amon, but please be patient for a while. Once we finish the matter on Nikaea, I will take you back to Prospero and find a way to summon your guardian spirit again. The same goes for all of you. Be patient for a while until everything is over on Nikaea."

"No problem, sir."

Amon nodded, his face had become paler than ever before: over the past few decades, the entire Thousand Sons Legion had long learned to regard the guardian elves as part of their souls. This long-lasting fusion made Amon, who suddenly lost his guardian elves, feel that his soul was gradually being backfired.

It's so weird.

Amon couldn't help but mutter.

Why did so many cracks appear in his soul so quickly, as if they had existed from the beginning, but the activeness of the guardian spirit suppressed these scars deep into his soul, making him unable to feel pain before?

Amon shuddered: He could sense the... terrible information in this hypothesis.

If so, why didn't the guardian spirit tell him about the scars? Or were they related to the scars?
"Don't think too much, Amon."

Perhaps noticing that his closest lieutenant was feeling uneasy at the moment, Magnus stepped forward and patted Amon on the shoulder, forcibly interrupting this disturbing thought: the Primarch then raised a hand and made another promise casually.

No Heart at All: No one can question Magnus' love for the Thousand Sons, but even when facing his most beloved heir, the Lord of Prospero would not seriously think for even a second before making a promise, because such hesitation is a manifestation of incompetence and weakness.

Since he had enough power to accomplish any feat in the world and to ensure even the most outrageous promises, why would he take the time to do an extra check before he made his promises?

This was Magnus's philosophy: at least as far as he could remember, it had never gone wrong.

"Believe me, these are just harmless little problems that can be easily solved. It's just that there are some inconveniences here. As long as I take you back to Prospero, nothing can stump us."

"That's right, my lord."

Amon nodded again, but the pain in his soul prevented him from laughing.

He lowered his head and silently followed the pace of Magnus and his brothers, enduring pain he had never felt before: in those places where the guardian elves liked to cling in his memory, the pain was particularly intense, like the wounds caused by vampire bats on buffaloes. Even the slightest pull was enough to distort Amon's face.

But what was even more terrifying was that the pains gradually pulled Amon out of the world he had been enjoying peacefully before. When Amon looked to his left and right, he vaguely saw something creepy in the souls of every fighting brother.

Those scars...

Those same scars...

There was still dark blue smoke coming out of the gap...

Is it his illusion... or...

Slowly, Amon swallowed.

In front, the Primarch's voice of encouragement to his offspring still echoed in his ears, but Amon had no intention of listening to it. His mind was filled with thoughts on how to find Ahriman on Nikea as quickly as possible.

the first time.

For the first time in my life.

He found Magnus's words of comfort less reassuring.

------

"Peace of mind."

“There’s always a first time for everything.” “Treasure it: after all, the first time always brings a different perspective.”

“Once you miss it, the loss will be huge.”

Deep within the Temple of Nicaea, in the Sigillite's chamber, a dull, almost featureless sound echoed slowly through Malcador's bookshelves, passing over the documents that arbitrated the fates of millions, dancing around the staffs of terrible power, and finally drifting towards the chair of the Sigillite himself.

It was empty: Malcador was not in his room at this moment.

But there are sounds here, and there are several identical figures active here.

“This rule doesn’t apply to me.”

The first figure said: He sat down in the position of the seal holder.

"After all, this isn't the first time I've done this to my blood brother."

"Not even the second time, the third time."

"Then you should be experienced."

A second figure stepped forward.

"This time is different."

The "Seal Bearer" shook his head.

"This is a matter of great importance. We have no chance to change the outcome later: this is not like what we did sixty years ago, where we could hide behind Jonson and Morgan. Even if we failed, there would be more chances. This time, even the Emperor can't help us."

"Do you understand?"

"of course."

A third figure emerged from the darkness, and he seemed to be smiling, or mocking.

"After all, I was personally in charge of that operation sixty years ago, wasn't I?"

"Yes, you did a great job."

The "Seal Bearer" also laughed.

“My brothers and sisters may not be sure until the end whether it was really me.”

"Conrad saw that."

"He won't tell it, at least not to Morgan and Jonson."

"The others are not a concern."

"Including Horus?"

Finally a voice floated over.

“Not yet.”

The second figure shook his head: that was what they all imagined.

“And that’s the problem.”

A distressed sigh floated out of the darkness.

"We need Horus to be strong, but he is not strong enough now."

"He will soon have the largest private kingdom of all the Primarchs, and a legion of at least three or four hundred thousand people: he has already initially tamed the Forge World in the north of the galaxy, and there are countless Titan Legions, Knight Families, and Mortal Auxiliary Armies willing to serve him."

"But this is not his own strength."

The "Seal Bearer" interrupted the conversation rudely.

"What we need is the strength of [Horus] as an individual."

"Both in terms of strength and will: He has to be strong enough to meet our expectations."

“What kind of expectations?”

Someone in the shadows laughed.

"Can it threaten the Emperor's expectations?"

"almost."

The "Seal Bearer" admitted it easily.

"At least make most people believe that Horus' power can threaten the Emperor."

"Only in this way will he be qualified enough to lift the final curtain: those hidden traitors will not submit to a man who will obviously fail. We must let Horus's power deceive their cunning, because the Wolf Shepherd God is the only one who meets the requirements."

"The Emperor doesn't think so."

"Just let him not know."

The "Seal Bearer" smiled.

"if it is like this……"

One of the three shadows spoke.

"Then Horus still has a flaw."

"I know."

The "Seal Bearer" nodded.

"A Primarch who cannot master psychic powers cannot be called powerful."

"But Horus did not master it."

“That’s what we’re trying to solve.”

His fingers drummed on the seal bearer's desk, below which was a smiling photo of the Wolf Shepherd God.

"We want to make him stronger."

"Become very strong: The Wolf Shepherd should be one of the best psionic masters in the galaxy."

"More than Morgan?"

"That's a bit exaggerated: at least you should defeat Malcador first, then consider Morgan, right?"

"Right."

"So, what should we do?"

"Depend on one person: he is the most likely to help us achieve this goal."

The Sigillite smiled and threw another photo over Horus.

"This man is the protagonist of Nikea."

Someone laughed in the shadows.

“That’s exactly what makes them the best helpers.”

"He is strong enough, and stupid enough."

"..."

"Then let's do it."

The final word: but no one knows which shadow made the sound.

The shadow that had been sitting on the chair arrogantly like a master actually stood up, bent his waist deeply, and saluted the three people in front of him: he looked like he was saluting three people at the same time, but it seemed that he was biased, and he was only making a serious promise to one of them.

"As ordered."

"Lord Alpharius."

The voice floated over the new photo that obscured Horus, revealing the long red hair and skin.

(End of this chapter)