Emperor's Bane

Chapter 880 Terra Crisis - Death Penalty Can Be Spared
"I saw!"

“I saw it!”

"Those eyes... ahem... those..."

"Light blue with a hint of dead white... ahem... a pair of snake-like eyes!"

------

For some people, the Wolf God's current success does not meet their expectations.

Of course, the Eyes lurking in the shadows would not be pleased if the Warmaster were defeated and powerless.

For these people, or [them], only the real universe where both sides are defeated and rivers of blood flow is the beautiful utopia worth singing praises: if peace and unity unfortunately become the theme of the galaxy, they don't mind extending their invisible hands in the shadows to restore order.

But more often than not, they prefer to send those capable and arrogant generals to complete the turning points for them that are enough to make millions of people wail.

Maybe it was a gunshot, maybe it was a cup of poison, or maybe it was a long-planned accident and coincidence: human solidarity is often more fragile than we think. As long as they are given an excuse that sounds reasonable, no one would mind raising the butcher knife against their compatriots.

One bullet can start a war.

A cup of poison can overthrow a dynasty.

An accident can overturn a prosperous era.

And in this case: it is not incomprehensible that an empire could be overthrown by an unexpected shell.

This was not an intentional act of evil.

This only revealed the true colors of the two hypocritical people on the Shanzhen, who had already regarded each other as enemies but still forced themselves to smile and pretend to be united in front of everyone.

Unity and peace are illusions.

Only war and competition are the only right way to make mankind and the galaxy truly great.

Now, he will ensure it all himself.

"..."

Under the dark shadow of the hood, a pair of light blue eyes watched his work with satisfaction.

In front of him was a scene that was enough to drive any Omnissiah believer crazy: a heavy macrocannon belonging to the Spirit of Vengeance was now drowned in the harsh sound of metal friction. The steaming mist and the high-temperature bubble tube all indicated that it had just fired a deadly death missile.

And this shell is about to kill more lives than all of its brothers and sisters.

But what is really strange is that this space behemoth, which is as huge as a building and requires hundreds of strong workers using gantries, cranes, power cables and dredging pipes to barely drive, has no one to serve and drive it at this time.

Instead, there were pale blue veins as thick as pythons. They looked like electric wires, or like some kind of element formed after the materialization of psychic energy. They were divided into thousands of branches of different sizes, clinging to the heavy macro cannon in front of them like vines, driving it to operate.

After this behemoth of war let out its earth-shaking roar, the figure under the hood took a step forward and stretched out his hand towards the void in front of him. As the space in his palm gradually became vague and distorted, thick blue wheat veins were obediently drawn into it. In the blink of an eye, there was nothing left on Hong Pao's body.

If it weren't for the high temperature and smoke that had not yet dissipated, it would look no different from its surrounding brothers.

In the heat that was hot enough to burn Astartes' iron skin, the figure under the hood was not affected at all. He just slowly did all the cleanup work, while silently whispering prayers that only he knew in a strange voice that sounded neither like a man nor a woman, neither like an old man nor a child.

"Oh, fate."

"As fickle as the moon."

“Good fortunes are the same as misfortunes.”

"It's full of twists and turns, vicious and cruel."

"Prayers are in vain, and all things are in vain."

"Only the Holy ..."

"boom!"

Before the most crucial sentence was uttered, taking advantage of the squeaking sound of steam as cover, a bomb emerged from the corner and quickly pounced on its prey.

"..."

The man seemed unaware of this, but when the bomb hit the back of his head, the figure under the hood floated like a reflection in the water, as if he did not exist in the real universe: the bomb passed through, leaving a black dent on the wall on the other side.

After regaining his physical form, he looked leisurely towards the corner where someone tried to kill him.

"...Tsk!"

In a tricky sniper spot that only the most experienced warriors could find, the Crow Prince with a ferocious look on his face retracted his pistol, which was still shaking.

Sevatar's face didn't look good.

This guy is definitely not normal: there is no way that the shot he just shot missed.

That being the case...

Without any hesitation, Sevatar grabbed the power halberd beside him, jumped out of his hiding place, and pounced on his prey in a dark corridor like an unstoppable deep blue storm.

Prince Crow knew very well what the cannonball that had just been fired meant: since he didn't have time to stop it before it happened, he had to bring the murderer to justice here.

In the corridor that seemed narrow due to the excessive accumulation of supplies, Sevatar was able to move smoothly like a dancer and rushed to his opponent in the blink of an eye. His angle was tricky but cautious. He noticed that the opponent seemed to have obtained some weapon, which was so strange that he could not describe it in words.

But this did not distract his attention. The roar of the power halberd was still drowned out by the harsh high-pitched sound of the steam: in the thick white fog, they seemed to be performing a silent pantomime.

The serpentine blade was as fast as lightning, and Sevatar successfully occupied one of his favorite angles: so far, no one has been able to block such a perfect blow.

Of course: so far.

When the unsuspecting weapon easily blocked his full-strength attack, the Prince of Crows realized that the situation was far beyond his control: before his body could react, he was surprised to find that the opponent in front of him had already moved.

The shadow under the hood rolled, dodging the attack, gracefully blocking the Death Blade stabbed by the Crow Prince, and then retaliated, moving closer to Sevatar, the sharp edge of the blade illuminating the remaining surprise in the latter's pupils.

Everything seemed to happen in just a moment: a moment in which Sevastata didn't even have time to draw back his blade.

Too fast, too perfect...

This is simply not something that ordinary people can do.

In front of this guy, Sevatar was as clumsy as a child who had not yet learned to walk.

Before his body could react, heart-wrenching pain ran through his entire chest. Sevatar fell to the ground in a mess, but he did not lose his strength: as a wild child who grew up in Nostramo, he had long been accustomed to pain worse than this.

Even if his intestines were all over the ground, it would not affect the agility of the Prince of Crows.

As soon as he fell to the ground, Sevatar rolled over quickly, not caring about the dust seeping into his wound, which made him almost faint from the pain: such strong vitality obviously surprised his opponent. While the opponent was hesitating, the Prince of Crows had retreated to a safe enough place.

But this did not make him feel at ease.

Sevatar covered his wound, feeling his life slipping away rapidly. Blood gushed out from between his teeth, making his voice sound strange.

But his eyes remained firm: he realized what he was fighting against.

Such a powerful force could never be achieved by even the strongest among the Astartes: there is only one humanoid creature that can possess such power.

"Primarch?"

The Prince of Crows whispered in disbelief.

He was fighting against a Primarch?
A Primarch, bombarding Terra, trying to frame the Wolf Lord and everyone on board this ship?

This this……

Even someone as smart as Sevatar couldn't help but lose his brain in the face of such a horrific fact, but he didn't notice one detail: even though he was surrounded by the squeaking high-temperature steam, his keen hearing under the hood could still hear what the Prince of Crows was saying.

His murderous intent became obvious.

"damn it……"

Sevastata struggled to stand up, no longer intending to continue fighting.

He is not that madman Sigismund.

He has to live.

Apart from anything else: leaving the Eighth Legion to Conrad was not a future that could be optimistic.

Looking at the opponent rushing towards him: his speed was faster than the White Scars' motorcycle, Sevatar had to think of a countermeasure urgently.

Then, he bent his body slightly, squeezed out the last bit of strength in the intense pain, and the power halberd in his hand flashed with cold light, and with a roar, it was shot out like a sharp arrow.

But his opponent did not dodge at all, his figure twisted like a mirror image again, the power halberd passed through and fell powerlessly on the ground further behind: the eyes under the hood glanced at the thrown weapon, obviously confused by the Crow Prince's self-abandonment, although this did not stop him from coming to take his life.

Unfortunately, no chance.

Sevatar grinned, and even though he was still coughing up blood, he still laughed heartily: he had bought himself enough time.

The Prince of Crows had never been more grateful.

He has an aunt who is reliable, hardworking, capable, and most importantly, loves him.

On his right wrist, the bracelet tightly wrapped around the skin was carved into a cunning little silver snake, but as Sevatar silently recited in his heart, a silver-white light swallowed up the Prince of Crows' entire body in the blink of an eye. Then, in the somewhat surprised eyes of his opponent, Sevatar showed a mocking smile to the man who could have killed him.

A second before the strange weapon with no name was swung towards his neck, the feeling of weightlessness successfully captured the Prince of Crows and dragged him into the bizarre passage.

The passage was not long, and before Sevatar could even take his next breath, he fell heavily to the ground.

The scene in front of him had changed from those cold pupils to Rana's worried face.

"Cough...cough..."

As soon as he fell to the ground, Sevatar ignored his still bleeding chest, the pain all over his body as if he had broken bones, and the screams of the people around him: he grabbed Lana's hand and wanted to tell him everything he saw immediately, but as soon as he opened his mouth, blood rushed into his lungs first.

He spat out large mouthfuls of blood, and only then realized how serious the wound was.

For the life of the Primarch, he had never been so badly hurt before.

The Prince of Crows heard someone shouting, calling for a doctor and help, and he felt someone grab his hand, first Lana, then Corswayn, and then it seemed to be Gage or Corax, or someone else.

He saw many faces, Sanguinius, Fulgrim and Horus, they all surrounded him, worried or inquiring, until Sevatar was finally able to make a sound: he used his last strength to push away the medical staff who came to treat him, then grabbed someone's hand, and struggled to squeeze out everything he saw in a voice that everyone could hear.

That man, those eyes, that fight.

He could feel that as he spoke, the noise around him was gradually dying down and everyone remained quiet.

The Wolf Shepherd God, whose arm was tightly grasped, had a dark complexion, his brows were furrowed together, and anger was brewing in his heart.

Rana was on the other side, watching the medical staff treating Prince Crow's injuries, while looking at everyone present with a wary look.

Morgan's Grand Steward still remembered what Sevatar had said to him at the time, and his eyes wandered among the crowd, searching for the Primarch named Alpharius.

He found it.

He saw the pale Hydra, which was lowering its head, wondering what it was thinking.

But one thing is certain.

Alpharius, now, was furious.

------

"So, Horus is saying that there is a third party that wants to destroy the relationship between him and Terra?"

In the old emphasis of the seal bearer, one could hear a hint of fatigue that was too obvious.

"Not Horus."

The guards of the Imperial Guard standing behind him lowered their heads.

"It was Officer Hadrian, the guard we sent to the Vengeful Spirit to oversee Horus and the other Primarchs. He just sent back accurate information: Sevatar of the Eighth Legion engaged a mysterious individual next to a macro cannon that had just finished firing, and was quickly severely injured. He managed to escape back to the upper deck using a psychic device given by the Primarch of the Second Legion."

"Sevita?"

The Sigillite knows this name.

"Are you sure he was injured?"

The hidden meaning of this sentence is obvious.

It was a coincidence that Sevatar was seriously injured just after the shell was fired: considering that he was not in anyone's sight when the shell was fired, this might have been a self-inflicted wound that looked real enough.

The imperial guards could naturally understand what this meant.

So he raised his head and looked at the seal holder with some pity.

"grown ups."

"There are surveillance cameras on the Spirit of Vengeance."

"Although they were only deployed in certain areas and did not capture the real perpetrator's appearance, they did capture Sevita's whereabouts. Based on the location of the shots and the time when the shells were fired, Sevita did not have the opportunity to commit the crime: he rushed there after the shelling occurred."

"..."

Malcador pinched his brow.

It seems that he has been very busy recently. The series of black swan events have made his thinking dull: he actually made such a low-level mistake.

"in addition."

The Imperial Guard paused.

"Horus is willing to vouch for him."

"Horus?" Malcador smiled.

"He himself has not cleared himself of suspicion."

"The Warmaster's original words were: Although he is now a possible suspect, Sevatar himself has nothing to do with this matter: he is fulfilling the duty of an imperial warrior to track down the enemy."

"He is quite open-minded."

The seal bearer narrowed his eyes.

"In other words, Horus still insists that he is innocent?"

"There is no direct evidence that the Wolf God personally gave the order to bombard Terra."

"And Hadrian assured me that he has been following Horus since he left the Phalanx and never found any problems with him."

"Expected."

Macador coughed.

"Unless he is mad, Horus has no reason to attack Terra now: the Phalanx is right next to the Vengeful Spirit, and Dorn will not forgive treason just because of his friendship with him."

Then, the seal bearer turned around and looked at the silver-armored guards who lowered their heads and remained silent.

"So, how is the situation in the inner court?"

“Overall it’s still under control.”

The guards hesitated.

"Some people insist on punishing Horus, but the Emperor gave us absolute power before he left, and required the team in the palace to obey your orders, so they can only express their dissatisfaction for the time being: But please forgive me for being frank, Your Excellency the Sigillite, this matter cannot..."

"I know."

Malcador nodded.

Of course he knew.

The performance of the fifty guards sent by the Emperor had far exceeded Malcador's expectations.

With a more rational attitude and the absolute power granted by the Lord of Mankind before his departure, they actually helped Malcador to successfully suppress the palace guards who had almost gone crazy after Terra was bombarded.

To be honest, even if this was Morgan's strict selection guaranteed by the Emperor, it was still a bit too exaggerated: the Sigillite even had to wonder whether the Spider Queen had used some kind of power similar to the subspace in this process.

Or is the genetic gap between him and Erda so great?

……

He was actually a little proud.

However, even the most rational Guards are not dough that can be kneaded and flattened by the Scepter: the fact that the Terra Palace was bombarded is enough to drive these golden warriors crazy. Even the more special and calm ones do not mean that they will give up revenge.

Detaining Horus, and even all the Primarchs and Legion envoys from the Vengeful Spirit, and interrogating them one by one to track down the real culprit who dared to desecrate the Imperial Palace was already a relatively mild call from these people: there were also voices eager to directly place the Wolf God under house arrest or even convict him.

Not only in the inner court, but also in the High Lords' Council and the Imperial Senate, who also learned the news, the voices demanding revenge could not be suppressed at all: although most people did not dare to say anything due to the authority of the Sigillite, they obviously could not accept that after the sanctity of Terra was broken, the most suspicious murderer could still escape unscathed.

Of course, the reason why the Senate was so angry was completely different from that of the Imperial Guards.

They have more realistic considerations.

No matter how outsiders view the Warmaster's action of gathering various countries and marching troops to Luoyang, it is undeniable that the Wolf God's action did fundamentally shake the already declining authority of Holy Terra: he truly made people realize that there is a second center of power in the Empire, and that this center of power is more powerful.

Although Terra had actually been unable to govern the entire galaxy since the Sundering of Ullanor, people generally believed that the Council of High Lords was still the supreme power core of the entire human empire: while the various Primarchs could only call the shots in their own fiefdoms.

Until today, the Wolf Shepherd God broke the imprint of everyone's thinking with his actions. For the first time, people realized the power held by the Imperial Warmaster and realized that the High Lords Council was not the only one standing at the pinnacle of power second only to the Emperor: they always have a second choice.

And this new master seems to be much more generous than those Terrans.

For Terra, the situation was bad enough at this point: if the Vengeful Spirit could escape unscathed after bombarding Terra, then the High Lords would have no reason to think about ruling the galaxy, for no one would respect such a weak central authority.

Therefore, the Warmaster must be punished: whether he is wronged or not.

This is the bottom line recognized by everyone.

But the question is: how to punish?

To what extent will the punishment be?
House arrest? Detention? Punishment? No matter how loud the calls were, they were just calls after all. The position of Sigillite and the orders left by the Emperor before his departure were enough for Malcador to suppress all the calls by himself.

But at the same time, he also has to do his best to bear all the pressure brought by this matter.

The seal holder is also in a dilemma.

He knew that this was most likely not done by Horus, not only because he had no reason, but also because he had no conditions at all: as early as when the Warmaster's flagship just entered the solar system, agents who were absolutely loyal to the Sigillite had already mixed up.

Malcador had long known that Horus only had three Luna Wolves with him, not to mention Malohurst, whom he had secretly sent to Mars. Yes, the Sigillite knew of the little tricks of the Warmaster and the Forge-General, but Kalbohar's rebellious intentions had long been obvious, and there was no need to stop them.

In addition, only the minimum number of personnel required to maintain daily operations was retained on the Vengeful Spirit. All combat personnel were not on board, and all shells were sealed, leaving only the minimum amount for preventive combat. In many cases, Horus even needed the accompanying Space Wolves and his guests to help maintain the operation of his ship.

The Wolf Shepherd God acted so exaggeratedly in order to prevent any accidents from happening during the journey to Luoyang.

He had no reason to do this at all.

Malcador knew better than anyone that the Warmaster was innocent in this matter, and he could vaguely guess who was the real person behind this tragedy.

But what does it matter: even if we know the answer, even if there is a powerful person who holds the seal, it is impossible to be realistic and let the warmaster off so easily.

This is not the answer people need.

This wasn't the answer Terra needed.

Someone has to pay the price for all that is burning in front of the seal holder.

Horus is the best choice.

He is also the only candidate.

"..."

Malcador heard his own sigh, but it was lost in the fire and the shouting.

The seal bearer raised his head and saw the scene in front of him that was enough to cause anyone to suffer a cardiac arrest.

The land was burning, glory was crying, and the heroic statues forged from tempered fine gold and ceramic steel were either violently torn into pieces or stained with a dark and hideous look by the billowing smoke.

On both sides of the great road, there were echoes of weeping and mourning, and the bodies of pilgrims were piled up one after another, at the feet of thousands of statues of the greatest human heroes who had long since passed away: they watched all this, and bloody tears flowed from their dust-free pupils.

Eternity's Gate.

The main hall of the Imperial Palace, the end of the Heroes' Gallery, the last checkpoint leading to the Emperor's residence, the end of the life path of all pilgrims, the sanctuary where every brave and fearless warrior dreams of resting in peace after death. Its existence, even more than the Terran Senate or even the Imperial Palace itself, proves the Emperor's supreme status in the hearts of all the people of the galaxy.

But at this moment, it is burning brightly.

The Spirit of Vengeance's artillery fire did not hit anywhere else, but hit the last barrier separating the Imperial Palace from the secular world, the one-kilometer-wide Gate of Eternity, which was engraved with the names of every hero in the Great Crusade and became the only victim of this bombardment.

The banner hanging in front of the gate, inscribed with the names of thousands of the greatest heroes, no longer existed under the dual destruction of flames and shock waves. The imperial guards and mortal elites guarding here were seriously injured and burning with anger. There were also tens of thousands of devout people who had come here to worship, now wailing in the flames, praying that their Emperor would perform a miracle.

But there are no miracles in the galaxy.

When the Sigillite finally dealt with the most urgent matter at hand and hurried to the ruins of the Eternal Gate, the situation was even worse than he had expected: the Empire's Sanctuary of Glory had been almost completely destroyed, as if someone had done it intentionally.

Had the shell landed further forward, the palace gate itself would have been affected: Malcador could not even imagine the sight of the gate behind him, carved with the image of the Emperor himself, being destroyed, and what was happening in front of him was enough to make him uneasy.

Fortunately, the destructive flames finally stopped not far in front of the gate.

Fortunately among misfortunes.

The seal holder sighed: he sighed more today than in the past ten years combined.

He didn't even have the energy to comfort himself: What if the gate itself was not affected? The blazing Path of Glory ahead was enough to push the situation to a dead end.

How should he deal with the aftermath?

Detain the Warmaster?

Or to ask for punishment?

This simple-sounding question hit Malcador's head like a hammer.

No, he couldn't even be sure whether Horus was willing to cooperate with him.

damn it……

Why are these Primarchs so troublesome: first Magnus, then Horus.

Then who should...

"grown ups."

The Custodian came up behind him, and Malcador could hear the suppressed anger in his voice.

"Communication from the Vengeful Spirit."

"explain."

"Horus agreed to your request. He said that he would take off all his weapons and would not bring any armed attendants with him. He would go to the Phalanx to meet you again. But he hoped that the Primarch and the Legion's envoys could accompany him, and that Dorn could continue to serve as an overseer."

“A reasonable request.”

The person who holds the seal has priority in accidents.

"I thought he would hesitate for a while."

"In fact..."

The guard hesitated, as if he didn't know how to describe the next sentence.

"The Wolf Shepherd God's attitude is not nervous, but more..."

"More what..."

“I don’t know how to describe it.”

The Imperial Guard shook his head.

"Should it be... more relaxed?"

"Calm down?"

The palmer smiled.

"really interesting."

"As far as I can remember, there is only one Primarch who can remain calm in this situation."

"Who?"

"..."

Malcador did not respond to the Imperial Guards, he just looked silently to his left.

There, there was a not-so-old statue that luckily escaped the power of the shell: it was a giant statue about ten meters high, and it could be clearly seen that it was carved of an Astartes warrior, wearing a cloak, with a sword inserted into the ground in one hand and a huge shield in the other, like a warrior guarding the gate of the palace under the order of the Emperor.

Although there is no engraving of any legion marking the side of this statue, anyone can tell which legion this unknown man represents by the sword and wing symbols on his simple armor, the roaring lion's shoulder guards, and the almost iconic winged helmet: which primarch's descendant has such honor to silently guard the last line of defense of the palace without anyone noticing.

“It’s like it happened yesterday.”

Malcador walked up to it and found that the statue had not been affected by the bombardment at all: the statues in almost the same position as it were more or less affected, but this statue remained as bright and clean as new.

“But no matter how many years have passed: this caution and calmness far surpasses everyone else.”

The seal bearer laughed.

He reached out: revealing the miracle.

With the touch of the person who holds the seal directly, a layer of silver-white shadow gradually emerged, wrapping the statue and protecting it from the intrusion of the outside world: no one knows how many years it has been running diligently.

"..."

Malcador was silent, and no one knew what he was thinking at this moment?
"Why can't we be as united as they are? And think about each other like them?"

"..."

The seal bearer shook his head, not expecting an answer.

"That's it, let's go."

"Go to the Mountain Array."

"I think I know how we should deal with our warmaster who made such a big mistake."

The imperial guards looked over.

"You... have an idea?"

And Malcador just smiled.

"The death penalty can be avoided, but..."

He did not continue.

(End of this chapter)