[incredible.]
Angron said, his pauldrons gleaming brightly from the clear sky of Macragge as he stepped into the preparation room, his World Eaters coming forward to put the final touches on the Lord of the Red Sands.
[Finally we have come to this point.]
Outside the preparation room, the flags of the three legions, royal blue, dazzling white, and dark green silk flags, were fluttering in the air.
He raised his arm in surprise, and the hunchbacked old man slowly walked out from under his arm.
Malcador coughed.
"This was always a possibility in the Lord of Mankind's plan - the mortals' vision is too narrow to understand his tolerance."
Rather, when it comes to the Emperor's majesty, the Lord of Mankind's bottom line is a little lower than they imagined.
"A loose confederation,"
Malcador hid himself under his hood and sneered.
"If one day, human beings no longer kill each other and truly understand cooperation, then I think he is the one who most wants to see a more relaxed environment."
… The nineteen primarchs were not only generals but also natural leaders. The Lord of Mankind had left himself many escape routes at the beginning of the plan.
But now, the Astronomican has gone out, the Warmaster has disappeared, and except for the legions that are still operating independently in various places, the rule of this huge empire over various star regions is almost in name only.
Maybe for some planets this might be good news because it means they don't have to pay taxes.
For those planets, the empire means bringing mechanical sages to transform the planets and excessively high taxes.
This is not what the Lord of Mankind would like to see, but it is what He must do.
This was the sin they, the Emperor, and Malcador were guilty of, Malcador thought.
He didn't feel much of a burden because he had already accepted it.
Malcador coughed with laughter, and the Imperial Regent saw Robert Guilliman walking towards them in the distance. The young [Regent] seemed a little nervous, and the hard work for many months had made his temples a little white.
Malcador smiled. Old man, this is really like retirement, he whispered in his heart, but the old fellow on Terra's side was just like before, without any response to him.
If this were not the case, Malcador thought, if this were the reality that the Imperium's work was complete and that humanity was no longer threatened by the Warp, how wonderful it would be -
He would stand in the shadows with the Emperor, smiling as the new generation took over their burdens.
Robert Guilliman, Angron, Mortarion, although they are still a little immature in some aspects, after many months of getting along with each other, Malcador believes that they are capable of shouldering the weight of a country.
If only this were the succession ceremony of the empire, if only this were the moment when these old people truly let go.
The smile on Malcador's face gradually faded, and he sighed softly.
But the reality is still cruel.
He thought silently that their primary mission now was still the "Dead", but the turbulence of the Warp had been trying its best to prevent them from going forward.
I don’t know how long the current chaotic situation will last.
One year? Ten years? A thousand years? Or another ten thousand years
Machado didn't know.
He only knew that in Cadia, which was surrounded by layers of chaotic forces, those forces would not give up.
Malcador did not know the specific situation of Cadia, but since the chaos in this universe remained, it proved one thing - that the "Dead" were not dead.
According to the last news Malcador received, the White Scars and Raven Guard arrived on Cadia at the last minute.
They are now fighting against Chaos, trying their best to save the two legions of the Dead.
But... the White Scars are good at surprise attacks and early reconnaissance, while the Raven Guard are good at stealth and assault. Neither of these two legions is good at frontal meat-crushing battles.
Cardia is still dangerous.
Malcador frowned and thought that this was why they needed to go to Cadia immediately - but the Four Gods knew this, and they were working hard to eliminate the route to Cadia.
Malcador sighed.
He is still training Mortarion intensively - in order to restore this Primarch who is unwilling to face reality to his full strength as soon as possible.
Mortarion's psychic gifts might be their only hope of reaching Cadia.
The establishment of the [Second Provisional Government] was a helpless move made by the country to maintain stability and to cope with the possible war that might come later due to being trapped here.
They cannot ignore regional stability just to get to Qadia.
As the old man pondered this, the two Primarchs who were conversing and making final preparations for the ceremony moved.
The fog slowly rose from under their feet, and the death shrouds who had been waiting in the preparation room spontaneously came together. There were seven of them in total. They stood there, leaving a huge space in the middle.
[Are you here? ]
Angron’s relaxed voice was answered by a hissing sound that sounded rather grumpy.
White mist gushed out from beneath their feet like a gushing fountain, and soon reached a height taller than a primarch.
Gradually, surging shadows appeared in the white fog.
Angron folded his arms and commented,
[This really doesn't look like a living person. ]
Hearing this, Guilliman glanced at the Lord of Red Sand in disbelief, but Angron seemed to be very sure.
A hand suddenly stretched out from the mist, the pale armor was covered with some dead yellow moss, the mist poured out from the hand, the palm was clenched, and a long, sharp sickle suddenly took shape in the hand.
A tall, thin figure emerged from the mist.
[You seem eager to have someone to talk to, Angron.]
A hoarse voice sounded
[My suggestion is that you should draw more blood to create your children to relieve your boredom instead of trying to contact me every day.]
Angron grinned as he looked at the figure gradually becoming clearer in the fog.
[I'm just too bored, brother, you should learn to relax a little. ]
Angron said, but in fact, from beginning to end, the Lord of Red Sand was just using his own method to confirm one thing -
That is, will Mortarion become more and more inhuman as he [changes]
It's not about appearance. Mortarion has been expelled from the human race based on his appearance.
Angron was referring to personality. Having experienced the possession of the Maelstrom Emperor, he knew what it felt like. People would become unlike themselves.
They will be swept away by those more powerful and more original forces.
If one is not strong enough, his original personality will be dissolved.
Angron was concerned about this, in part because he did not want Mortarion to become some kind of Higher Dimensional being in terms of personality.
Of course, the Pale Lord who emerged from the fog cut off this possibility with his sharp words.
Angron was relieved to realize that, although he had sensed that something was not right with Mortarion since that meeting, his persistent attempts at consolation had drastically changed Mortarion's attitude toward him to his previous state.
Angron had nothing to do anyway, so guided by his own abilities, the Lord of Red Sand began to take the initiative to pay attention to the mental and emotional health of those around him.
Mortarion is of course the focus.
The Pale Lord's face, which looked as if he had been dead for seven hundred years, emerged from the mist. He looked a little different from the last time they met, as if mist had no fixed form, and perhaps Mortarion did not have one either.
But no matter what, he looked like he was dead, perfectly fitting the local people's idea of the god of death.
The empty cloak covered most of the Pale King's body (or maybe there was nothing under the cloak except mist).
As for the wings... the wings... Angron's gaze wandered, finally landing on Mortarion's back -
Ah, when it is folded up, it becomes a cloak.
The Lord of Red Sand commented that it was fine when viewed from a distance, but if you looked at it up close... it's better not to look at it up close.
Not suitable for close viewing.
It's horrible.
Guilliman, who was beside the Lord of Red Sand, frowned and carefully circled around Mortarion.
Mortarion stood there confidently, not thinking that there was anything wrong with his mimicry.
[All right,]
Guilliman said,
[Fortunately, I have arranged your position in advance, Mortarion, do you mind if your position is a little out of the way? ]
The Pale Lord responded to Guilliman's words with a sneer, and Guilliman took it as his consent.
Mortarion stood there, wings slightly spread in disgust, allowing his spawn to pat him with camouflage powder.
There was a brief silence in the room, each of the three people had their own thoughts.
Suddenly, Mortarion spoke up.
[… Malcador, the subspace is not very stable recently, you need to come and take a look. ]
Malcador looked up from beneath his hood, at Mortarion.
"You can discern the paths of the warp?"
[No,]
Mortarion said simply,
[It is the subspace, which has changed itself.]
Yay!
(End of this chapter)