Warhammer: In the Name of Nirvana

Chapter 656 Emperor: My turn!

"Is there anyone among us who hasn't arrived yet?"

"Where's Morgan? Where did she go?"

"We have to find her: someone's absence will tarnish our father's triumphal ceremony."

In the thin daylight of Ullanor and the scarlet haze with a smell of rust, the wolf god of the empire maintained his authority: with the gentlest words and the friendliest smile, he stood on the highest seat among the primarchs and showed his joy and pride to the world.

Horus' joy was genuine, and so was his pride.

His sixteen closest and most trusted brothers in the world came one after another, each of them like a god incarnated in the world, with unparalleled power and authority in their every move, and the light of each individual was far more dazzling than the great army that swore to follow their footsteps, making it unforgettable.

The Wolf God stood on the parade platform prepared for them and the Emperor. A huge triumphal arch had just been built. It was a work of art made by crushing the skulls of 30 million powerful orc leaders into powder and then reforging it after many complicated processes. The casting process took six months, and tens of thousands of Terran craftsmen and artists poured out their efforts for every brick and tile on it.

This is the throne that the Emperor sat on when he came to Ullanor. It is a glorious symbol of his achievements in razing all the evil nests that poisoned the galaxy and opening up the world. It is the embodiment of his rage that swept the universe: the laurel wreath, thunder and golden double-headed eagle, as a substitute for the unsightly face of the Lord of Humanity, are rising like the sun in the crowd of many Primarch statues.

The one who proposed to build this horrific wonder was the Phoenix Lord in charge of the Third Legion, the Primarch Fulgrim. He personally designed the sketch and carefully supervised every casting process: In the words of the Phoenix Lord, nothing can better demonstrate the great power of the human empire and the great military exploits of the Emperor's sword across the galaxy than this [moderate waste].

Although it always felt that this concept seemed a bit wrong, Horus and the other Primarchs did not say anything after all: after all, the Emperor did not oppose this plan, and the Mechanicus's large-scale construction around Ullanor had already accumulated astonishing consumption, so it was no big deal to build another wonder.

The lives of millions of servitors and labor prisoners were far less than a nod from the Lord of Mankind.

Besides, it was really beautiful: Fulgrim's vision was still worth boasting about.

The wolf god's fingers brushed over the opal-colored Primarch sculptures on the triumphal arch one by one, from himself to Alpharius, matching the heroic faces with his blood brothers one by one: every time he confirmed one, Horus would review his relationship with himself and his understanding of this brother in his heart.

The result made him feel relieved. About two-thirds of the brothers had a friendly relationship with him, and most of the rest were understood by him, knowing their obsessions or weaknesses: only those in the far east were still covered with a mysterious veil, but fortunately most of them were not worrying.

Morgan of Avalon was just a small shopkeeper with outstanding abilities and a fuss. Her ambitions never reached the other side of the galaxy, and her country was also: not to mention that the character of this sister was indeed impeccable, and there was a possibility of establishing a permanent peace between them.

As for Conrad, he is an Alice who is struggling to move forward, trapped next to a bizarre tree hole. His life is destined to be tortured by fate. The past and the future are like a crazy fairy tale book: Horus pities him, but doesn't know how to help.

Because Conrad refuses to have more intersections with his brothers, he wanders among the Emperor's children in a unique way, like a phantom that is hard to catch: Corax is similar to him, but the Raven King's unsmilingness is more directed at Horus.

This makes the Wolf God very distressed.

The Wolf God knows very well that because of some grievances in the past, he and Corax may not be destined to be good brothers, but this does not mean that he does not want to compensate the Raven King and at least maintain a superficial peace with him: it's just that Corax's coming and going without a trace makes all these attempts bubble.

But these are not the real problems.

While thinking, Horus walked to the edge of the relief. A solitary Primarch was excluded from his brothers, but no one could ignore his existence. This guy has always been like this: arrogant and repelling everyone, but powerful enough to make them have to be wary.

No one can tell what Guilliman is thinking in his kingly heart. Even Horus knows nothing about it. His ignorance is almost fearful: the only thing that can be confirmed is that the Macragge people must have buried boundless ambitions under his lonely appearance, just waiting for him to take it out and burn the galaxy.

This can be seen from the fact that Guilliman pushed their sister Morgan out as the nominal spokesperson of the Far Eastern Three Kings, so that he can withdraw from the matter, stay away from everyone's sight, and hide his own purpose: it is really a skillful way to divert trouble. I wonder how many times Guilliman's quill rustled?

Horus asked himself this question, but as usual did not get a satisfactory answer, so he could only return to the private stand that the Emperor had prepared for him in advance with a worried look on his face: the good field of vision enabled him to quickly capture every Primarch who came to the ground, and the silk awning was carefully protecting his forehead during the dry season. His sea-green eyes swept across the smooth granite floor where his mighty brothers were walking.

Most of his brothers were the same as they were ten years ago. Time seemed to have stopped for them. The Wolf God briefly and quickly evaluated each of them: except for Dorn, because he had always been by Horus' side, just like his long-term loyalty had not changed, which was really reassuring.

Compared with him, even Jonson had changed a little: the lion's clothing style had obviously improved a lot this time, and it seemed that someone finally worried about him. Although his face still didn't look very good, he seemed to have more brothers around him.

Not to mention Conrad, who was entangled with Jonson and couldn't be driven away, and Corax, who seemed to have some common topics with the lion, the steel robots belonging to Perturabo kept the same speed as Caliban's team, and Guilliman fell far behind.

The lion frowned, looking impatient with this bloated combination: but when Corax and Conrad stopped to argue about a certain issue, Jonson did not take the opportunity to speed up and leave, but just stayed there with an impatient look until his two brothers caught up with him again.

The Wolf God saw all this, nodded, and was sincerely happy for Jonson's change: deep in his heart, Horus always regarded the lion as a strong opponent, and he wanted Jonson to become stronger, only in this way, his victory would be rich in gold content.

And following Jonson's pace. The primarchs who arrived earlier appeared one after another.

Fulgrim and his Phoenix Guard seemed to be a little more gorgeous than not long ago. The Wolf God could no longer understand the meaning of the countless patterns, carvings and decorations on the lavender armor of the Phoenix Army. He actually preferred the simpler beauty before.

Many of Chagatai Khan's Keshik guards have already taken on the style of rulers. Horus heard that his brother was generous in rewarding his mortal officers. Large tracts of planets and land were granted to him. These fiefs were called [Ordinary Areas], and they were encouraged to expand outward on their own. Together with them, [Special Areas] were also established, which were directly managed by the Keshik warriors of the White Scars Legion.

Leman Russ and his guards may have changed the most among all of them, especially his guards: the Wolf King had obviously made careful preparations for this feast. The rough style, long-haired and thick-mantled Wild Wolf Guards that ordinary people had in their impression had disappeared, replaced by a team of cold soldiers who followed orders, like killing knights hidden behind cold armor.

Lorgar's Word Bearers, on the other hand, have some of the old style of the Space Wolves. Horus no longer wants to listen to the bloody rumors surrounding the 17th Legion. He has recently been paying attention to other interesting things: such as the close cooperation between the Iron Warriors and Mars, the psychic riots in the Ferrus region, and the new religion that has emerged in the Baal region, worshipping Sanguinius.

Oh, and Luther: I heard that there have been some troubles in his Caliban region recently, and the scope of several large-scale riots has even affected several surrounding star systems. Luther suppressed them with cruel and ruthless means, and blood flowed all the way to Cadia. The kindness and power displayed by the old knight amazed Horus.

Why doesn't he have a mortal hero like this to assist him?

The Wolf God was muttering in his heart. Just then, his last brother Angron arrived. Horus quickly walked down from the high platform, dragged away the Lord of the Imperial Fist who was squatting in the corner to check the results of the project, and rushed with him to the long-lost reunion with his Primarch brothers.

The following scene was enough for the Wolf God to remember for a lifetime.

The shock of the first collective appearance of the 19 demigods was impressive. Even if they themselves had devoted themselves to it, only an event that could pry the fate of the entire galaxy could be worthy of such a spectacular scene. Compared with this moment, those expeditions that were forced to stop because of the transfer of the Primarchs and the countless battle lines on the edge of the galaxy were all negligible sacrifices.

Arriving with the Primarchs were 200,000 Astartes warriors from 19 legions, including many champion warriors who were famous throughout the Great Crusade. Their achievements resounded throughout the Imperial Court of Holy Terra. Behind them were 16 million warriors from various mortal auxiliary forces waiting for inspection. Tens of thousands of flags, emblems and medals of honor formed a solemn ocean, and even the Titans standing like giants seemed so ordinary.

"I have never seen such a scene of warriors gathering together in my life."

Horus embraced his last brother with equal enthusiasm. Whether it was Perturabo's coldness or Mortarion's loneliness, they all melted in front of the Wolf God. The mirror-like granite floor now reflected the smiling faces of the Primarchs.

Brothers and brothers, blood relatives and blood relatives.

Only the purest laughter and the simplest family affection flowed in the air.

"Me neither."

The first person to respond to the Wolf God was his close relative Sanguinius.

"After all, in the Great Crusade, there has never been an opponent so powerful that it is worth mobilizing every Astartes Legion."

"But now there is."

Fulgrim snorted.

"That is the Empire, the glory of the Great Crusade and the Empire itself. If we do not use our full strength, we will never be able to describe what we have laid down: our great achievements have become the greatest opponent."

"If we want to make further progress."

There was laughter between the brothers.

"Do you still want to make progress, Fulgrim?"

"I really want to: I am only over a hundred years old, the right age to struggle."

#More laughter#

"Honestly, everyone, I really mourn for these recorders and artists."

Who would have thought that it was Leman Russ who said this.

"They are at the pinnacle of history, in the Garden of Eden that any colleague is willing to sacrifice his life for, but they are destined to be unable to turn this luck into reality: it is almost impossible for mortal talents to embody the glory of this moment one by one. I feel sad for them."

"Please don't be sad for me."

The Khan glanced at his brother.

"The artists I brought here are fully capable of handling the current situation."

"They depict the magnificence of nature, and their abilities are already perfect. Everything created by humans or other civilizations is pale and short-lived in front of the might of nature."

"Are you serious?"

"The grassland cannot tolerate lies, Rus."

"I don't think so: the freest place is the most disorderly place, which needs to be maintained by human consciousness, but human consciousness is never trustworthy."

"I think we have reached a consensus."

The Khan stroked his beard.

"As for the issue of [consensus]."

The wolf king grinned, and his eyes met with the Khan's in mid-air for a moment, and then quickly staggered away. Neither of them was angry because of this sudden friction. Instead, the wolf god was trying to smooth things over.

"Don't argue about mortals yet: this is not the time for them to show their abilities."

"We still have brothers who haven't arrived yet."

After that, the Wolf God walked to Perturabo's armor and knocked on it. The harsh sound told everyone present that there was only a pure steel body inside: the real Olympian was obviously somewhere else.

"Who knows where Perturabo is: is he still busy in Nikaea?"

The Wolf God looked around, but no one could give him a definite answer.

"The last time I saw Perturabo was more than 30 years ago."

"He has been staying at home lately."

"That's right: but I heard that I have a close relationship with him on Mars now. Kalberhal has frequently visited Perturabo's Blood of Iron in recent years. Many mechanical priests from Mars and small forge worlds are now joining the expedition fleet of the Iron Warriors Legion: I haven't heard of so many before."

"For this kind of thing, maybe we should ask Ferrus."

"Ferrus?"

"Don't look at me. My relationship with the Mechanicus has not been that close in recent years, and And I'm worried about things in the north: my jurisdiction has not been very peaceful recently. Too many out-of-control psykers have emerged near the Eye of Terror, and they have even destroyed two worlds. "

"I'm sorry, brother: but you should be able to handle the problems of the wasteland, right?"

"That's my specialty."

"[Prosperity in the Wasteland]: I swear I will surprise you."

"Then wait and see."

Accompanied by the phoenix's chuckle, the topic went off the track unconsciously, until Angron, who had been wandering on the edge of the crowd, suddenly stepped forward, while attracting attention, looked at Horus, and nodded.

"Speak freely, brother."

Horus smiled. He liked Angron very much. His courageous spirit and blood consciousness made the Wolf God admire him. Although the two had only met three or four times a few decades ago, they cooperated happily, and the combat effectiveness of the World Eaters Legion was also impressive.

"I have seen him."

Angron's voice was still hoarse.

"Perturabo?"

"Yes, he is in Nicaea: not a robot, but a real person. He spent too long in the election of the Nicaea Council, but he promised me that I would arrive in time. I am not surprised by his relationship with the Mechanicus, because he gives me the feeling of a piece of steel, real steel."

"Steel?"

The Primarchs nodded.

"That's normal. Perturabo left each of us with the impression of a piece of steel..."

"No."

Angron interrupted.

"I mean: his soul seems to be gradually transforming into a piece of steel."

"From human, to steel."

"..."

This decisive statement created a low pressure among the Primarchs, and Angron didn't care about the eyes of his brothers. He turned and retreated to the edge. Horus's eyes were fixed on him, and he easily contacted Jonson and Conrad next to him, and...

Wait...

"Where is Morgan?"

The Wolf God realized it later.

In many cases, Morgan is like her Far Eastern Frontier. Theoretically, it should have a strong presence, but in fact, it does not: whether it is the powerful Five Hundred Worlds or the rich Nostramo, it seems that there are more eye-catching reasons than it.

The Primarchs looked around because of Horus's confusion, and then they found that their only sister seemed to have disappeared. Only a few people remained calm at this time: such as Jonson and Conrad, and Magnus who was almost blindly convinced of Morgan's ability.

"She must have her own things."

The Father of the Thousand Sons spoke briskly.

"Don't use ordinary people's thinking to understand the action and time of psychics. It's not surprising that Morgan appears at any time. After all, she has sufficient means to rush back here: the two of us have the same ability in this regard."

"But the attitude is different."

Motarion's voice was suppressed in the dull echo of poisonous gas.

"I hate to brag, but she is different from you, Magnus."

"She never puts her personal affairs above everyone's business."

"Don't think everyone is like you."

The irony of the Lord of Death made Prospero frown in annoyance. The contradiction between the two of them was almost concrete. After all, the meeting of Nikea was approaching. Horus and Vulcan walked forward tacitly, and their figures cut off the eyes of the two brothers, but Mortarion's words were enough to make them uneasy.

Is Morgan in trouble?

After all, she is never late: where can she go?

Thoughts like this were born in everyone's mind.

Even Jonson looked at Conrad next to him with an inquiring look: but when he found that this idiot was waving enthusiastically to the two mortal women on the tower in the distance, the Caliban man could not help but remain silent for a while, barely suppressing the urge to draw his sword.

Then, Jonson thought for a while.

After a while, the lion's eyes began to merge with most people. They all naturally associated some not-so-nice words because of Morgan's failure to meet, and when they thought of these disturbing things, the Primarch's eyes could not help but...

Looked at Guilliman, who was trying to follow the crowd at the edge of the crowd.

#Extreme Silence#

"Is there... something?"

The Macragge man blinked innocently. He didn't understand why he deserved the attention of so many brothers: After a few seconds of self-examination, Guilliman silently hid the coffee cup in his hand behind his back.

This scene brought a few contemptuous looks from the Primarch.

"Rob..."

Just as the Wolf God prepared his emotions and was about to speak, the sound of mechanical friction in the distance attracted the attention of every Primarch: this sound is unique in the entire galaxy, and it belongs only to the shuttle dedicated to the Lord of Mankind.

The golden eagle quickly pierced through the thick clouds of Ullanor, and the magnificent roar announced the glory of the Emperor, leaving behind a series of sonic booms: 100,000 warriors witnessed its arrival, and the Imperial Guards who had arrived on the surface at some point had already driven away all the irrelevant people, and only the Primarchs who hurried over could pass through their defenses.

For some reason: the Imperial Guards' sight today seemed particularly compelling.

They all seemed to be in a bad mood.

But Horus had no time to care about these: when he led his brothers. All the way to the Emperor's shuttle, intending to welcome the arrival of their gene father, an unimagined scene appeared before his eyes.

As the golden door of the shuttle slowly descended, the Primarchs were greeted by not only the golden light behind the Emperor, but also a strange but familiar color.

A touch of silver.

It was not the cold silver frost of the blade of the Guards: but Horus would rather it be.

It was a softer, closer, and more familiar silver.

That was...

——————

In the Primarchs who suddenly quieted down, the sound of Horus's fist clenching instinctively was so harsh.

——————

[Do we have to do this, father? ]

Morgan smiled: a forced smile.

As the shuttle door in front of her and the Emperor gradually descended, revealing the surprised or happy faces of each Primarch brother, the Spider Queen, who was trying hard to accumulate a smile on her face, kept regretting in her heart: regretting why she didn't sneak back to the Aurora before the Emperor set off.

Obviously Malcador ran so fast.

But she was caught by the Emperor at the critical moment: If I had known, I would not have listened to Conrad's instigation and kept my hair so long.

Wait... Conrad...

+ Is it too late to ask now, my daughter? +

There was an obvious pleasure of revenge in the laughter of the Lord of Humanity, but it was drowned in the false mercy of that sacred face: the Emperor did not let anyone go with him, only Morgan took the shuttle with him. At this moment, he let his daughter stand beside him and put his right hand on Morgan's shoulder, as if he was accepting the greetings of everyone together with his most angry minister and most trusted heir.

[……]

Morgan felt like she was on fire: she decided to make up for it in the end.

Struggling to death.

[But this scale is still...]

+ I agreed. +

[I mean...]

+ I promised. +

+ Besides... +

The smile on the Emperor's face has never made Morgan hate it as much as it is now.

＋Some things can only be done by you. ＋

【I am not this...】

＋I understand. ＋