Forced to die just after becoming invincible in Warhammer?

Tongues of molten gold licked the night sky. The bonfire party started by the Primarch himself had now lasted until midnight.

The leaping flames gilded the medallions on the Astartes' shoulder armor into a flowing golden red - a badge of honor earned with every scar under the Astronomican and every slash on the alien skull, shining brightly next to their genetically enhanced bodies and the bronze medallions worn on the chests of the mortal auxiliaries.

A tactical sergeant took off his power helmet, revealing half of his cybernetic eye, and was humming a wheat harvest folk song from an agricultural world in the hazy star field through a modified loudspeaker in his throat.

The melody was amplified by the resonance box transformed from the chainsword, mixed with the rhythm of the grenade launcher parts used as percussion instruments, causing the mortal pilots sitting around to stomp their feet in response.

Several recruits secretly connected the captured green trumpets to the exhaust ports of their power armor and blew out off-tune war songs, which prompted Hui Le to throw out invisible drum beats formed by his psychic field to forcibly calibrate the beat.

On the makeshift grill cast by the logistics soldiers with the melta gun, the genetic beast ribs were sizzling with oil, and the fat dripping into the fire exploded into a fine rain of light.

Primarch Aurora leaned against the modified Leman Russ tank and handed the skewer of meat on her sword to the bandaged auxiliary soldier beside her.

The "Emperor's Blessing" medal on the child's chest was still stained with the smoke of the battlefield, but now it was shining with a gentle warm glow under the firelight.

As the singing faded and the flames turned to amber embers, the Astartes began to use the etching lasers of their power armor to burn new records of merit into the armor plating.

In the flickering light, the mortal auxiliary army gathered around holding homemade glory cards. The word "Victory" on the cards was spelled out with servitor gears and bullet shells. In the residual warmth of the campfire, it merged with the genetic imprints of the Space Marines into the vast star map of the galaxy.

As the night deepened, the bonfire collapsed into a dark red sea of ​​charcoal, and sporadic sparks still stubbornly leaped towards the dome covered with stardust.

Primarch Aurora suddenly stood up, and the joints of the power armor made a slight sound of hydraulic pressure release.

She raised her hand and took off the item from her waist - an ancient bone whistle embedded with the emblem of the Second Legion. The cracks in the whistle were still condensed with the dried blood of the earliest days of the Great Expedition.

A sharp whistle pierced the silence, startling the swarm of drones nesting in the abandoned fortifications.

These oil-soaked metal creations swirled in glowing vortices above the bonfire, weaving into a web with the searchlight beams of the distant orbital defense platforms.

The Astartes instinctively straightened their backs, and even the most boisterous recruits watched with bated breath as the Primarch walked towards the makeshift platform of honor.

"Tonight, we are more than just warriors." Aurora's voice spread across the Legion channel, and a warm orange light shone within the visor of every power armor. "But at dawn tomorrow, the aliens in the galaxy will bared their fangs once again." She paused, and the bone whistle slashed across her power armor, leaving thin sparks on the surface. "I see your scars—the loyalty engraved in your genes, the glory that strikes fear into the aliens."

A commotion suddenly broke out among the auxiliary troops.

Several technical priests pushed a floating platform to the front row. The outline of a mechanical arm was vaguely visible under the red silk covering the platform.

Aurora raised her hand and opened the silk cloth, revealing a memorial clock transformed from the remains of captured Tyranid creatures. The unique red color of the subspace energy flowed where the gears meshed.

"This is a timepiece forged for the sacrificed." The Primarch's fingertips traced the Legion's emblem embossed on the clock face. "Whenever it strikes, the warriors of the Second Legion across the galaxy will know that no matter how many light-years separate us, no matter how dark we face, the Emperor's blade remains sharp."

As the bell rang, the last embers of the bonfire suddenly rose up, outlining the silhouette of a double-headed eagle in the night sky.

The Astartes knelt on one knee at the same time, and the dull sound of the grenade rifle butts hitting the ground turned into a neat rhythm, resonating with the bells into a unique requiem for the chapter.

The auxiliary army boy quietly stuffed a bullet casing into the gear gap of the memorial clock, and watched it rise and fall with the pendulum, just like the never-extinguished hope jumping in the bonfire.

The bells gradually died down, and Hui Le walked slowly forward. The psychic light seeping from her armor intertwined with the embers of the bonfire, casting flowing rune shadows on the ground.

The sparks suspended in the air with the Primarch's slender fingers suddenly froze, and then reorganized into a star map of the galaxy where the Legion was conquering.

"Look here." Her fingertips traced across a scarlet star field. "In the lava fissures of Augusta VII, our new recruit company held out for seventeen solar hours in the magma rainstorm—" A virtual plasma halo suddenly exploded across the star map. "Back then, Mod tore apart three orc bosses with his bare hands, his intestines splattering onto the lava spout without a blink."

The laughter startled the mechanical raven perched on the wreckage.

Several veterans who had participated in that battle lifted their power armor visors, revealing faces covered in scars from lava burns. One of them fished out a charred fragment of orc plate armor and said, "I still have this bastard's armor under my sleeping bag as a souvenir!"

Primarch Aurora suddenly raised her hand, and the psychic field rolled up the ashes on the ground, condensing into a flapping two-headed eagle in the air.

"Please remember, only loyalty and honor are indelible." Her voice was mixed with the metallic cry of a mechanical raven.

Suddenly, there was a crisp sound in the bonfire. It was the bone marrow of the genetic beast roasted by the logistics soldiers that exploded.

The splashing grease fell on the star map that Hui Le unfolded, turning into jumping tactical marks.

The Primarch flicked his finger towards the nearest marked point, and the Ash Eagle's beak accurately pecked at the Mars representing the enemy flagship.

"So tonight—" Aurora pulled out a bottle of homemade ale from the armor's interlayer. The ale was swirling in the glass bottle, forming strange purple swirls. "Let us toast to those heretics waiting to be crushed by us, and to every legion emblem that will be inserted into their hearts!"

Boltgun barrels were passed around like wine glasses, and the iron kettles of the mortal auxiliaries and the power armor of the Astartes collided in a strange rhythm.

When the first ray of starlight illuminated the pile of wreckage at the edge of the camp, the last few bonfires were still burning stubbornly, reflecting the wine stains and medals on the soldiers' faces, as if the Milky Way had condensed all its heat and glory into this desolate starry soil where they had set up their temporary camp.

Chapter 286 The Emperor is Angry

The galaxy is as black as ink, and the Emperor's Dream plows through the folds of stardust.

The dome of the bridge reflected thousands of star maps, and the Emperor lowered his eyes to gaze at the alien mother planet that was gradually dimming in the holographic projection.

Three hours ago, the Imperial Guard's power halberd tore through the carapace, the Sister of Silence's black iron sword cut through the tentacles, and the scarlet condensed into suspended ice crystals in the vacuum.

"Perfect quick kill."

A whisper came from the gilded throne, and the face beneath the crown was hidden in the psychic halo.

The Lord of Mankind's fingertips slid across the flickering subspace cracks on the star map, and those entangled dark purple lines were spreading at a speed visible to the naked eye.

Time is twisted into a sharp blade in the tides of the warp.

As the xenos nest turned to scorched earth, the Emperor suddenly remembered the dawn light when those races first forged the Golden Throne a hundred thousand years ago.

Now, the star hourglass on his wrist was flowing at a strange rhythm, and the trajectory of the falling sand actually outlined the sinister smile of the evil god of the subspace in the void.

"The veil of the Warp trembles."

"But this game is still my home court."

Before the Emperor finished speaking, psychic energy seeped through his body like liquid star core. A faint light seeped through the cracks in his armor, staining the star map on the bridge dome an eerie purple.

The knuckles of the Imperial Guards holding their halberds suddenly turned white, and the Emperor's pressure that they were familiar with was now mixed with the unique stench of the Warp Abyss.

The dark iron masks of the Sisters of Silence rippled as they sensed a vibration that transcended the laws of physics.

When they turned around, they saw the figure on the throne still standing, the light and shadow from the hanging tassels dragging spider-web-like cracks on the deck.

The curtain of reality slowly loosens like tightly clenched silk.

At some point, the destroyed aliens created a torn subspace rift, and the surging scarlet mist was being crushed by an invisible giant hand.

Deep in the distant nebula, a condensing face of chaos let out an unwilling scream, turning into thousands of light dust particles and dissipating in the golden torrent when the Emperor raised his hand.

"Stand back." The voice of the Lord of Mankind carried the weight of a planet crushing the sky, and the vortex of psychic energy suddenly collapsed into a star in the palm of his hand.

When the guards and the nuns saluted, no one noticed that half of a broken warp rune was curled up deep in the light.

"Heading for Emerald Sector-77." The Emperor's gilded knuckles tapped against the armrests of the throne, and the scattered stardust floated in a shimmering pattern of route coordinates.

The commander of the Imperial Guards knelt on one knee, the double-headed eagle emblem on the shoulder armor of the power armor reflecting the cold light of the bridge, splitting the Emperor's projection into countless flowing gold foils.

The gears of time rusted amid the roar of the warp engines.

The Lord of Mankind gazed at the slowly advancing expeditionary front on the holographic star map. The scarlet arrows representing the Word Bearers Legion were stuck in the quagmire - Lorgar's followers were building temples on the newly conquered worlds at a speed far more urgent than clearing out the aliens.

"The number of the White King's sons..." His whisper wrapped in a sigh sank into the psychic field, and the ruins of the Midnight Lords' home planet emerged in the woven light and shadow.

Konrad Curze's Shadow Legion huddled in the rear, using Dread Reapers to maintain supply routes, but it was difficult to reproduce the sharpness of the previous assault.

A dazzling blue light suddenly burst out on the star map.

The Ultramarines' thrust trajectory was straight as a sword, and twelve bands of light extending from Ultramar pierced the nebula.

The Emperor's pupils rippled with data streams as Roboute Guilliman's tactical reports poured into his consciousness in quantum pulses: seven hundred perfect battles, a zero-error supply chain, and real-time deductions of modular warfare systems.

The tides of the Warp surged, and the Emperor watched the battle pass.

He saw that under the dome of the genetic laboratory, the embryo of the 13th Progenitor was suspended in amber nutrient solution, and his gene chain was engraved with "Lord of the Many-Sided War".

What He expected at that time was a perfect commander who could command apocalypse-level sieges and three-front or even multi-front battles at the same time.

Now, Guilliman is transforming this blueprint into a reality of steel.

Outside the bridge window, the light stream of hyperspace suddenly twisted into a spiral. The Emperor's diadem moved without wind, and the distant roar of the Warp's evil god echoed from the psychic field.

The bow of the Emperor's Dream has pierced the curtain of reality and is heading towards the next planet burning with flames of war.

In the cabin of the Emperor's Dream, the light curtains hanging from the gilded dome cut the surroundings into light and dark facets.

He sat alone on a throne carved with star-track emblems, his fingertips rolling over the amber beads at the end of the crown. The warm touch mixed with the coldness of metal sent a subtle tremor through his palm.

"After all, it was stolen. Fortunately, she is not here." A chuckle escaped from his throat, and the tail end of the sound dissipated in the cabin as if swallowed by a vacuum.

The crown, adorned with images of the Milky Way, caused pain on the back of his neck, but the Lord of Mankind stubbornly straightened the crown.

After all, for the pirates of the past, the spoils should not just be dead things in the safe.

Even though the object above his head was not stolen by him.

It was as if the intimidating posture in the previous holographic projection was still before his eyes.

He walked up the stairs slowly with the air of an emperor. The crisp sound of jade beads hitting each other when the crown tassels swayed almost caused his fingertips to slip on the scepter.

What I remember most clearly is that when my eyes swept across the two adjutants standing side by side by the porthole, my Adam's apple suddenly tightened.

That was the partner who dared to gamble his life with him in the leap storm, but now he had to hold his breath and bow his head to his disguised majesty.

His back hit the back of the throne hard, and the tassels of the crown fell like a waterfall of stars.

He crossed his legs deliberately, and the heels of his boots made crisp sounds when they hit the armrests of the throne, as if to shatter the weak feeling in his heart.

His fingertips dug into the dark patterns on the armrest, creating subtle vibrations in the artificial gravity system, until the outline of the reflection in the mirror finally overlapped with the silhouette of the emperor in his memory.

The cabin's constant temperature system made a slight humming sound, and the Lord of Mankind loosened the gilded ribbon around his neck, letting the crown tassel slide askew off his shoulders.

"Playing tricks is more tiring than destroying the aliens." The force of his knuckles rolling over his temple intensified, and he remembered Xi's advice in the holographic communication last night: "On an insignificant small battlefield. Deliberately leave a few loopholes and let the enemy knock you down, so that humanity's faith in you will be reduced."

At this moment, it feels like a thorn stuck in the eardrum.

Luojia's encrypted channel was still flashing in the background, and the tactical deduction reports with static noise were pulling the dull pain in his temples into fine needles.

The metal star map flickered with cold light in his palm. He stared at the projection of the stagnant battle situation in Luojia's star field. As his Adam's apple rolled, the jade beads on his crown swayed slightly.

His fingertips brushed over the tactical markings on the edge of the star map for the third time, but stopped the moment they touched the coordinates.

The holographic screen reflected his slightly furrowed brows, and the deliberately suppressed performance data overlapped on his retina. It turned out that even showing weakness was a carefully calculated game.

"Click!" The moment the star map went dark, the hum of a hyperspace engine could be heard from outside. He clasped the crooked crown on his knees, listening to the clatter of jade beads mixed with the trembling of the engine. He suddenly laughed out loud. This dream of being an emperor, which had deceived even himself, could not contain the reality of the star map that made it impossible to move forward.

The Emperor took off the diadem inlaid with star diamonds, and a scarlet data stream flashed across the mechanical pupil of his left eye.

He raised his hand and lightly touched the totem on the side of the throne, and the psychic field of the entire star field trembled instantly.

The dark purple sky cracked into spider-web-like patterns, like the sun being torn into pieces, and tens of thousands of golden fire feathers poured down from the cracks.

The alien ships suspended in synchronous orbit didn't even have time to activate their shields. Burning psychic flames penetrated the decks, burning the huddled silicon-based lifeforms inside into blue-green ash.

The glass of the giant mothership's bridge twisted into liquid in the high temperature, reflecting the Emperor's expressionless profile.

He was using the cufflinks embedded in his body to crush the psychic fire between his fingers.

The debris rained down, staining the emerald clouds a charred black as it plunged into the atmosphere of the alien homeworld.

The crystal cathedrals on the surface, their thorn-like spires, exploded in the intense heat, their flying crystal clusters piercing the priests performing the ritual. The Emperor, watching this scene on the holographic projection, suddenly chuckled. The psychic energy emanating from beneath his gilded mask condensed into tiny starlight within the bridge, eventually dissipating into dust and vanishing into the void.

The battle report from the Luojia star field was curled up into a charred ball in his palm, and the psychic burns that seeped through the seams of his breastplate were still faintly hot.

This emperor, who always appeared like a god in armor, now had half of his arm bare, and the veins on his body were throbbing under his pale skin.

As the alien homeworld's defense array was pulverized by the psychic storm, flying fragments of molten gold brushed his shoulder blade.

The warm blood beads mixed with stardust fell, but he suddenly remembered the pleasure of tearing evil beasts apart with his bare hands when he was a child.

Those silicon-based limbs curled up and twitching in the wreckage were much more pleasing to the eye than Luo Jia's face.

By the time Knuckles crushed the last of the Alien Crown Prince's brains, his psionic field had returned to calm.

He walked barefoot across the molten pit on the deck, playing with the gilded crown in his hands, which shone coldly in the dim light of the holographic projection.

As the old saying goes, no matter how fierce the anger is, it needs to find a suitable container to hold it.

The Emperor shook off the crystal core fragments remaining on his fingertips and glanced at the alien mother planet that was gradually cooling down outside the porthole.

The psychic storm that had just raged had subsided, leaving only the broken wreckage falling into the atmosphere like a meteorite, leaving dazzling streaks of light on the sky.

He stretched out his hand to summon the gilded armor floating in the air. The mechanical arm hummed and slowly closed the breastplate. The gorgeous patterns and the emblem on the surface of the armor instantly resonated, and a golden halo burst out.

As the bridge hatch closed behind him, the wreckage of the last alien frigate happened to fall at the planet's equator.

Outside the bridge window, the alien mother planet was turning into a burning glass ball.

The Emperor stood before the holographic star map with his hands behind his back, his gilded boots rolling over the unsolidified crystalline debris on the deck.

"It's gone just like that." Chief Captain Antonio's Adam's apple moved, and his eyes swept over the wreckage of the ship that dragged a phosphorescent trail in the atmosphere.

The psychic technicians in front of the suspended operating table had their fingers hovering over the control interface, and blue light flickered in their pupils.

The golden flames that had just burned the entire track still left a glaring afterimage on their retinas.

"A hegemon that has occupied three light years is more fragile than the church in the Luojia star field." The deputy navigator suddenly chuckled, and the sound was particularly harsh in the sudden silence of the bridge.