Serious People, Who is Learning Magic at Marvel?

Twenty-nine hours before the Vengeance arrived at Terra.

Guilliman is donning his power armor, the famous armor of fate is extremely ornate. Imperial eagles, human skulls, the emblem of his legion and the imprint of the Five Hundred Worlds gleamed in gold on this armor.

His left fist is a powerful power glove known as the hand of dominance. This is an ingeniously violent weapon that, combined with the power of the Primarch itself, can even knock down a titan with one blow. And a larger caliber bolter was installed. In his right hand he held a replacement after the loss of the Chicheng Dagger, a power sword.

The servitor, the mindless mindless machine stretched out its hands, modified to triple it, limbs that were infinitely more precise and polished Guilliman's Armor of Fate.

While he was already dressed, he was not in the mood to wait for them to complete this unnecessary process. The Primarch looked at the poor thing with human form with complex eyes, and gently pushed it away. The Servant tilted its head, its brain couldn't understand what the Primarch meant, so he stepped up again, trying to polish his armor.

"Enough," Guilliman said softly and lowly. "Your work is over."

He gently pushed it away again, with a force that reminded him of the time he had opened candy wrappers for a child in the Ultramar Five Hundred Worlds.

If I can, I don't want to see the existence of Servants again. I can directly say that I don't like Servants. In my position, if I say this, reforms within the empire will begin immediately. But can I say that? Servants are indispensable things...

I also don't like the sins our vast empire has done to survive. In order to survive, we have abandoned humanity, morality, and even the bottom line for a time... When these noble qualities are gone, what are we left with? And what makes us different from those traitors and demons?

Human nature, morality, bottom line, aren't these things that make us better?

These complicated thoughts flashed through the primarch's mind, and he gently closed his eyes. The director of the think tank walked in from the side. Unlike the jingle of the past, he did not wear any military medals. Diglis usually regards honor as his life, and he does not forget to wear his military medals wherever he goes.

"Digris," Guilliman asked with his eyes closed. "Is the Legion ready?"

The think tank curator noticed that the word used by the Primarch was not 'warband', but legion. This goes against the Astartes Codex he himself created. Could it be that the Primarch used the wrong word?

Diglis didn't know the answer, he just replied: "My lord, the fifth to tenth companies are ready to attack, and the remaining fearless elders in the battle company have also woken up from their slumber. Captain Antilocos has followed your order and headed to the ground to investigate the situation."

Guilliman pondered for a while, the director of the think tank dared not casually try to figure out the mind of the primarch. Even if he was very gentle with them, it involved some of Diglis's own principles. He swore long ago that he would never use psionic profiling or mind-reading on anyone in the Chapter.

"...Let the 6th Company ride their combat motorcycles to the inner side of the hive to support Marius, to see people in death, and to see corpses in life. We must find out what the **** is going on at the power plant. Also inform Brothers of the Imperial Fist, the Yamajin is relatively close to Mars. Let them send people to Mars to communicate with the Mechanicus."

Guilliman still closed his eyes, his breathing was very calm and long, as if something was brewing: "It's not time to hide, I want the Mechanic to support Terra with all the troops. If the person in charge of communication does not Agree...let them go to Belisarius Kaul."

"Life and death, Diggles. Link us with psionics. I'm going to give a pre-war speech."

The director of the think tank nodded silently.

Robert Guilliman finally opened his eyes, and his voice began to sound in the hearts of the Astartes who stayed behind on the Glory of Macragge, with unprecedented exhaustion.

"Here is Robert Guilliman speaking."

"Have I done all I can? I don't know. I must admit, Ultramarines—I am as confused as you are."

"I still remember what I saw when I woke up. You surrounded me. For 10,000 years, you never gave up the possibility of saving me...I wouldn't be standing here without you."

Diglis felt some warmth in his eyes trying to come out, and to them there was nothing better. Affirmation from a Primarch is one of many goals an Astarte pursues throughout his life. The reactions of the other brothers in the psionic communication were similar to his.

"However, the empire I saw when I woke up was very different from the one I had in mind at first. Superstition and ignorance filled the hearts of our people, and the corruption had completely spread throughout the entire empire. I am disgusted by this phenomenon, but I Impotent."

Guilliman's frankness is startling, and he speaks out his thoughts without hiding a single bit of it.

"Yes, you may be surprised, and you may feel that as a Primarch, as his son, as a demigod, I should be omnipotent. Like the miracles of Nurgle, anyone infected with the plague of Nurgle can be cured as long as I am present."

"But I'm not omnipotent, on the contrary, I hate my incompetence. I hate that I can't change the status quo of the Empire, I hate that I can't make her better. Ultramarines... I also only Just a human being."

Guilliman's voice became lower and lower, and the Ultramarines' emotions fell along with his voice. At this moment, what Guilliman had been brewing finally broke out.

It was a storm, it was thunder, it was the first light of the sun piercing the night—"So what?"

His voice was very calm: "Am I going to stop fighting for this? Am I going to give up for this?"

Diggles heard his Primarch say, "No, never."

"Let us fight to the death, gentlemen."

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Using the power of the star torch, and directly eating a part of the power of the star torch after the complete boiling, are two completely different experiences. The former is not in any danger, and the Star Torch will even actively supply him with energy. And the latter...extremely dangerous.

What is Star Torch? According to the Emperor's official explanation, this is a 'beacon', a 'light that illumines the future of mankind'.

However, the Star Torch is actually just a function that relies on the Emperor as the controller. On weekdays, there are 10,000 Psykers trained by the Star Torch Court to function continuously, and at the same time, a hundred Psykers are used as fuel to burn every day. Just a giant firewood.

This is the essence of Star Torch. It was built in the M30, and countless souls were sacrificed to power it over 10,000 years - just think, how many fragments of souls are floating in it?

And now, He Shenyan took the initiative to eat some of it.

He has to do it.

Between those brief and vague psionic communications, He Shenyan could hear from his voice how weak the Emperor was right now. The worst part is that, no one knows if this is one of Tzeentch's plans.

He did not send his monsters to the frontal battlefield, most of those deadly eloquents fought against the Custodians between the thrones, and Tzeentch himself scattered the Emperor's few remaining energies in the warp. .

Terra is now in extreme danger, no doubt about it. If He Shen can't speak, the Emperor is not helpless - he can stand up from that chair. But what might happen after that, probably nobody but Tzeentch will be happy.

There were twenty-nine hours before they reached Terra.

He Shenyan exhaled softly, changed his posture, put his legs down, no longer suspended in the air, but stood on the ground in the main control room.

That part of the Star Torch was boiling inside him, and billions of different voices were shouting at him in his brain...

Some of them volunteered, and some were arrested. The identities vary, with sons or daughters of nobles, who have dedicated themselves to the empire with pride. There were also illegal psykers born in remote worlds who were caught on Terra with resentment. The identities are different, the classes are different, however, everything is now a thing of the past.

They were dead - a long time, a long time. Undead from ancient times were chattering to him. In all fairness, it was quite noisy.

The mage stood up with one hand, and every finger of his right hand was shaking. With difficulty, he retracted his four fingers and raised only his index finger. A blazing white light emerged from the tip of his finger.

He closed his eyes, and the chatter of the undead was 'shielded' in an instant. This idea only flashed in his mind for less than a second, but the psionic power has faithfully implemented it. He Shenyan's soul power is stronger than their combined. When the strong want to speak, the weak have no right to speak.

He Shenyan suddenly realized this, and his anachronistic sense of humor came into play again, and he almost laughed.

So, it turns out that I also became an oppressor?

am I?

He didn't think too much, just sighed slowly. The twenty-nine-hour distance cannot be erased artificially, and the voyage between the universes pursues extreme precision. As cold and unforgiving as the universe itself. However, Terra's current conditions did not allow them to sail smoothly for another twenty-nine hours.

If he wants to find another way, he must find another way.

Therefore, He Shenyan sincerely said to the billions of souls, "I need your help."

After a while, a female voice answered him first. With the inarticulateness characteristic of broken soul fragments, she was almost communicating with him in incomprehensible phrases: "God...why, need, help?"

"I'm not a god." He Shenyan patiently said to her, and at the same time to the hundreds of millions of souls. "I'm just a human, just like you."

Another man's voice took over the female voice. He sounded like an old man, and his words were much smoother than the female voice. But equally illusory: "We can't do anything..."

The mage was silent for a long time before saying the following words.

He was almost appalled by his own cruelty: "I need you to die one more time—forever, and the fragments of your souls will explode through my hand to power my ship...  .so that we can support Terra."

There was a tsunami-like scolding sound, and countless resentment and anger poured out from the power of the star torch. Most of these angry people were unregistered psykers who were forcibly brought to Terra, some of whom died without even knowing why they were being tortured like that.

He Shenyan lowered his eyes and said to them in a voice so calm that he could hardly hear any emotion: "This is for the empire."

"The Empire didn't give me anything! I've been picking up garbage in the mud to eat since I was born!" one shouted.

Another agreed, weeping: "I was beaten by you guys, and my mother was beaten to the death by those who took me on board! I don't even know if she was alive or dead!"

"fraud!"

The huge whistling sound like the collapse of a mountain rushed straight towards He Shenyan. In the vision of psionic energy, they filled half of the sky, with deep anger and hatred on every face, neat and uniform. He scolded He Shenyan angrily.

"Hypocrisy! Why don't you sacrifice yourself first?!"

"I won't die for you! I've already died once! My debt has been written off!"

He Shenyan closed his eyes and said nothing.

He's not a man who likes other people to die for him - if he has the means, why would he choose to let these people who died once die again?

His behavior was understood to be a sign of a guilty conscience. In exchange for more and more fierce scolding, He Shenyan just endured all this silently. Until the old man's voice came out again.

"Come on then," he said. "I am willing to sacrifice again. Your Excellency, I can feel your situation, you are weak...right?"

"Yes." He Shenyan replied softly. "I used some very dangerous methods to support Terra before, and I am extremely weak now with excessive use of strength."

"Come on then, Your Excellency." There was a smile in the old man's voice. "What could be better than being able to devote one more life to the Empire?"

Then came the female voice, she spit out a long word with difficulty: "Only...die...is...to."

A young man's voice was very passionate: "For the empire!"

A very arrogant-sounding voice, speaking in a tongue-in-cheek Gothic language: "I am a nobleman, how can I escape?"

Their voices are becoming clearer and clearer, and their faces are gradually emerging in front of the mage, replacing those resentful faces. He saw them - saw each of their faces.

Old man, young man, woman. UU reading www.uukanshu.com

Beautiful, ugly, unremarkable.

All of these were dissipated in their shouts... A breeze brushed He Shenyan's face, and he only heard a firm and unparalleled word.

"For the Empire," they said.

Angron rushed into the main control room. He crashed in. The center of the circle was buzzing, accusing him of atrocities against the door. The Lord of Red Sand looked anxiously at He Shenyan, who closed his eyes and weeping. A few minutes ago, he suddenly felt a palpitations, and some essence from the primarch's instinct made him run wildly.

"What!" he shouted.

"Don't be so loud, Angron..."

The mage closed his eyes and turned his head, and said softly to him, his voice full of sadness... Then, it turned into a force that made his heart surge.

"For the empire." He heard He Shenyan say.

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