The Bizarre Adventures of the Oil Man, but Starting with Warhammer 32K

Chapter 223 No forgiveness.

Before Udo could react, Kurland picked him up and threw him over his shoulder like a sack.

"go!"

The Chapter Master growled, quickly evacuating the podium with the other Astartes.

"No, wait!"

Udo struggled: "Martial law! I haven't declared martial law yet--"

"Shut up."

Kurland interrupted him coldly, "Unless you want that Eldar to stab you again."

Udo fell silent immediately.

Amidst Larriel's erratic laughter, he was "escorted" away from the scene by the Chapter Masters. Mercado quickly followed, loudly asking:

"Where are you taking the Imperial Commander?!"

No one answered his question. He couldn't catch up to the sprinting Astartes, so he could only stay where he was.

"What do we do now?"

A Lucifer Black Guard asked him blankly.

Mercado gritted his teeth and said, "Stabilize the situation first! Go find the other high lords present!"

Lucifer's Black Guard approached several high lords present, hoping to request their immediate intervention to stabilize the situation. However, when Mercado entered the high lords' VIP room, he noticed that their faces were all pale.

He sensed something was wrong: "My Lords..."

"go out!"

Reinhardt roared.

They dismissed the Black Guard Captain and exchanged glances, each seeing the confusion and fear in the other's eyes.

——This was not part of their plan.

"Who... who arranged the Eldar?"

Anwar squeezed out these words from between his teeth.

"not me."

"Not me either."

The High Lords' eyes swept across each other's faces, and finally confirmed a terrible fact:

They planned the assassination, but now it has nothing to do with them.

Udo had been escorted away by the Astartes, while Arbitral Marshal Vernon Zek lay dead before the podium. The High Lords involved in the conspiracy realized they had to control the situation and wait and see what to do next.

But who will go?

The high lords looked at each other, and finally their eyes converged on Meslin.

The Pope of the State Religion understood that it was time for him to perform.

"It is our duty to defend the High Lord's honor."

He straightened his long robe, which was embroidered with scriptures, and said, "Let me do it."

He opened the door and walked out. The Black Guards, having finally found their savior, immediately gathered around him and escorted him to the stage.

The body of the Marshal of the Ministry of Justice has been cleaned up and piled aside. It looks no different from the civilians who died at the hands of the Ministry of Justice.

How pathetic, thought Meslin.

But I won't be the same as him.

The Pope of the State Church strode towards the podium. His appearance immediately attracted the attention of the crowd - in this chaotic moment, who could be more soothing than the Pope of the State Church?

"My people!"

Meslin's voice spread throughout the square through the loudspeaker. He opened his arms as if to embrace all the frightened believers. "Do not be afraid! This is a test from the Emperor!"

The crowd gradually quieted down, countless eyes turning to the spiritual leader. Meislin was secretly delighted; this unexpected event had given him the perfect stage to perform.

He held the Book of the Holy Word aloft, his voice growing louder: "Behold! When xenos plots sought to sully this sacred victory, it was the Emperor's will that protected His faithful servants!"

The civilians in the audience began to kneel and cry bitterly.

Meslin enjoyed this sense of control and continued to incite: "But this also reminds us that victory is not yet complete! What the angels failed to do, we must continue to complete! We must be more pious and more united in the name of the Emperor! Only under the guidance of the state religion..."

His speech suddenly stopped as a sudden dizziness swept over him.

Meslin felt his legs weaken and the scene before his eyes began to blur. He subconsciously grabbed the edge of the podium, and the scepter, the symbol of the Pope's status, fell to the ground with a clang.

"S-lord?"

Mercado held him nervously.

Meslin wanted to speak, but found his tongue was unusually heavy. He saw the common people in the audience looking at him with confused eyes.

"Your Holiness...is he ill?"

"Emperor, his expression is terrifying..."

Meslin felt his heart beating slower and slower, and every breath was like swallowing a razor blade.

The civilians' eyes turned from confusion to suspicion, and then to fear. He lowered his head with difficulty, following the civilians' gaze, and saw strange purple spots appearing on his well-maintained hands.

poison.

The moment this thought came to his mind, he could no longer hold on and fell forward like a puppet with its strings cut.

"grown ups!"

Lucifer's Black Guards, who finally understood what had happened from the other party's bluish skin, quickly carried Meslin and took him away from the podium.

"The Pope has been poisoned. Take him to a doctor! Go find the biological priest!"

"Do not."

Meislin weakly refused, "Take me back to the cathedral..."

The Black Guards changed direction. But the crowd, thrown into chaos again by the Pope's fall, became an obstacle. The Black Guards had to fire like law enforcers to clear a path that would allow them to advance slowly.

The things Meslin once enjoyed became an unbridgeable gap in his life. While being carried on Mercado's shoulders, Meslin saw Vernon Zek's body again.

He still lay there, without any change. But this time, Meislin suddenly felt that he was no different from him.

The Black Guards loaded him onto the cart, firing their guns to drive away anyone who stood in their way. Meslin was carried back to the Cathedral of the Emperor's Ascension on a bumpy ride.

The priests formed a long line at the church entrance, anticipating the return of the Pope, bathed in the divine emperor's presence. But Mercado ignored them and drove his car straight into the church.

"Get out of the way! Get out of the way! The Pope is unwell!"

The car finally stopped in the center of the church and Meislin was carried out.

His appearance startled everyone. The Holy Maidens choir began to sing even harder, hoping to pray for the Emperor's salvation for the Pope.

This used to be Meislin's favorite piece of music, but now, Meislin just feels bored.

No, that's not what I need.

Faith cannot save you!

"Make them stop!"

He yelled with all his might, and then shook off the people who wanted to support him: "No, I don't need a doctor, I don't need any help! Let me do it myself!"

To Meslin, the hall seemed larger than ever before. The faithful within seemed to stretch into infinity. These faithful, gathered here during the turmoil on Terra, desperately pleaded for salvation for their souls through the sermons of the State Church.

But Meslin can't even redeem himself.

He stumbled to his own secret room and used all his strength to tear off the heavy robes on his body.

The gold, silver, and jewels piled in the secret room were scattered everywhere under his tossing. The wealth bought with indulgences was nothing to Meslin. He threw these things away frantically, looking for hope of survival.

"Panacea, panacea..."

Tears streamed down his cheeks: "Where is the medicine!"

Meslin was soon exhausted, the burning sensation in his stomach made him curl up, and he had no strength to search anymore.

Wealth, something beyond the reach of ordinary people, the wealth he had personally plundered prevented him from finding the panacea. The sins he had committed with his own hands became the final straw that broke the camel's back.

Just as Meslin curled up on the ground in despair, the door of the secret room slid open silently.

"Are you looking for this?"

A cold voice sounded. Meislin looked up suddenly and found a figure standing in front of him, playing with an exquisite medicine box in his hand.

He recognized the medicine box, which contained a universal potion that could cure all poisons.

"That's right!"

He was ecstatic, like a drowning man who had been saved: "Give it to me, give it to me quickly!"

The other party did not move, but just looked down at him. Meislin could only struggle to crawl towards the other party and reach for the medicine box.

His hand froze the moment it was about to touch the medicine box, and he finally saw the face of the person in front of him clearly.

"Yes, it's you... Wangoliqi! It was you who poisoned me!"

Meslin instantly understood who had done it. He screamed hysterically, "Traitor! Heretic! How dare you murder the spokesperson for the God-Emperor!"

He had never considered the Grand Master of the Assassins any important role; these executioners, assembled by Chancellor Malcador, had been doomed to failure from the start.

Their purpose was to assassinate Horus, the Great Treason, but they failed. The traitor imprisoned the Emperor and created the soil for the rise of the Ecclesiarchy. They held a seat on the original Council of Twelve High Lords, appointed by Guilliman, but they failed again. The Ecclesiarchy replaced them and took the permanent seat of High Lords, which originally belonged to the Assassins' Court.

Their only major success was reportedly the assassination of Curze, the Primarch of the Night Lords. But is he truly dead? Who can say?

No one would take this group of lackeys who had never succeeded seriously, not even Meslin. This contempt made him ignore the threat of the Assassin Court until Wangerlich raised his butcher knife against him.

"Why would you? How dare you!"

Wangerlich slowly opened the medicine box, revealing a syringe emitting a faint blue light. He stroked the needle but made no move to hand it to Meslin.

"why?"

He asked softly, "Look at the chaos in Terra, don't you really understand?"

"Chaos?"

Meslin struggled to prop up his upper body. He roared through the pain, "Those mobs need faith! They need guidance! I let them convert to the Emperor more devoutly in their suffering. What's wrong with that?!"

Wangoliqi's brows furrowed even more tightly, and he kicked a box of throne coins away with his foot, and piles of gold coins fell in front of Meslin.

"What about these? These riches extracted through indulgences, are they also part of 'salvation'?"

Meslin's expression froze.

"This, this is a necessary contribution. Maintaining the state religion requires funds, and building a church requires..."

"Is it necessary to let millions of civilians starve to death on a so-called pilgrimage?"

Wangerlich interrupted him, his voice suddenly cold: "Do you want the entire hive's civilians to pay for your desires?"

"That's because, only when we take something away will their faith become stronger..."

Meslin's voice became smaller and smaller, and he suddenly realized that any excuse he made would be futile at this moment.

The poison was eating away at his nerves, but what tormented him even more was the naked disgust in Wangorichi's eyes—the purest contempt for the corrupt.

But he can't die, he has to live.

No matter what means he uses, he must survive!

"You can't judge me by your own standards. I'm a saint, a pope, but I'm also an ordinary person! No one is perfect. As long as we live in this world full of betrayal and perfidy, no one can be immune!"

He raised his head and stared at Wangoliqi with his cloudy eyes.

"The State Religion is the foundation of Terra! When the orcs threatened Terra, who comforted millions of souls? When the civilians fell into despair, who gave them hope? It was me! It was the State Religion! Killing me will only make Terra more chaotic! And you... no matter what you want to do, you need to stabilize the situation, don't you?"

Wangoliqi did not answer. He raised his hand slightly, and three images were displayed in front of Meislin from the projection device on his body.

Meslin looked up and his breath stopped.

In Reinhard's luxurious hovercar, the Interior Minister, attempting to return to the Imperial Palace, was struck by a Molotov cocktail thrown from nowhere. He burst from the car, engulfed in flames, only to be met by the "mob"'s machetes.

——Anwar stepped into the gate of the Astropathic Court. He wanted to summon the Astropaths and seek external help, but before he could start, his throat was cut by an assassin disguised as a servant.