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

Page 846

Long, long ago, Macardo hated Guilliman's naiveté and justice—he wished the Primarchs were more cruel and ruthless, but the millennia-long struggle ultimately ended in the Emperor's defeat.

He had originally planned for Guilliman's death, or for Guilliman to die—and the Guilliman who could kill him was destined to be a far more ruthless individual, one who would grow stronger from defeat and bloodshed.

But Macardo—the former emperor—was wrong. Guilliman was still Guilliman. He would rather further exploit himself than lower his standards even a little bit.

In this respect, Robert Guilliman possessed an absolute bottom line and conscience. The education he received in his childhood was so perfect, so good, so correct, that it even carried an air of cowardice.

Is the Primarch currently confronting Guilliman, the Lord of the Empire... the real Guilliman of the Chaos Empire?

When Finus asked the question, Macardo remained silent for a moment, then shook his head firmly.

"No, if my deduction is correct—the Primarch who is currently dueling Guilliman on the other side of the battlefield should be Alpha."

“They possess a deep psychic energy of the Chaos Empire. I think it was the real ‘Guilliman’ who used some forbidden techniques to gradually twist Alpha and Omega’s souls into the shape of his soul—I suspect that Omega thought he was the real Guilliman before he died—but he was not qualified.”

The old man scoffed. Seeing Finus ask a question, the Grey Phoenix also looked at Macado—he had once been enslaved by Macado, but the old man's intervention had temporarily eased his displeasure.

So where is the other master of the Chaos Empire—the real Robert Guilliman?

Fu Gen asked, and upon hearing his words, the old man raised his eyes, his wise gaze seemingly piercing through the stars, looking straight at that specific direction.

"Based on my understanding and speculation about Guilliman... Chaotic Guilliman—will only exist in the Terra he occupies."

....................................

Another Fate Line

Terra

【now】

The sun was shining brightly on Terra, and the crown on his golden head shone brightly. In the cool shade of the trees, a king was enjoying afternoon tea in his garden, a good habit he had developed on Macragge. Even though afternoon tea was no longer a thing on Macragge, [Killiman] had preserved this custom.

He likes it, so he does it.

The blue-loving Guilliman even restored Terra's ocean system, making the once barren, yellowish planet blue and beautiful again.

Click.

The silver teacup was set down, producing a clear, bell-like sound.

[A reasonable explanation, Phenus.]

Guilliman smiled, as if conversing with someone in the void.

[Although I am still angry that you let Horus go—I have read your battle report, and the fact that two full legions came to our aid was indeed unexpected, so I forgive you, Phenus.]

[White Scar and Space Wolf...]

"Killiman" said with a sigh.

[I always knew they were a problem, and I never gave up the hunt. They were far more tenacious than I imagined—spies from another world.]

The blue-eyed king remained silent for a moment, then tilted his head slightly to listen to the voice on the other end of the communication.

[...The target is Terra, and they're moving very fast?]

A chaotic mix of emotions welled up in Killieman's eyes.

[No, there's no need to send the other legions back. The battlefield over there cannot be retreated from; the solar system's defenses are sufficient to stop them.]

The cold-blooded monarch remained calm.

Unless... unless that person is still alive.

Guilliman thought with some indignation that his other self in the alternate timeline was a complete lackey, a moderate, and a compromiser. This was why he might have to face the problem of not being able to completely eliminate another version of himself.

But so what?

[Killiman] blinked and looked into the depths of the palace, where his cruel father was still suffering on the golden throne.

Aside from him and Mortarion, few can recall what that tyrant truly looked like.

Everyone's memories are fading from that person's image, which is exactly what [Guilliman] wanted. Perhaps that person also made a mistake, but in any case, within this Chaos Empire, apart from the underground labyrinth that [Guilliman] has locked, no one will find a single record or trace of that person.

His character, his personality, and his actions are all being forgotten.

[Come back, Fernus.]

"Killiman said calmly."

It seems we need a new war plan.

....................................

[Original Fateline]

【now】

For the other Primarchs, the length and intensity of this battle were enough to leave them exhausted and collapsed to the ground, falling into a state of suspended animation.

But for the two Mortarians, it was just a warm-up match.

Although they were all panting heavily, as if their health bars were down to the last fifth, those who were truly familiar with Mortarion knew that the Primarch's remaining health bars were getting longer and longer. Apart from monsters like Hades who could be killed instantly, Mortarion's last drop of blood could even have the effect of seven bars of health for other Primarchs, making him an unkillable cockroach.

There is nothing special about it but perseverance.

Resilient! Tenacious!

The edge of the eerie black flames rolled and burned, and the chaotic red, dark green and bright purple shrieked among the black flames, rolling like ghosts in a sea of ​​dark flames.

The thick white mist was scorched away by the black flames, but then crashed down again. The white waves rolled silently, like giant mouths trying to swallow the shrieking black flames, but after repeated attempts, they were once again blasted away by the flames.

Amidst the white mist, the towering giant, its edges blurred and almost merging with the fog, stretched out its hand. Thick, soup-like mist overflowed from between its seven fingers. This mist, significantly denser than the surrounding white fog, surged like leaked poison gas, instantly reaching the leader of the rebels.

Seven skeletal grim reapers, made of mist and wearing hoods, rose from the white fog and swung their scythes at the first rebel!

[Pshaw, what a trivial skill.]

A cold laugh rang out from behind the masked figure. Black flames erupted like a whirlwind, and the jet-black scythe flowers danced, blocking the attack from the mist. Suddenly, the figure swung back and scythe once more!

The Grim Reaper formed from the condensed mist was instantly cut in two, but even though he was severed in half, the scythes in the hands of those mist monsters attacked him again!

However, it was still like showing off one's limited skills before an expert. The First Rebel thought to himself, and the flames in his eyes became even more fierce. But he suddenly felt something was wrong—his sixth sense kicked in, and the First Rebel suddenly turned to the side. He had to use his shoulder armor to withstand the scythe of the Grim Reaper from the side, but he just managed to avoid a fatal attack from behind.

boom! ! !

The giant scythe, resembling the arthropods of an insect, slashed down beside him with incredible speed—the sonic boom's white mist struck the First Rebel's armor like shrapnel, as if a hydrogen bomb had exploded beside him.

Before he could even regain his footing, the First Rebel's eyes flashed with a dark and ferocious light. Ignoring the attacks from the other white mists behind him, he turned and swung his scythe, striking at his own hideous self.

But the mist dissipated again, and the First Rebel's attack missed its mark—although the black flames had damaged Mortarion, the physical blade could never seriously injure him.

The first rebel gritted his teeth. He could also immerse himself in a state of greater liberation of his true nature, but he was unwilling to do so. Releasing his true nature while severely injured meant further losing himself, since half of his soul's contract still weighed on him.

But the pressure from Mortarian, the god of death, was omnipresent. Wisps of mist swirled around his cheeks and lingered around his nostrils, as if they wanted to probe into the flesh and blood of the first rebel at any moment, crush his heart, or shatter his soul.

Mortarian—another self—another rude, unruly, and utterly unsocialized savage, far more troublesome than the First Rebel had originally imagined.

The rebel leader felt the stinging pain in his neck intensify, and black blood seeped from between his clenched teeth. No... his plan had not yet begun, and he could not fall here prematurely.

The other self, however, clearly had no sympathy for him—Motalion would love nothing more than for his giant scythe to bite off the First Rebel's head, and the First Rebel thought the same.

The war will not end.

There was no way out for him.

He has to win.

Black flames blazed in the eyes of the First Rebel, like the smoke of battle that had never ceased for millennia. Like Mortarion, his figure began to blur, merging with the rising flames.

The Primarchs did not understand why the release of their other self's essence was mist. Was this related to the perpetual mist over Barbarossa? Perhaps the essence of the Primarchs was a more abstract and vast concept, shaped by their experiences on Earth, making them concepts that mortals could barely comprehend.

As for the true nature of the chief rebel... what he was truly certain of was perhaps the black fire he had stolen...

From [Emperor].

At least the initial spark that ignited this raging black flame came from that person.

More specifically, it comes from that monster who can be called both half an "Emperor" and half a "Dark King".

But apart from Mortarion, no one realized this—they thought this was the true form of the First Rebel.

To deceive Guilliman, he never further liberated himself, but now, along with the First Rebel's struggle after seeing hope, the existence of the Terran underground labyrinth has also come alive.

Then the black flames roared and burned.

..........................................

Another Fate Line

【past】

【…】

Mortarion stood quietly beside the Emperor. The Primarch's casual clothes were clearly a bit thin in the fierce winds of the Himalayas, but the Emperor knew the child wouldn't freeze to death.

The golden light between the Emperor's eyes was even more dazzling in the morning sunlight, far more brilliant than the slowly rising golden sun. His black hair flew wildly in the wind.

[Emperor] stepped aside, clearing the cliff for [Motalian].

"Will you do it yourself, or should I help you, number fourteen?"

I can do it myself.

[Motalian] said calmly, taking three steps forward and standing precisely on the edge of the cliff. His feet were dangling in the air, and looking down at the bottomless abyss of snow, [Motalian] felt dizzy.

He suppressed his fear and trembling, turned his head, and looked directly into the Emperor's eyes without any courtesy.

【but why.】

Why him? Why don't others use it? Why is he being treated like this?

"Your essence is rebellion, number fourteen—this is a special gift. If an emperor wants a competent general, he will never bestow such a talent upon his general."

The calm yet authoritative words dissipated in the wind.

Why was he so harsh on Number Fourteen? Perhaps he couldn't even understand himself at the time.

I don't understand.

Are you saying I'm a defective product, a failure? Is that why I'm treated this way, Father?

You don't need to understand.

For an eagle to soar, it must first be pushed off a cliff.

[Motalian] believed that [The Emperor] had kicked him off the mountain. He felt a violent force strike his back, followed by a tremendous feeling of being suspended in mid-air. The blizzard scraped his cheeks like blades. Filled with immense anger, [Motalian] struggled to turn himself around and saw the black figure standing atop the mountain peak, backlit by the light.

The gold and black shadows in the figure's eyes intertwined.

But a sudden gust of wind blew, and his disheveled black hair obscured his eyes.

Your essence is rebellion, Number Fourteen.

Remember it.

Chapter 845【287】Pity

What exactly is he thinking?

The emperor's voice gently swept across the deck. The black-haired man stood tall at the bow of the ship, his gaze resolute as he looked at the starry sea before him.

Behind him, the Wolf King stood silently. The entire ship was currently in the waves of warp space, and a strange and powerful force materialized, like thousands of giant hands pulling at their ship, trying to silence it.

But from the Emperor, a violent golden light shone forth, carrying undeniable power. The golden flames, like an invisible protective shield, covered the ships, ensuring the fleet's smooth advance.

The entire fleet was like a sharp golden sword, tearing through the flesh and blood of the colossal monster that was the warp.

Russ was silent for a moment, then let out a strange snort from his throat, like a snort.

You mean... another emperor is still alive?

"Living, and never fading."

Neos blinked, the golden light in his eyes temporarily obscured.

"Live, and keep learning."

"Living, suffering, anger—does he want true destruction?"

Amidst the eerie howls of the subspace, Neos descended, as if resting with his eyes closed. Then, he opened his calm eyes.

"Do you still have any memories of the other me, Ruth? Tell me."

【? ! 】