Warhammer: In the Name of Nirvana

"For... myself?"

"Yes, for yourself, my Lord Commander: and for all of us."

The phoenix of the Paladin was a cheerful sun, imprisoned in a flawless body, to show the blood and fire of the Great Crusade what the highest art is: the art of war and the art of the soul, Fulgrim was clearly good at both.

The Primarch twisted his long silver hair into a snake-like braid, and protected his porcelain body with the most gorgeous armor in the galaxy: the same color as his eyes, all flawless violet, and after being prepared by the craftsmen in the Terra Palace who had served the Lord of Mankind for generations, even if they were stained with filthy blood, they would not detract from their elegance, but rather complement each other.

Clad in such gorgeous clothes, Fulgrim stepped onto the battlefield, personally piloting his own personal Firebird gunboat from the deck of the Emperor's Pride and falling into the fiercest stranglehold of the battle between the stars.

When this gorgeous bird of prey flies across the sky, it will leave colorful plasma vortexes behind it. Any Emperor's children who witness this scene will sing praises to their Primarch from the bottom of their hearts, while the green-skinned orcs confronting them will be stunned in place, because they can't understand the strange iron bird in the sky, and fall into uncontrollable thinking.

# I think this piece of colorful iron in the sky should be very powerful...

But before these great thinkers with spores in their heads can finish their thinking, the deafening war cry brings them back to reality: the greenskins turned their heads belatedly, only to find that Fulgrim's iron wings had already rushed into the top floor of the greenskin warlord's fortress.

A moment later, the Primarch stood on the top of the fortress like a god, holding the ugly head of the greenskin warrior that was half the size of his body: it took only a dozen seconds from landing to killing, and most of the time was spent looking for his opponent.

So, as expected, the Ork army, which was still defending the fortress of the Imperial Fist a second ago, was instantly turned into a pile of scattered sand, and countless scrap iron defenses collapsed under the gaze of the Phoenix himself: these strange death traps once troubled the three companies of the Imperial Sons for half a day, but for Fulgrim, it was just a sand castle that he needed to knock down before inspecting his offspring on the battlefield.

After ending a battle with just one swing of his sword, the Phoenix Lord was even too lazy to continue chasing the fleeing greenskins: that was no longer a job for his class. On the top of the fortress that he had captured alone, at the highest point of the entire battlefield, the Primarch could clearly witness everything he wanted to see.

The aliens were fleeing, and the Orks' escape was as ugly as their attack. There was no glory in defeating them, it was just a task that had to be completed: perhaps only the Luna Wolves and their masters would regard defeating the empire established by these stupid creatures as the greatest challenge and honor in their lives.

At this moment, there was a faint malice in the Phoenix's smile.

He was laughing at Horus.

No, he didn't hate that guy.

He didn't hate Horus, he just occasionally looked down on that guy sincerely, looked down on his [accepting everyone who comes], and looked down on the Wolf God's fanatical pursuit of every honor, just like a child who lacks recognition and desperately goes home to get a certificate.

Fulgrim always believed that not all honors were worth pursuing: there must always be some inferior, repetitive or no longer challenging honors, which should be given to those poor people whose abilities are not so outstanding.

Rather than keeping them for yourself.

Please, they are the Primarchs, they deserve the best things, including the best honors and the best challenges: the honors belonging to the Primarchs should be unique, not the [honors] that even ordinary people can get: for Fulgrim, relaxing the limits on this point is tantamount to lowering his status.

In other words: if a Primarch actually regards defeating an Ork-Ork warlord as a real honor, how can he accomplish greater things? In this crazy galaxy, challenges that are more difficult than a bunch of greenskins can be found everywhere.

At least, that's what he thinks.

The Phoenix's fingers rubbed the ends of his hair, wiping away the dust from the battlefield. His bravest sons passed by him, chasing the remnants of the greenskins to the next difficult line of defense: this was a task worthy of them, and Fulgrim would not steal their honor.

As these warriors passed the shadow of their gene-father, they all shouted the name of the Phoenix Lord, praising his victory and perfect posture, and the Phoenix would respond with a smile, allowing them to pick their own honor on the battlefield.

At the same time, the Primarch did not forget to throw the head of the greenskin warlord aside in disdain, calling on the purple psychic flame to burn the blood that accidentally stained his gauntlet: this might be the most useful change that Morgan's psychic tome brought to Fulgrim's life.

If only for this reason, he would support Morgan's cause at the next meeting to discuss the psyker issue: Fulgrim did not care about Magnus's fate, but he did not want the entire psychic plan of the Empire to collapse with the defeat of the one-eyed king.

After all, although the Emperor's Children Legion has never had a formal think tank establishment, it inevitably has many psykers. In proportion, this is higher than the average number of all legions: how to properly place and teach these people has always been a challenge. No big or small problem.

You know, from the perspectives of Fulgrim and the Emperor's Children Legion, awakening psionic energy is not a good thing: because psionic energy itself is also a kind of mutation, and mutation naturally has nothing to do with the perfection they pursue. , and may even become a stumbling block in the pursuit of perfection.

Those Emperor's Children warriors who have accidentally awakened their psychic powers will not only have an awkward position in the legion, but will most likely have psychological problems themselves: Although Phoenix is ​​very good at and willing to regulate the psychological problems of his offspring, he Your energy is also limited.

The emergence of the Psionic Codex successfully helped Phoenix solve this problem: the psykers of the Emperor's Children rushed to order this book, not to develop their own powers, but to use the Spider Queen's words in the book. Guide, suppress your own psychic powers in a timely manner, keep them safe and controllable, and minimize the impact of this mutation on the pure body.

So far, this work has been very successful: as long as you follow the guidelines in the psionic scriptures, regularly perform meditation and elimination rituals, and at the same time maintain a pure mind and few desires in your life, then a psionic person can They will not look any different from an ordinary legionnaire, so you can safely and boldly insert these unlucky guys into ordinary legionnaires.

As for the necessary psychic work?

Just leave it to the accompanying mortal auxiliary army.

The Emperor's Children Legion also boldly ordered a batch of psionic guns: this stable output weapon minimizes the loss of control of mortal psykers. The only drawback is that its supply is really insufficient, and for Some places are not for sale.

So far, Phoenix is ​​very satisfied with this system. He loves the house and the bird, and his impression of Morgan is definitely not bad: although the Emperor and the Signer have hinted to him that they hope that he will participate in the next Psyker Conference. Acting as an insignificant actor and spy, Fulgrim only accepted this order after receiving the guarantee that it would not affect Morgan and the Psychic Scripture.

He likes this kind of work.

Phoenix laughed, but the smell in his nose reminded him that he was still on the battlefield.

When the stain dissipated, those awaited by the Primarch also arrived: the Phoenix Guards emerged from their respective battlefields, and at their feet lay the Orc Warlord's most powerful bodyguards, these monsters who had been killed at the first moment of their master's fall. They are ready to kill each other and choose the next leader, but what awaits them is only ruthless sharp blades.

And when the six accompanying Phoenix Guards all reunited with the original body, the company commander in charge of this battlefield also hurried to the front of the Gene Father: the silver hair hanging down on his shoulders, the jeweled armor, even on the battlefield. The meticulously groomed face all tells the name of the person in front of him.

"Eidolon."

Phoenix smiled at his offspring.

"Can you understand me?"

"For your own sake, but also for the sake of the Legion and all of us, this is the fundamental drive for perfection: the pursuit of perfection is not a selfish thing, but a great cause that aims to give back to all, one person Ambition cannot support perfection, only the expectations of a group of people can urge you to move forward.”

"We are stronger, we are closer to perfect existence, so of course we have to shoulder more responsibilities, and in order to be able to shoulder these sacred responsibilities, we must become more perfect and shelter more mortals under our Under the wings of: This kind of virtuous circle will allow us to finally find a path to the truth in this chaotic world. "

"Can you understand, Eidolon?"

"..."

"Of course, my lord."

Under the gaze of his genetic father, Eidolon rolled his Adam's apple with difficulty: This model of the Emperor's Children Legion did not want to disappoint his genetic father, although he seemed to have disappointed his father just once. Not only did his proud company fail to smash down the Orc fortress as quickly as possible. Instead, the Primarch needed to intervene personally.

Although everyone knows that with the number of Orcs and the strength of Eidolon, it is normal that the fortress cannot be defeated, and Fulgrim's reinforcements are just another outburst of fun for the Primarch, but This does not prevent Eidolon from being ashamed of it: his sensitive heart cannot tolerate any words that are not related to victory and glory.

Moreover, Eidolon doesn't think this sensitivity is a bad thing.

On the contrary, it was the pride brought about by this sensitivity that made him one of the eleven Lord Commanders of the Third Legion, the first company commander personally selected by Fulgrim, and a Terran The most outstanding one: Even Akudona, who dominates the entire legion, is far inferior to Eidolon in many aspects.

Everyone knows this.

In other words, except for swordsmanship, Akudona has no shining points.

The existence of the second company commander exactly symbolizes the imperfect part of the perfection pursued by the Third Legion: This is why he is favored by Fulgrim, because Phoenix has always known that, Compared to other people's perfection, Acudona's imperfection is the more valuable one.

He hoped Eidolon would understand.

(In fact, before he pulled out the damned Laer sword, Fulgrim's concept of perfection was actually not a problem, but rather a kind of self-motivation. After he pulled out the sword, his perfection gradually became obsessive.)

But it was obvious that his proudest offspring did not understand his words at all.

The Phoenix pouted in frustration, turned around angrily, and cast his eyes on the battlefield farther away, until Eidolon stood carefully beside him and thanked the Primarch for his reinforcements in the most sincere tone.

"Nothing."

Hearing the praise of his offspring, Phoenix's mood improved slightly.

"Before I left the Emperor's Pride, I didn't know that you were in charge of this war zone. I just randomly picked a war zone with the most intense and fastest progress: my arrival is precisely the proof of your ability, Eidolon."

Before the words fell, the unique arrogance occupied Eidolon's face.

"Your affirmation is worth more than the praise of a million worlds, father."

"Don't flatter me."

Fulgrim snorted, but raised his neck with some pride.

"You know, Eidolon, I don't plan to gain any honor in this war: if I really want to bring a new victory sculpture to the Emperor's Pride or the City of the Sun, then I would not voluntarily come to the front line in the Far East."

"Everyone knows that Horus's fleet is the harvesting ground for honor."

"That's right, father."

Eidolon nodded. He sensitively smelled the problem. Maybe Eidolon is not a humble gentleman, nor a perfect warrior, but his quality as a commander is absolutely qualified: the model of the Third Legion is not an empty statement.

"Excuse me, I have always been very surprised by your decision, sir. Why did we leave the battlefield where Horus was and come to this remote Eastern Front Group? The fighting here is far less intense than imagined. The combined forces of the Dawnbreakers and the Ultramarines are enough to deal with it, and the White Scars are even more than enough."

"Moreover, this more loose and mobile confrontation is actually not very suitable for the style of our Emperor's Children Legion: we are used to fighting in large groups under your command, rather than splitting into small teams and fighting each other in this mess. Our numbers do not support us to split up like this."

"If we continue to fight like this, we will not have a share of the honor of Ullanor."

"You are right."

Phoenix nodded.

"But the problem is..."

"From the beginning, I didn't want the so-called [honor of Ullanor], which is why I left voluntarily: after learning the news of the establishment of the Eastern Group, I took the initiative to find Horus and let him use the power of the commander to transfer me and you here."

"Do you... have any plans?"

"Nothing, actually."

Phoenix shrugged.

"Compared to this kind of petty fight, this kind of unchallenging honor, I am looking forward to more challenging things, those things that will happen after the Emperor leaves: about my responsibilities and broader honors, that will belong to all of us."

"You mean..."

Eidolon guessed something, and his voice became eager to try.

"Yes, Eidolon, my dear Lord Commander."

Phoenix laughed.

"Before leaving, I had taken over my responsibilities from the Emperor."

"My: Phoenix Court."

"Your kingdom?"

"Yes."

At the corner of Fulgrim's mouth, there was an arc that he didn't even notice.

"My country, my paradise, my heaven on earth."

"We will build it with our own hands and make it a ladder to perfection."

"And the first step is to observe the appearance of these semi-finished products in the East."