Warhammer: I don't want to become a stinky can!

Page 855

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[Nine hours later]

[This is the last line of defense in outer space! What are you doing?! Have I raised a bunch of utterly incompetent naval warriors?! I gave you far more ships than the enemy, and equipment that was in no way inferior to theirs—and this is your record?!]

[Guilliman] roared, then turned around again, as if suddenly calming down, rubbing his temples—he realized this might be some deeper layer of narrative and fate interfering—meaning that another human lord would eventually descend upon Terra.

This is a kind of inevitable fate; the galaxy favors drama, and any symbolic sign will eventually stand on the stage where it is meant to appear.

[Killiman] would rather think that than believe that this was the wisdom of the Khan confronting him.

And the life of the Lord of Mankind.

After a moment of silence, the cold-blooded king decisively left his seat, leaving the star map still flashing in place. On that intricate map, the fleet highlighted in gold was already pointing its sharpness directly at Mars.

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[Chagatai, haha, you've got a knack for that!]

The Wolf King's heroic voice rang out, but the Khan remained silent. He was already covered in sweat, his face turning red. Even the Primarch was gradually feeling the strain of the intense, concentrated command.

Now, White Scar's ships are few and far between. The Khan initially deployed them on the outer edge of the fleet—he had already foreseen the current situation. This is the price to pay, in exchange for the fleet's ever-increasing speed.

The remaining fleet consisted mostly of ships from Horus and the Wolf King's fleet, but now all the crew and soldiers were loyally united by the Great Khan, without the slightest discontent.

Chagatai Khan had proven his unshakeable position in naval warfare through his abilities and the sacrifice of his men in previous battles—and now everyone believed that this Primarch from the steppes could truly lead them to Terra.

【Let us handle this—Chagatai, you'll be in charge of the final charge.】

Chagatai was still hesitating, but the Wolf King's fleet had already begun to sail outwards impatiently. After a moment of silence, the Primarch nodded.

Next is the last line of defense in outer space—Mars.

This departure—it may very well be the last time we see each other.

Although Lemanrus was reckless, the Khan believed that the wolf's Primarch was reliable enough in crucial moments—and in this damned fate, the two Primarchs' understanding was already sufficient.

Ah—I only have one thing I might need your help with, Khan. If you can, please help Leon out for me, haha, he's had a tough time.

Any Primarch who is loyal to the Emperor will meet a tragic fate, just like Horus, Sanguiles, and Leon Johnsen.

Chagatai thought coldly that the Wolf King should have said those words to the Emperor—but Rus knew the Emperor's character, so he ultimately gave those words to the Khan.

I will.

The Khan nodded, watching as the wolf fleet howled and cheered as it charged into the defensive lines near Mars, using its own body to shield the fleet from the artillery fire.

[See you in winter...Ruth. 】

Chagatai spoke softly, then looked ahead again. The beautiful blue planet was now visible to the naked eye. With just one final charge, the already exhausted ship would easily use its massive size to shatter the orbital defenses and clear the way for the troops behind it.

Let's move forward.

Khan said calmly, "Maximum power—until the engine breaks down."

An hour later, divine punishment descended upon Terra.

Chapter 854 [296] Burned Out

The sky burst into flames.

A scarlet circular spot appeared in the pale blue sky, which was cloudless, but the ripples caused by the powerful air currents were visible to the naked eye.

The stars are falling, just as they were ten thousand years ago.

The space stations in Terra orbit fell like stars plucked from the sky, crashing into Terra's atmosphere. The massive explosions were like fireworks during a grand festival, bursting open in the air.

However, it was far less magnificent than the colossal objects that followed.

From the ground, the fleet occupied almost a quarter of the field of vision. Its original pearl white paint had long since turned into a cruel and deep gray amidst the gunfire, like a sharp blade that had been through many battles.

Further away, looking out from the pale blue sky, above the position of Mars, a perplexing scene appears: the cruelty forged by gunfire and bloodshed, from a distance, looks like a few strokes of a child's random scribbles in the sky.

The entirety of Terra began to tremble, from the depths of the earth to the highest peaks—then, a blue light shone forth.

Millions of dazzling blue magic circles appeared out of thin air beside the falling fleet. Then, seemingly with someone's sigh, a giant magic circle with a cross-sectional area that could encompass the entire fleet appeared on the path the ships were bound to take. It flashed nine times, and within the magic circle, it was as if a giant, writhing eye had come to life.

Now, that giant eye is fixed on the fleet that is charging toward Terra in a death charge.

hum-

A distant, low hum echoed, reverberating across the boundless plains of Terra, over the highest mountain peaks, and across the turbulent, ever-flowing ocean.

This was a force that distorted reality, carrying the endless curses and gazes of the warp. The few remaining ships began to burn—the leaping flames were not ordinary crimson, but a shimmering, luminous blue.

Amidst the blue flames, eerie ghosts howled, and the ghostly figures of the subspace twisted and turned, accompanied by extremely strange and devout prayers.

In the very center of the fleet—in the very center of that room densely covered with runes written in the Emperor's blood—Neos, one hand gripping his sword tightly and the other resting on his knee, knelt on one knee, his head bowed low, his black hair obscuring his expression, only blood gushing from his half-open mouth.

Clearly—undoubtedly—without a doubt—the Lord of Mankind's plan has failed once again. The Emperor's current state does not seem to indicate that he is capable of fighting. In order to reach Terra, he prematurely burned the power he had reserved for fighting on Terra.

So much so that his initial promise to Horus seems to have fallen through again; he had promised to help his sons once he arrived in Terra.

This strategic miscalculation will not cause the Emperor any disappointment or self-blame; failure is reality—but it is imperative to keep wielding the sword until victory or defeat.

The Lord of Mankind bowed his head, as if he had burned out and turned into ashen ash.

But he knew that his remaining strength could still help the army a little more—since he was powerless to help with the landing operation, he might as well make the landing go as smoothly as possible.

The Emperor sensed that the Khan was also exhausted—this usually tough and composed Primarch would not show his distress, as no Primarch is willing to reveal his weakness.

"You take after him in this respect, just like your father."

Makado's voice seemed to echo in the Emperor's mind.

The Lord of Mankind paid no attention. He slowly extended his hand from his knees and gripped the sword embedded in the deck again. With both hands tightly holding the sword, the fierce and insane golden light in his eyes slowly shone through his black hair.

"Horus... I regret that I cannot offer you any further assistance—my child, remember, the only way to achieve victory is to unleash another Emperor and Tzeentch."

"as well as……"

An immense spiritual pressure erupted around the Emperor once more, carrying an undeniable golden light. His long hair was instantly whipped about violently, and visible white hair instantly spread across his black hair from the roots. Fine wrinkles began to appear at the corners of Neos's eyes.

Looking back on the emperor's life before that, after Saint Gilles founded the state church, his power slowly recovered—part of which was used to pay off previous debts, while the other part disappeared along with the fall of the angels.

After that, he handed the throne to Guilliman, distributed power among the other Primarchs, and even gave Neos most of his psionic energy.

But because the foundation of this power is too strong, coupled with Neos's strong mental ability—he never shows panic, never shows fatigue, never shows any of the ugly things that a human should do.

Therefore, the true extent of Neos's power remains a mystery to outsiders. Perhaps only Hades once inadvertently and unconsciously glimpsed the Emperor's true psionic projection.

In short, the Emperor's actual power was clearly no match for his arrogance and all-in attitude.

Even though those who know the truth rationally know that Neos is no longer the same as before, when they look at the Emperor's imposing face, they still think that the man in front of them is still the god who is as constant as the sun.

Neos let out a long sigh, as if he was finally beginning to realize his own weakness.

A tremendous golden light once again enveloped the falling fleet, as magnificent and dazzling as a meteor shower falling from the sky, or like the setting sun never to rise again.

The decline of the Lord of Mankind began with the ascension of the Archangel, turned with the usurpation of the throne by Guilliman, and ultimately fell to the strategic deployment of another [Guilliman].

"...Horus Lupecal,"

Neos spoke calmly, feeling his voice grow hoarse and deeper.

This is his favorite child, the firstborn son, a pawn he chose as a sacrifice, someone he loved and someone he didn't love, someone who was chosen—his love and the sacrifice he demanded of his child were not contradictory at all.

Neos knew perfectly well what he was doing—he wouldn't have thought about these things in the past, merely speaking and acting without considering the underlying logic.

But now, he must encourage Horus—to hand him the key to unlock the chains—that this is a matter of life and death; success will lead to the next stage of victory, failure to utter destruction.

He had to push Horus one more time—the Lord of Men wasn't sure if Horus was the most suitable Primarch for his current position, but he was the last Primarch to remain by the Lord of Men's side. Perhaps Mortarion or Sangilius would be better suited for combat than Horus, but they weren't here.

It was clearly a bit of a forced decision for Horus, but Neos believed that Lupecal would not disappoint him—was this based on his assessment of Horus's strength, or on a father's prejudice against his eldest son? It didn't matter.

"You'll have to walk the rest of the road yourself."

The emperor spoke as calmly as possible.

“I know you feel lost and in pain after your recovery—my child, that’s normal. No one is perfect. I used to be very demanding of you, but no one is perfect, and no one is without fault. Making mistakes is not terrible. The key is how you choose your path after you regain your kindness and true nature.”

Lies, lies, lies, but in pardoning traitors, the emperor was indeed more merciful than his subordinates.

After all, it still has value, and it can still be used. Neos can cooperate with other races, and he can also sit at the same table with Chaos—so forgiving the traitor is obviously not unacceptable, especially since he chose the fall of Horus Lupecal.

Just as the Primarch who became the new ruler of the Empire a hundred years ago was destined to die from overwork; just as the Primarch who became the Pope of the State Religion a thousand years ago had to accept the corrupting power of faith; just as the Primarch who became the Warmaster ten thousand years ago had to fall.

It doesn't matter who it is, or which Primarch it is; in that position, the ending is already predetermined.

The Lord of Mankind chose the most suitable candidates to place in those positions, even if his favorite children were among them, or perhaps it was because of that trust that Horus was chosen.

Neos chuckled softly, blood continuously spilling from his mouth. He felt immense exhaustion—he was truly worn out this time.

Therefore, Horus must succeed.

“I did not punish you for your previous betrayal—Wolf God, your power was not actually taken away, it was just hidden away, because you never firmly believed in your own heart.”

Neos coughed, and the golden light surrounding him began to fade. The sun sank in the west, gradually disappearing behind the towering Himalayas, before a dazzling golden meteor shower streaked across the sky.

“I hope you can give yourself a chance, Lupecal—the only one who hasn’t forgiven you is yourself. Accept yourself. I still hope to see the Shepherd God who was proud of the empire before.”

That's enough, that's enough said.

Neos thought, he heard silence on the other end of the communication, but the Lord of Mankind was no longer able to cope, the last light flashed—the sun completely sank below the horizon, darkness rose, and everything was pitch black.

He fell straight down, into his own blood.

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[Main Fate Line]

【now】

[Killiman lost.]

The vampire, Saint Gilles, grinned and said, lying on the blood-soaked ground with his arms outstretched.

Archangel Saint Gilles was gripping the vampire tightly, like an angel judging a demon in a religious mural. His spear was raised high, pressed against the vampire's neck—a small drop of blood seeped out.

But I don't think we've won yet.

The archangel said calmly that he had also received a message from Guilliman on the other end of his communication channel—that was not [Guilliman], but [Alpha].

[indeed,]

The vampire grinned, showing his teeth.

[Guilliman is the most disgusting Primarch I've ever seen. He's only temporarily defeated, not dead—in fact, he's currently in Terra of the Chaos Empire.]

The archangel raised an eyebrow.

How do you know?

Horus just told me,

The vampire gave a helpless smile.

[Killiman's rule is also spiraling out of control. Pluto was destroyed, allowing messages to be sent out. Your army, along with Horus's army, has now arrived in the solar system.]

The archangel's expression changed slightly. He instantly figured out which imperial armies were there—the Lord of Mankind and Horus would definitely be among them.

So, could you please give me a ride?

The vampire chuckled, casually reaching out to grasp the tip of the spear the archangel had pressed against his neck.

Death will send a vampire back to his original fate.

[I have to go back and help Lupecal—at least die together, or at least make Guilliman suffer before I die.]

The spear trembled almost imperceptibly, and Saint Gilles began to quickly assess the current situation.

The only clear path to victory is between him and Guilliman. Vulcan's side has suffered a crushing defeat, but is still struggling to hold on thanks to his resurrection ability. The situation on the Angron front is also not optimistic, as the Red Sand Lord's mental state has begun to show signs of being corrupted by the warp. On the Korak's and Koz's side, they are almost being overwhelmed by Khorne [Korak].

The good news is that Guilliman and Mortalian have enough troops, and Sanguis believes they are capable of handling the entire army—not to mention that Hades is on his way.

Saint Gilles pondered for a moment, made a simple assessment, and finally concluded that the situation on the Lord of Man's side was not as optimistic as it was on their side.

It was like a premonition—the archangel had always had a feeling that the emperor would stumble sooner or later, perhaps now.

Moreover... the archangel's eyes darkened. Letting the vampire go back would only exacerbate the power gap on the other side—at least he wasn't sure if the vampire genuinely wanted to help the Empire kill [Guilliman].

The vampire [Sanguielles] will likely appear when all is lost, reaping the benefits.

The victory on the other side involved the merging of destinies, and the archangels did not want their side to lose everything after fighting tooth and nail to the death, only to have the emperor's mishap cause them to lose everything.

I want to go too.