Warhammer: My buddy has too many secrets!

The mourners will still go to offer their support.

Lancelot remained silent for a moment, then finally sighed.

"What's wrong, elder? You can rest assured that the Weeping Ones will remember our friendship and promise. We will first get you in touch with the main group and help you complete your mission before heading off on your expedition."

The commander of the Malakin Warband was somewhat puzzled, while Lancelot sighed and shook his head, as there were some things that were truly difficult to say.

In this universe, sacrifice is the cornerstone of the empire. Going to war would inevitably result in huge casualties, given the Weeper's personality. And now, he has no control over the outcome of a battle.

"I won't say much about this, but it means you might be active near the Great Vortex in the future. I must warn you to be careful of the Star Claws Chapter. Their Chapter Master Huron is very ambitious, and you need to be very cautious when dealing with them."

Lancelot gave this warning, and the Commander of the Malakin Warband nodded solemnly, taking it to heart.

"By the way, did you send any Star Language messages to your mother organization, the Holy Blood Angels?"

Lancelot changed the subject, bringing up the Blood Angels. The think tank member beside him replied, "After our return, we sent Star Language messages to Lord Terra and the Mother Group. We sent another Star Language message because of your matter, but we are currently waiting for a response."

"I think you can send another Star Message, this time specifically requesting Commander Dante to come over and tell him that I currently have a relic related to Sanctus that I need to personally hand over to him."

When Lancelot spoke, the Crying Legion's think tank and the Malakin Legion Commander were struck dumb, their entire bodies trembling. They looked at Lancelot with barely concealed anxiety.

"You actually possess a sacred relic related to the father of our genes?!"

"Surprised? Didn't I tell you that I'm an old acquaintance of the Emperor and witnessed the deeds of your Father of Genetics? It's quite reasonable for me to find a sacred object related to him now, isn't it?"

Lancelot raised an eyebrow and said this, instantly igniting the boundless enthusiasm of the Chapter Master of Malakin and the Chapter's think tank.

"Senior citizens!"

"Senior citizens!"

The two muscular men stared intently at Lancelot, their gazes burning. Under their intense gaze, Lancelot felt a chill run down his spine and could only clear his throat twice.

"That thing is of great importance, so I can't show it to you right away. But don't worry, I'll look for something related to Saint Geres and give it to you later."

Upon hearing this, Chapter Leader Malakin was extremely excited, and the think tank member of the Weeping Chapter danced with joy!

"Thank you! Thank you!"

Looking at the warrior before him, who was as delighted as a boy who had received a treasure, Lancelot couldn't help but feel that Saint Geres held a profound significance for the Holy Blood Angels.

It should be noted that the Holy Blood Angels were once a vampire legion, one of the most despicable legions.

But when Saint Geres returned, people only thought of glory and greatness when they mentioned the Holy Blood Angel.

Even after his death, the Archangel's influence grew stronger throughout the Empire with the spread of faith. Countless mortals worshipped the Primarch who gave his life for the Empire, and as his genetic offspring, all took pride in Saint Jereth.

The Lamenters themselves dare not call themselves the sons of Saint Geres, but this very fact proves how deeply they love their genetic father.

Unfortunately, in this world, the archangel is dead...

Lancelot paused for a moment, then suddenly recalled his conversation with Primarch Anglona in the Inverted World.

The archangel in the reversed world doesn't seem to have died but rather banished himself to beyond the galaxy. If the opportunity arises, it might be worthwhile to go and check it out...

Thinking this, Lancelot's thoughts drifted back, and he waved his hand dismissively:

"Give me a reliquary and a private room so I can look for it."

Chapter Master Malakin quickly cleared out a room, where Lancelot summoned the Angel Wings.

Although these angel wings are not actually derived from Saintess's wings, they contain Saintess's power and can be considered a relic of Saintess...

Lancelot thought to himself...

……

At this moment, the commander of the Malakin Warband had already ordered all the Weeping Ones to assemble.

Empty, empty, empty.

All the weeping warriors began to assemble in an orderly fashion within the monastery.

They probably understood that there was something important to announce, but it should be good news, since their brand-new power armor said it all. Praise be to the Emperor, praise be to Saint Geres; their long-standing bad luck seemed to have finally turned into good fortune.

Then, their battle leader appeared.

Standing on the monastery's platform, even the warriors at the very back could see the undisguised elation and excitement on their leader, the Malakin. He first summarized the previous achievements of the Weeping Ones, and then changed the subject.

"Lamenters! My brothers in arms! You may have realized the help we have received through your new power armor and supplies, but I tell you, these are merely the smallest gifts given to us by that elder, that elder named Lancelot!"

As he said this, Malakin even felt his throat tremble slightly.

Before arriving here, Lancelot had gone to a secret room, and a moment later, he took out the item related to Saint Geres.

He had already seen the thing beforehand, and joy and happiness radiated from him, but he still had a mission: to share this feeling of happiness with his comrades-in-arms.

"From this day forward, all those who weep must remember the name of Elder Lancelot!"

On stage, the Commander of the Malakin Warband almost hoarsely roared, while backstage, Lancelot felt a slight tremor in his heart upon hearing these words, but still walked up to all the mourners with the object in his hands.

It was a wrought-iron relic box, given to Lancelot by the Commander of the Malakin Warband to hold, about the length of a forearm, radiating a light that made everyone's heart stop.

It was a golden light, warm and gentle, but the power it contained resonated in the very genes of every mourner present.

Then, Lancelot heard some sounds.

That was the sound of knees slamming against metal, and it was a continuous, persistent sound.

It wasn't a kneeling, nor a warband's courtesy; it was a genuine, soul-searching prostration. More than a hundred Astartes, these emperors' angels of death, these demigods walking among mortals, knelt down one by one.

Because what Lancelot holds in his hands is something that no Holy Blood Angel can stand up to in this day and age.

All the mourners in the monastery at that moment were uniformly stunned.

Because the reliquary was transparent—or rather, its material became transparent under the holy light—they were able to see what was inside.

It was a feather.

The white feathers, about the length of an adult's forearm, each barb seemed to flow with liquid golden light.

It itself also emits a faint golden light, and that golden light exudes a unique energy resonance.