Emperor's Bane

Chapter 868 Interlude: The Travelers

Chapter 868 Interlude: The Travelers
I

"Jonson."

"Are you sure you want to launch an expedition against the outer darkness at this time?"

As the Lord of Caliban prepared to don his famous winged lion helmet, standing behind the Primarch, Jonson's Mentor made one last attempt to dissuade him.

Although Luther himself knew very well that his chances of success were extremely slim. After all, Jonson was never someone who could be easily moved by words: and the person who was most likely to convince him was not here at the moment.

But he still had to say it.

Action is action, attitude is attitude.

What's more: now is indeed not a good time to launch military action.

"Why do you think so?"

As Jonson put on his helmet, he turned to look at his former mentor. The Primarch's voice was one of genuine confusion, but it turned into a hoarse sound under the barrier of the lion helmet: a reassuring hoarseness.

"I should be the one asking you."

Luther discovered a problem: every time Jonson ended his expedition and returned to Caliban for a short rest and supplies, his sighing frequency would increase sharply, and the frequency of his heart pain and stomach problems would also increase steadily.

The Lion of Caliban is like a beast still living in the Great Crusade. He has no idea of the current state of the Empire and no interest in the rules of peace. He rushes through the magnificent order left by the Emperor, just constantly looking for the next new battlefield that can accommodate his savagery and bloodthirstiness.

Fortunately, although the Great Crusade has come to a successful end and although mankind can now fully claim sovereignty over the galaxy, there are still countless remnants of the old poison lurking in millions of dark corners that need to be eliminated by Jonson and his legion.

It is these endless enemies that prevent Zhuang Sen’s stubborn war mentality from becoming a hidden danger in peaceful years: their anger has nowhere to go, and the galaxy does not have to worry about being affected by their anger.

As expected, Luther had long turned a blind eye to Jonson's paranoia. He chose to indulge the Lion's resistance to the new era and watched the Caliban people continue the Great Crusade in his mind fifty years after the Emperor left.

And now, retribution has come.

Luther covered his forehead: Although during the transformation operation that year, the Spider Queen, who had personally worked on the old knight, confidently guaranteed that from now on, Luther would definitely not be troubled by any physical illness.

But the facts have proved that if there is really someone in the galaxy who can turn the Lord of Avalon's personal guarantee into a piece of waste paper, then this magical person must be Zhuang Sen: or his father.

So: When Luther, like any other frontier prince in the galaxy, was ready in the palace on Caliban, concentrating on the crisis that broke out in the orbit of Holy Terra, and always ready to find the most advantageous position for Caliban and the First Legion in the foreseeable storm after the new news came.

Jonson, his beloved Primarch, swaggered into his office.

Then he told him that the main force of the First Legion had been repaired, and the fleet's maintenance and weapon replenishment had also been completed: Jonson thought it was time for him to take most of the main fleet of the Dark Angels Legion, leave Caliban, and immediately head to the outer dark areas for a new expedition and preventive cleansing.

"..."

It took Luther three full minutes to realize what Jonson was talking about.

"At this critical moment when Horus is in full confrontation with Holy Terra and the Galaxy may be dragged into a new war at any time, you are going to take most of the main forces of the Dark Angels to the meaningless outer darkness. It is very likely that you will not be able to return for several years, and we will not be able to contact you at all!"

Hearing the roar that Luther had tried his best to suppress in his throat, the Lion King of Caliban seemed to feel something was wrong.

He frowned.

"Not for nothing, Luther."

"The outpost I placed on the home planet of the Randan Empire has sent a message that they have discovered a combined force of the Randan remnants and Mrs. Kra in the dark area outside the domain. We must eliminate these enemies before they grow to the point where they are able to threaten the security of the empire's homeland. This is a very important matter!"

"Then can't you wait a while?"

Luther was gasping for breath. He felt that in addition to his heart and stomach, his bronchi and cardiovascular and cerebrovascular organs were also becoming diseased at a rate visible to the naked eye: I wish there were no gods in charge of diseases in this galaxy.

"Horus is on Terra! He brings with him representatives of fifteen legions! They may meet at any time in battle on Holy Terra. Do you know what the split between the Warmaster and the High Lords means for the Imperium? And what it means for us on Caliban!"

"..."

"What does it mean?"

The lion king raised his eyebrows and asked like an innocent child.

There was a relaxed smile on his face.

"My dear Luther: Why are you worried about a conflict between Horus and Terra?"

"why?"

This question, which was so simple that it was even a bit offensive to one's intelligence, made Luther feel confused.

How should he answer: How should he explain this fact that everyone should know?
"Because the Emperor is no longer with us: if Horus insists..."

"The Emperor is gone?"

Jonson interrupted Luther.

Then just stare at him.

In nearly fifty years, Luther had never felt such a vivid smile on Jonson's body: the Caliban man seemed to be really amused by his mentor, the corners of his stiff mouth were obviously raised, and the muscles under the armor were trembling because of the involvement.

"Ha ha ha ha……"

Jonson's laugh had never been so easy.

He smiled for several minutes, then ignored Luther and packed his things. When the Primarch finally finished packing his things, he walked to the door, then turned his head slightly and nodded to his mentor as a farewell.

At the same time, Jonson answered Luther's confusion with an almost compassionate attitude.

"Luther."

"The reason why I chose to set off now is because the only way to the old domain of Randan is about to be covered by the subspace storm. If I set off a few days later, my fleet will most likely be delayed for at least two years. The defenders of the Randan outpost may also encounter unexpected events."

"As for your question..."

Jonson glanced at his knight mentor with a slight smile on his face.

"Luther, do you know why I only sent Corswayn to Terra on my behalf?"

"Because I know better than anyone."

"The Emperor just has things to do: the Emperor just subjectively doesn't want to come out for the time being."

"As for worrying about his safety: Are you worried that someone might be able to hurt the monarch of the human empire?"

"Believe me?"

"Only someone like Horus, who knows nothing and is not trusted at all, would think like this."

Ⅳ

"Worried about my father's safety?"

"It's ridiculous."

Perturabo casually drew a red cross on a piece of written paper, symbolizing negation, and then he habitually crumpled it up, held it in his palm, and closed his eyes.

The psychic flame summoned by the Lord of Olympia was the same color as steel, but its power was no different. The paper ball that was tough enough to resist bullets was reduced to nothing but wisps of white smoke.

After seeing this scene, different colors flashed in the pupils of the remaining people in the room.

Thinking, inquiry, curiosity and ambition.

But there was no awe or jealousy: after all, they were all [Perturabo].

They were all Perturabo himself: though they were all different within themselves.

Perturabo, who had just left Olympia, was at his most ruthless, representing the cruelty of the Primarch himself; while Perturabo, on the eve of the expedition to the Hrud, was a mirror that the current Primarch held up for himself, from which he could learn from the mistakes he had made in the past.

But the most "favored" was the youngest, Perturabo, the biological son who had never even met his adoptive father, for he was the most curious of them all, and in a way the most fearless: he would always ask questions whenever possible, and the Primarch himself would always answer him.

Like a teacher: the teacher Perturabo had hoped for in his youth but never had.

This time too.

"I'm just curious."

The boy raised his head and looked at the Primarch's work desk curiously: the piles of straw papers were filled with various formulas and methods that Perturabo had continuously derived for his arrogant ideals, most of which had far exceeded the limits of the galaxy.

"Since our progress here is hampered and there will be no critical breakthroughs in the short term, why don't we go to Terra? Horus is right in his letter. The safety of the Emperor is related to the survival of the entire Imperium."

"I don't deny this."

Perturabo paused his writing, put his hands behind his back haughtily, and looked at his youngest self with a teacher-like attitude.

"But it's this kind of insignificant worry that really strikes me as ridiculous."

"To this day, there are still so many people who believe that the Emperor, our father, who single-handedly united the scattered humanity after the Age of Strife and reconquered the entire galaxy in less than two centuries, would be plotted against by his powerless High Lords."

"How can they plot? What ability and courage do they have to plot?" "But the Emperor has not appeared in public for a long time. This is a reality."

"so what?"

Perturabo smiled.

"Is this something to worry about?"

After saying this, the Primarch pointed to his iron door which had not been opened for a long time, and then pointed to his desk and himself.

"In the eyes of the Iron Warriors, I haven't appeared in public for a long time. I haven't opened the door to meet any of my descendants for a long time. Is it because of this that they are worried that my iron robot will plot against me?"

"Same reason, little one."

"I would rather believe that the Emperor is just like me now: while I am indulging in a great plan that mortals cannot understand, my father is carrying out a great plan in his eyes for his ambitions, or for the future of mankind and the entire galaxy."

"What the common folks thought and what the common folks worried about were nothing compared to the miracles in our hands: he didn't want to see them, because solving their puzzles was not as important as getting on with his work."

"And Horus: there is no way he could fail to understand the simple truth of this."

"He was just too concerned, or maybe he just turned a blind eye: he didn't want to believe that in a plan that the Emperor had decided to invest everything in, there was no place for him, and he didn't even have the qualifications to know. He would rather believe that there was really something wrong with the Emperor."

"My brother is a pathetic man."

"His ability and vision determine that this is all he will pursue in his life."

"Longing for your father's gaze?"

"I would never do that again after the first moment I met my adopted father."

The Primarch grinned: it undoubtedly gave him pleasure to lash out at his best brother.

"So, I just sent Frix to deal with our Warmaster."

"Aren't you worried that Horus will be dissatisfied with this perfunctory attitude that is visible to the naked eye?"

"Why is he dissatisfied?"

"On the contrary, he was too satisfied."

Perturabo groaned.

"Do you think Horus is really willing to share this glory with others?"

"Let me tell you, if there are too many Primarchs on Terra, our Warmaster will feel uneasy in his heart. He hopes that we will send their respective deputies, so that we can show the positions of each legion and will not cover up his own light."

"Believe me, when Horus approached the Emperor, his greatest wish was that only he and the Emperor were present. Anyone else standing within sight would be regarded as a dark cloud by the Warmaster: unless you were using a camera to record their father-son love."

"You seem to know him well?"

The boy tilted his head in confusion.

"But I don't remember you having a deeper relationship with the Wolf God."

"You're closer to Morgan than that?"

"None of that matters."

Perturabo did not answer directly, but walked to the desk again.

He looked at the data and drawings.

"Neither Morgan nor Horus matters in the face of my ultimate plan."

"When I succeed, when I stand on the top of the mountain and look down at them, it doesn't matter which of them stands higher. The eagle in the sky doesn't care which rabbit is lying and which rabbit is standing."

"But the premise is that the eagle can really soar into the sky, right?"

The boy smiled.

"But the fact is: our plan to open up a new world is not going smoothly."

"I know."

The Primarch nodded, a rare note of frustration in his voice.

"I can think of several plans, but this galaxy has no foundation to realize them."

"It's so simple, but we are stuck with the difficulties we have."

"You know what: I suddenly understand Terra's ridiculous tithe now."

"We are all dancing with shackles. The solutions that can help us are either far beyond the current technological limit, or have been proven not to be a truly desirable path by the crises that have erupted in the past. The rest are clearly written on the red list that the Emperor regards as enemies."

"And I currently have no intention or strength to bear my father's wrath."

"so what should I do now?"

The boy took a step forward.

"We have no time to waste: unless the Wolf God can get an answer that satisfies everyone on Terra, the future of the galaxy will become even more confusing, but the division and conflict between the Moon Wolves and Holy Terra is indeed foreseeable."

“War may not be far away.”

"I know."

The primarch nodded.

Then he stretched out his hand and overturned all the drawings to the ground at once.

“So, I’ve been thinking about it.”

"If the real universe doesn't work: maybe we have to look for a new world."

“A piece of fertile soil that can support us to turn all the plans in our minds into reality.”

"Subspace?"

"maybe."

The Primarch shook his head, his iron eyes gleaming dangerously.

"But my instinct tells me no."

He stretched out his finger and pointed to the distant future in the void.

"How to have enough supplies: a huge amount of supplies for outsiders."

“We may perhaps be able to hammer a nail into the new world of our dreams: we may not be able to open up the vast space we imagine, but we can carve out a preliminary foothold that can accommodate us and our tools, and let us continue our plans there.”

"Then, once you enter it, the constraints of reality will naturally cease to exist."

"We will have enough time and conditions to slowly think about the next solution."

"..."

“But it’s risky, isn’t it?”

“There are risks in any plan.”

Perturabo just smiled.

"But before that, we need to face a more realistic problem."

"That is……"

"For this simple step."

"We need to extract as much wealth and value from the land of Olympia as possible."

"as well as……"

Perturabo paused, his fingers slowly clenching into fists.