This is our Warhammer journey

Chapter 567 Father? — Just how much enlightenment do you need to utter those two words?

Correct.

Next, Magnus.

Now, immediately, right away.

Once they have identified their goal, the Senko often possess unparalleled drive and determination.

Ahriman is clearly one of the best among them.

Those souls who attempted to challenge its authority amidst the chaos wailed as they were swept into the scepter in its hands.

More intense torment and pain will unleash a greater power within the soul.

Coincidentally, it was these Dark Eldar who perfected this technique.

These vile souls, neither wanting to fall into Slaanesh's arms nor give up their dissolute lives, found this ending perfectly suited to them.

Tzeentch's chosen one did not want to linger in this alien dead city for long, and not only because he knew time was of the essence. Surrounded by the skilled forces of Chaos and the space necromancers, the city of Comoros exuded a strong sense of desolation, a defeat so profound that even Ahriman himself felt as if he had been infected by it.

These iron men from 60 million years ago were not, as Ahriman instinctively expected, a deal between the empire and some weak dynasty, nor were they uninvited guests obtained through fraudulent means.

They resolutely carried out measures that served the interests of the empire, steadfastly pursuing the eradication of any organic life, while leaving behind those ancient machines that, after expanding dozens or hundreds of times, revealed their true forms.

Their methods were so complex and their forces so powerful that, apart from those special human squads, Ahriman's spies couldn't find any other humans among them.

He instinctively rejected the idea of ​​arresting a human for interrogation.

Having learned his lesson from the Eldar, Ahriman knew he couldn't repeat such actions. Otherwise, even if it was just stealing a soul, a few squads of Grey Knights or even the Chosen Ones would be enough to give him a hard time.

During his previous audience with Magnus, Ahriman chatted with Kayan and realized that he, who spent all his time online, was indeed behind the times.

Leaving aside the four sinister figures of the Wings of Dawn, there's no need to discuss the Primarchs who returned. Over the years, the Emperor has stopped acting altogether, bestowing blessings on anyone he finds pleasing, showing no fear of his relentless march toward end and death.

The Chaos Traitors laugh at the Empire's decline and ignorance every day, but when it comes to actually fighting the Empire's soldiers head-on, they all wave their hands and remain silent.

But when Ahriman had extracted the last bit of value from the sacrifice and was about to communicate with Magnus, he suddenly discovered that the Primarch who had come to him was no longer available.

Primarch Magnus learned his lesson well after the devastating civil war of the Burning of Prospero, instinctively rejecting all external information that attempted to interfere with his judgment.

Inevitably, this left the coalition, now reduced to a mere few hundred men and organized under Magnus's orders, to become increasingly difficult to coordinate.

Unfortunately, given the past actions of a certain Treacherous Chosen, he was rather unlucky to be included in Magnus's scope.

As Ahriman prepared to unleash his communication spell, he discovered he could not find Magnus.

Damn it.

Ahriman's expression froze.

Of all times.

But before he could shake off the bitterness that was beginning to rise in his heart, activate the backup plan, and figure out how to contact Magnus, the Tzeentch wizard inexplicably felt a surge of affection from Magnus.

Chi!

A hook-like weapon, bound by invisible chains and guided by bloodline, emerged from the subspace and embedded itself into Ahriman's soul at a speed that even Ahriman could not react to.

In theory, the Web has a natural ability to isolate itself from both the real universe and the subspace, which allows many physical locks from the real universe and mystical searches from the subspace to be avoided by simply hiding in the Web.

But coincidentally, Ariman is currently in Comoros.

The Necromancers of space relied on the fragments of the Stargods to destroy the ancient psionic structures of the Eldar empires, creating an environment suitable for their own operations.

With Victor's initiative, the Chaos Gods tore open a rift in the warp. Born from the most extreme emotions of life, they knew nothing of restraint and instinctively polluted everything around them.

Ironically, the internet became the most vulnerable link in this chain.

Azek Ahriman was stunned beneath the gold and blue mask.

The chains were deeply embedded in the soul, pulling it back to where it came from, like an elephant or a rhinoceros dragging a beast. This force was so direct and ruthless, like a hunting deep-sea monster eager to feed flesh into its already thirsty stomach.

Fortunately, as a wizard who was able to enslave Birac ten thousand years ago, Ahriman was quite skilled in magic.

With the added favor of a certain master of all changes, his preordained soul became even more unshakeable.

Ahriman's reaction was remarkably swift.

The prepared offerings were quickly reconstructed, and the transaction with the warp began to be restructured according to the needs of their master.

Blue flames began to erupt from his body, and he gripped his scepter tightly, driving it deep into the ground.

Cracks began to appear in the ground within a radius of several hundred meters, and blue flames emanated from Ahriman, penetrating deep into the earth like mortise and tenon joints.

Clang!
In that brief moment, so short that even an Astartes could barely react, the chains tightened instantly.

Ahriman's body swayed.

hum-

Then he could hear a buzzing in his ears.

It started off low and gradually grew louder, like a sound coming from next door.

Ahriman subconsciously touched his face.

His cheeks were soaked with sweat.

He was lying on his back on the ground.

The sounds rushed back, muffled, soft, and sharp.
"what!"

The spirituality in his eyes was finally captured after a brief dissipation, and Ahriman immediately exhaled the air that had almost suffocated him.

He struggled to sit up, and looking around, relieved to have survived the ordeal.

Dozens of kilometers away, in the area extending all the way to the nearest warp portal, those towering spires had vanished.

It vanished without a trace, leaving only the smooth edges of the spirit bone and the twisted, broken unknown metal structure, along with the creature within reflecting a dripping bloody light.

The main building below was shrouded in smoke and dust, along with the two entities fighting each other within it.

The ground was covered in sand and gravel, and dust was flying everywhere.

He sat up, bricks and pieces rolling off his armor.

"Ariman! What are you doing now?!"

All that could be heard was Victor's furious cursing. The Lord of Youdu, who was already extremely dissatisfied with Ahriman's false information, wanted to get rid of this plague god who only brought disaster after a series of unsuccessful assassination attempts.

His instinctive intuition told him that although it was a universal consensus that Comoros was being attacked, the fact that the situation had become so abstract was inextricably linked to this chosen one of Tzeentch.

Boom!

Another chain reaction of tremors caused by the collapse of numerous buildings drowned out Victor's angry curses.

After a flash of light, a huge fire cloud rose into a mushroom shape, and he felt the air surging as more debris rained down.

The tower, symbolizing the supreme power of the Comoros, crumbled in this sudden confrontation and collapsed like an avalanche.

My soul was preserved.

Ahriman leaned against the wall with one hand, which had a smooth, cut surface.

In return, the cluster of spires that symbolized Victor's supreme power was ripped open by taut chains.

It's clear that the Chosen Ones have no intention of offering compensation.

His legs went weak, his eardrums stung, and the sounds around him were as muffled as if he were underwater.

He leaned against the wall, supporting himself, with a mass of unrecognizable flesh beside him.

An Eldar governor, something—perhaps a piece of terracotta—was blasted away by a psionic shock, slicing him in two, his head and most of an arm falling to Ahriman's right.

Blood splattered everywhere, and the falling dust clung to it like a thin film. His entire body, from head to toe, was covered in blood, even the cracks in his armor.

Space Necromancers and Dark Eldar rushed to the top of the wall, fighting with indistinct, incoherent roars, stepping on pieces of corpses torn to pieces by psionic shocks.

Ahriman opened his eyes, his soul's perception extending along the chains that were still wrapped around his body, though now powerless.

After a dizzying spin, as if being thrown into a washing machine, the air churned, opened up, and dust swirled, danced, and coalesced to form a giant pointed archway that appeared to be fused together from crystallized bones.

A cold light burned on the other side of the archway.

Yet another throne strewn with bones.

Ahriman recognized this.

Even though he was prepared for Magnus's appearance, Ahriman was still stunned when he actually faced the moment.

He actually chose his own sons, his own soldiers, his own last bloodline as sacrifices.

Where is Magnus, who was once willing to give everything for the legion, even his own life?

How could he act so matter-of-factly!

Ahriman felt a tightness in his throat; the fragility of his soul caused his body to lose strength.

He knelt on one knee and slammed his fist into the ground, as if the shattered earth beneath his feet represented his heartless father.

Such a casual remark, such a dismissive attitude.

He directly exploited his children's feelings and then took it for granted that they would be used as fuel for his ambitions.

Grief, anger, and bewilderment.
Countless emotions began to gather in Tzeentch's mind, but were eventually suppressed by his self-correction, which was called reason.

"Whoo~"

Ahriman breathed a sigh of relief.

Very well, now that we've survived Magnus's sacrifice, we can trace the source of the problem through the network. The goal is to keep Magnus alive, prevent him from getting involved in the Empire's messy affairs, fulfill our promise, work with him to figure out how to lift the Thousand Sons' red letter curse, and then rebuild the Legion.

As for the others, let's leave them aside for now.

Faced with the irresponsible Magnus, Ahriman, who had already found the route, was too lazy to think about anything else and just wanted to get the message across as quickly as possible and get through this mess.

Ahriman staggered around, straightened his armor, and swayed as he walked toward the rift leading to the warp.
-
The subspace, a hidden place that no one, except the main characters of the conflict, can detect.

"what happened?"

Without warning, the ritual had already begun. Amidst the bewildered and panicked cries of the thousand children, Magnus, who had gathered an unprecedented one-time power, was taken aback.

He instinctively looked in the direction his spell was pointing.

Most of the chains had already returned laden with offerings, while a small number remained suspended, floating silently as Magnus ceased exerting his power.

This is a very common situation.

After all, some of the thousand talents are on the network and cannot be searched, while others are watched by the Chaos Gods. The gods will not abandon their good actors, so it is normal that not all of them can be searched. In any case, it is a one-time power that unfolds through the connection between the Primarch and Astartes, so the difference between more or less is not significant, and the requirements are not very high.

But Magnus had a rather ominous premonition.

For some reason, although it was a pity that Ahriman was not sacrificed, it was also within expectations. However, following the chain that was trying to confront him, I felt a strong sense of filial piety.
-
Dawn, War Council.

"Father."

Ramses looked at the thousands with a headache.

"With what level of awareness do you say such things?"

"With all that I have, my life, my soul."

Issakar Orr looked at Ramses.

"For your path."

As a wise man who was primarily responsible for collecting past documents and attempting to reconstruct the entire history of human development from countless pieces of information during the Great Expedition, he should not have displayed such a fanatical attitude.

This is true.

He's nothing like those sick daddies kneeling in the back.

During his brief period of resurrection, he learned about the galaxy as it is today, and the Primarch as it is today.

They were troubled by the folly of the human empire ten thousand years later, yet also awestruck by the brilliance brought back by the Wings of Dawn.

The existence of Ramses allowed Issakar Orl, who had witnessed Magnus's true nature, to find his meaning as a warrior. He hoped to become a warrior under such a being and to gain the other's recognition.

He would give anything for that.

He knew that this might be wrong, imposing the meaning of his own existence on another person, someone he was meeting for the first time.

But Issakar Or

'But I can't do it.'

Ramses's face fell; he felt that the Astartes' unwavering determination was too much of a black hole, too much of a gravitational pull.

The key question is, can you say that the other person is bad?

High-quality humans who are almost completely and unconditionally loyal to you are extremely rare, yet Primarchs are never short of them.

If there was any mistake, it was in my own guidance.

That's why Ramses didn't want to take the blame.

Rather than making a mess of things by being resistant and perfunctory, it's better not to do it in the first place.

Because if you're going to do something, you have to do your best.

"Father!!!"

Faced with Ramses's dismissive attitude, the group of thousands were devastated.

Meanwhile, Arthur was still in control of the situation in the galaxy.

"Are we sure about the gods' activity routes?"

He asked the emperor, who had been pretending to be transparent, a question.

"It's settled. The core issue is still their own demands. They're all focused on Magnus and haven't realized our other objectives."

Faced with his eldest son's loud and secret plot, the emperor was speechless.

It is true that Lemanrus could not find his place.

Not only the Emperor, but also Magnus, the unfortunate one who became entangled with the wolf king through death, none of the gods knew where the wolf king was.

Because this kid also knew that he wasn't as good at hiding as Corax, and that he would be in trouble if the gods caught him in the warp.

Of course, Lemanrus was aware of this as well.

But he wasn't Saint Jereth after all. The Wolf King knew his own appeal, and it wasn't worth the gods risking everything to fight over him. So far, none of the fragments they had managed to raise a demon. On the contrary, the Emperor's side had managed to create Saint Jereth by simply piling up the fragments.

So the Wolf King's idea was to hide and plan the World Tree matter first. If something really happened, he would make a fuss and get through the first round. He himself couldn't understand why the All Father couldn't handle it.

You must believe in your invincible father and believe that you can weather the storm of this conspiracy.

Of course, Magnus knew this too.

If a decisive blow cannot be delivered, the intervention of higher-level beings is inevitable.

After all, Primarchs are highly sought after, and no one would complain about having too many. However, as members of the Imperial bloodline, although the Primarchs have vastly different personalities, they all share one common advantage.

That's confidence!
As long as I can kill Lemanrus before the gods, especially the emperor, get involved.

Then the above-mentioned problems are no longer problems.

"In addition, the intensity of activities targeting Mao Zedong has decreased."

The emperor added another sentence.

"reason."

"It seems to be due to practical factors."

The emperor explained.

"Conflicts in the galaxy have declined significantly. With you having resolved issues with the Eldar, Necromancers, Dwarves, and the Tau Empire, conflicts have essentially shrunk to just the three factions: humans versus the Terrans, Orks, and Chaos."

"Leaving aside the other two external threats, after systematically consolidating the Empire's power and unleashing a large number of combat forces, the Greenskins are under great pressure and have begun to deliberately avoid battles where the disparity in strength is too great."

"Of course, this does not mean that the Greenskins no longer pursue war. It's just that they have demonstrated a construction and development capability far exceeding that of the past in the process, and these facilities are also focused on serving the war."

The emperor, who was usually speechless in front of others, was surprisingly patient at this moment.

So you find that you keep losing in fights and don't get any enjoyment from the losses, so you don't want to play anymore, right?
Considering that Mao Erge was still being pounded by the Emperor's full-force punches in the warp, Arthur roughly guessed the outcome.

This should be a positive thing for the Netway Project, but we'll have to wait until this wave of fighting is over to investigate further.

"Information filtering, what about?"

Arthur then thought of the fake news that was flying all over the warp.

Treachery wanted to repeat his old tricks, and the others followed suit.

In other words, they now have a highly trusting leadership system, and have established an operating system based on their respective characteristics. Now, several important departments are about to be blown up.

"It can still be maintained."

Learning from Karna's techniques and using the Dawnbreakers' delivery channels, the Emperor, who was naturally enjoying the tribute, waved his hand to indicate that he was not under any pressure.

It's not like he's starting a battle with the gods; if he's prepared, intercepting these psionic threats shouldn't be a problem for him.

It's a triple firewall.

Corax is in charge of the real-world operations, while a group of Eldar in the Realm of No Form, led by the Clown God, are responsible for verifying information security. Ramses' outsourced authority also allows them to neutralize dangerous psionic information themselves. The Emperor only needs to deal with some thorny issues.

"Yes, thank you for your hard work, Your Majesty."

Arthur nodded, expressed his sincere gratitude, and then continued to make his request.

"Please continue to maintain smooth communication among the heads of all important departments. Report any emergencies promptly. If the main body is unable to control itself, rely on the pure souls we provide for power."

"Row."

The emperor nodded and remained silent.

"Ramesses".

After glancing at the awkward little scene, Arthur stepped in to save the day.

"Pay attention to the subspace. Chogochi just reported a psionic reaction with the characteristics of the Thousand Sons."

Ramses was immediately granted a pardon and jumped into the warp.

Then he casually opened a portal with a sign that read "Task Requirements," indicating that those of you Qianzi who didn't want to be idle could come and get some work done.

A large group of thousands of soldiers rushed inside.

A rustling sound of laughter came from all around.

Arthur looked around.

Azrael is still helping him control the battlefield.

The two old men, Kay and Galad, still handled military affairs with serious expressions, following the instructions of their younger generation, and appropriately relying on the wisdom of veterans to solve those thorny problems.

Grandmaster Samuel of Ravenwing was checking the accuracy of military affairs in the real universe, while Grandmaster Priest Saffor was compiling the latest Legion mental health report.

Everyone is diligently fulfilling their responsibilities.

No one laughed.

Arthur couldn't help but laugh and shake his head.

“I don’t quite understand, Arthur.”

Seeing that the player he feared most had run away, Guilliman seized the opportunity and looked with some surprise at Arthur, who was macroscopically manipulating the galaxy and seemed exceptionally at ease because his teammates were becoming increasingly reliable.

Why was Ramses so resistant to accepting the Thousand Sons?

"It's not that we're rejecting or excluding Senko."

Arthur shook his head.

"It's about rejecting that kind of relationship."

"Ok?"

Guilliman was even more surprised.

Shouldn't it be a matter of course for the Primarchs to take over the Legion?

Whether it's a father or an adult, they are ultimately bound by blood ties and naturally possess the power to rule the army.

Let me put it this way.

Arthur handed a detailed, prepared document to Azrael, instructing the Grand Steward to carry it out. After a moment's thought, he began to explain.

"Ramses desired an employment relationship where you contribute through labor, sacrifice, or other means, and I provide you with a realistic and acceptable return, cash on delivery."

That's great, what's the problem?
Guilliman frowned slightly, still somewhat confused, and waited patiently for what he would say next.

“But leading Senko is different. It means that he must take on the responsibility of a ‘father’, which is far more important than that of an employer.”

Arthur, amused by his friend's predicament, replied with a smile.

"It was precisely because he believed these warriors were willing to give unconditionally that he needed to be responsible for these warriors who had entrusted everything to him. Ramses did not think he was ready to take on such a responsibility, and of course he did not want to, but for any loyalist, material rewards were too palatable."

"When a human warrior stakes his life on us, all we can do is to respect them with the same weight and take responsibility for them."

Is that so?
Guilliman's tactical fadeaway.

It wasn't that I was surprised by Ramses's own thoughts.

Instead, they were surprised by Dawnwing's view of the Primarch's identity.

So there's so much to do to become a Primarch?

Isn't it enough for the emperor to just throw them in front of the legion and then use the coercive power of bloodline to force these warriors to obey him in order to satisfy his own needs, and to trample on their lives at will?

He didn't involve himself, but rather some of his brothers.

Angron and Peturabo were specifically named.

It turns out that the Primarch did not simply rely on this identity to become the master of the Legion and then control the Legion based on personal likes and dislikes.

We must also pay attention to their spiritual and cultural development, understand their personal needs, and respect their basic rights as human beings.
Are we also responsible for advising their behavior, teaching them knowledge, shaping their correct outlook on life and values, and playing an exemplary role in this process, fully recognizing the substantial differences between us, not engaging in unrealistic behavior, and then being held accountable for their actions?

Guilliman carefully recalled the attitudes of the three leaders of Dawnwing towards the Legion and found that although they had different personalities, they were all very similar in their attitudes towards the soldiers under their command.

Since you dared to put your life on my shoulders, I dare to do my best to take good care of your life.

Do you have such a prototype?
Of course there is.

The group of dark angels immediately revealed an arrogant expression.

We have two!
Not to be outdone, the group of extreme warriors also straightened their chests.

Ok?
What's the situation?
Meanwhile, the Blood Angels, who had been somewhat oblivious to the situation, also subconsciously joined the competition.

There are two of us in total!

Creak~
A sickeningly loud sound rang out.

Also aboard the Dawn, the former Supreme Marshal, who had been stationed at Dawnwing on behalf of the Black Templar Chapter since the end of the Badab War, clenched his fist.

The joys and sorrows of the Astartes are not shared; I only find their noise bothersome.

"In fact, even if you only show the slightest attitude, it would be worth it for Astartes to rush into it like moths to a flame."

Guilliman handed a document to Arthur.

The implication is that Arthur and his friends should lower their expectations of themselves and not put so much pressure on themselves.

After all, in Guilliman's view, although most Primarchs during the Great Crusade were still concerned about their offspring, they were not so meticulous about everything.

Dawnwing is putting too much pressure on itself, worrying about everything.

Guilliman had no idea how he had treated the Ultramarines.

Unlike the Devourer of Worlds and the Iron Warrior, who are constantly being killed by Eleven and can only comfort themselves by numbing themselves, thus appearing as a neurotic and twisted person, the Ultra Warriors all look normal.

In fact, they are just normal.

It is precisely because of this that, with the support of a sound set of values, they remain unconditionally loyal to Guilliman, demonstrating the attitude of the Lord of Otlama towards his offspring.

However, Guilliman was clearly busy mocking Ramses at that moment.

I didn't expect this seemingly carefree guy to be so responsible.

This contrasts sharply with the attitude of "What to do? Only kill!" when facing those chaotic traitors.

It's quite a contrast.

Upon hearing Guilliman's words, Arthur turned his head to look at the leader of Alteramar.

If it weren't for knowing that someone in the original timeline had spent two hundred years enduring pressure from the moment they awoke, barely managing to turn the Empire's numerous defenses into a series of fluid ones, facing internal ignorance and extremism, deadly external threats, and relentless pressure from former traitorous brothers, yet still maintaining unprecedented optimism and dedicating themselves to the cause of saving humanity...
He believed that.

In fact, aside from the historical problems caused by a certain irresponsible father, which led to limitations, many Primarchs brought considerable positive benefits to their Legions.

Let's not even mention Guilliman, the athlete who can raise a group of normal people from a group of crazy people; look at Fogrim and Sanjeres.

The sons of emperors are all excellent.

"."

Guilliman felt a chill run down his spine from Guilliman's gaze, which seemed to see right through him.

“Guilliman.”

Arthur understood Guilliman's implication, but it lacked any persuasiveness due to the man's own actions.

But he still gave a suitable example.

"It's like assigning someone a job. If you can offer 10,000 yuan, you should offer 10,000 yuan. You can't reduce the salary to 2,000 yuan just because Astartes is very hardworking and can do the same job for 2,000 yuan."

As members of a community with a shared future for mankind, especially those who actively dedicate themselves to the ideal of making humanity great again, the treatment of these members must be implemented.

Under no circumstances should you withhold or underpay.

This is the bottom line.

"."

When you hear such words from someone else, especially from the current ruler of the empire, a trusted companion who shares power with you.

Guilliman was genuinely shocked.

No wonder the Grey Knights, the Imperial Guards, and even the loyalist Thousand Sons, whom they had only just met, couldn't shake him off.

So the problem lies with a few of you.

You all think that the Primarchs all look like this, right?
The space wolf and the white scar were simply overjoyed.

Instead of thinking about what to do with what you get, are you thinking about how much to give away?

Your Majesty, look at Your Majesty!
Under the influence of Dawnwing, Guilliman had come to realize how rare it was for beings like himself and Horus to have parents who cared for them, how rare it was for them to treat the Legion, and how unique they were compared to other Primarchs.

It is precisely because of this that, at this moment, faced with Arthur's attitude, he has come to a deeper understanding of the necessity for the Primarch to obtain a certification before taking over the Legion.

If all Primarchs had your attitude when taking over the Legion, the Empire wouldn't be in this state now.
And emperors.

We're not even asking you to assign everyone a King Connor and a Lady Yoton, so why do we expect the Primarchs to call you "father" and treat you with the same level of care they show Horus when they're working for you?
A sneeze!

The emperor, who was still eating the offerings, sneezed.

His rather dangerous gaze was fixed on Number Thirteen, whose inspiration was growing without him even realizing it.

"how about you?"

Listening to the grinding teeth of a retired marshal and feeling the deathly gaze of his father who didn't even exist, Guilliman looked at Arthur.

I had relatively little contact with this lord of knights, and my understanding of him was rather limited.

My first impression of them is similar to that of Saint Geres and Karna; they all have perfect appearances and are naturally attractive to humans.

Moreover, he spoke in a cool way and was often able to reach a subtle consensus with certain groups of people. Guilliman was deeply impressed by his ability to easily turn the atmosphere around.

Secondly, his words are very detailed, completely different from his fierce fighting style. He always has a calm and composed quality, like a still lake, which can soothe his impatience. He explains things clearly with detailed explanations, which is in stark contrast to the aggressive Dorn.

And then there are some more—

Cunning?

In stark contrast to his serious approach to ideological purges within the Legion and his strict adherence to the ideals of the Dawnwings, this Knight Lord seems to secretly relish the existence of harmless conflicts and find amusement in them.

Guilliman was very curious about what exactly made Arthur willing to take on the responsibility of being a 'father'.

"me?"

A look of reminiscence appeared on Arthur's face.

He recalled waking up on that shattered warship, his mind consumed by despair, with no other thought but to kill everything in his path.

He recalled the bewilderment he felt after reuniting with his companions and facing real, flesh-and-blood people who were no longer confined to the pages of books.

He remembered the Ultra Warrior who knelt on the ground, gripped his arm, and begged him to swear an oath.

It's not that they were born this way, but that even in such a dark state, the universe itself is yearning for people like them.

He looked at Guilliman.

"I want to thank you."

　P.S.: I've written almost 8,000 words, and wow, the story next door has already finished, while I'm still struggling!

　　I admit, I am from the district.

　　Woo woo

　　
　
(End of this chapter)