bookbashuk Page 752
Page 752
Guilliman paused for a moment, then spoke.
[A simple and unrealistic thought, but considering Barbarossa is a self-sufficient planet with small farmers, I can understand your "brother's" feelings—he was indeed the best among you, and if he were still alive, I think I would be quite fond of him.]
Motalian almost vomited in his mind. He couldn't take it anymore. If it were the hot-tempered Karas or Herrera standing there, they would definitely have kicked Guilliman right away.
But this is Mortarion.
It is tragic that Mortarian had to endure everything, yet he was willing to sacrifice everything in order to defy fate.
So all he could utter was a pale and futile sound.
【Um. 】
This clearly pleased Guilliman again, and after humiliating Mortalian, Guilliman finally revealed the real reason he had called Mortalian over.
Do you remember the space necromancer?
Guilliman suddenly asked a question, which startled Mortalian.
The Necromancers were the most dangerous enemies the Imperium of Man had ever faced. After the Imperium discovered the scale of the Necromancers, the Imperium's leader, Robert Guilliman, acted decisively, uniting Khorne, Nurgle, and Slaanesh to extract sufficient power from the Warp. Subsequently, the entire Imperium mobilized.
Over three thousand years, the Empire of Man, under the brutal oppression of Guilliman, through organizing Imperial armies carrying annihilation bombs and the Mechanicus tomb raiding teams, completely destroyed most of the sleeping Necromancer tombs in space.
Planets where the undead graveyards of space are discovered will be isolated, and the dynasty's "alarm clock" will be carefully eliminated. Then, psychic energy will be used to cut off the dynasty's means of sending messages outward.
After that, the entire planet will be dragged into the crushing storm created by the Primarch in the warp—the site of Tzeentch's Labyrinth, now transformed by Robert Guilliman into a storm zone that pulverizes everything.
Robert Guilliman once stated bluntly that the Empire's victory was based on the premise that the Necromancers had not yet been resurrected. If the Necromancers had been resurrected, the human Empire would have truly been destroyed.
There were also many dangerous battles during this period, including the still-unrecovered Space Necromancer army, the Space Necromancers who were unexpectedly awakened, and the Silent King who returned from beyond the river.
But they faced Primarchs who had all ascended to demonic status, humans who were in cahoots with Chaos, and a human empire that had been cruelly ruled by Robert Guilliman for six thousand years, existing solely for production and war.
This is why Mortarion chose Guilliman. Only Guilliman, only Robert Guilliman, could mobilize an entire empire in a short time and sacrifice the entire human empire for a goal that seemed like a dream to others.
It was Robert Guilliman who led the human empire to its glory.
Although individuals called human beings suffer and struggle under his rule, their entire being, from body to soul to productivity, is sacrificed and exploited to the very end for the sake of the Empire under Guilliman's rule.
[Space Necromancers? Weren't they already wiped out?]
That war, which mobilized the entire empire and lasted for three thousand years, has long since ended, but Mortarian still feels a shiver run down his spine when he recalls those dark and arduous years of work and battle.
The extermination campaign against the space necromancy was also the most thorough; Guilliman understood better than anyone that such beings had to be eradicated.
【uh-huh. 】
Killieman should be there.
Guess what I recently discovered? An entire army of space undead, marked with death seals.
【? ! 】
[The space necromancer is not already—]
[From another destiny.]
Guilliman said lightly, looking at Mortalian. It had been more than two thousand years since the last war that completely wiped out the Greenskins and then used them as production tools. The Empire had not fought a war since then.
This is Robert Guilliman's unique coloring game.
【Motalian, didn't you once say... you really wanted to see another destiny line?】
Killieman laughed, his sapphire eyes sparkling.
Let's send troops.
Mortarian's eyes widened in surprise, causing the inverted crown around his neck to shimmer.
Yay, it's gone!
Chapter 774 [217] Friends, we've finally made it through!
[Fate Tributary]
send troops.
Mortarian pondered for a moment, then strode through the somber corridors of the Resilience, past the stars outside the window, and set out.
send troops.
This idea seemed to grow wildly, its roots intertwined and deeply embedded in the Primarch's thoughts, drawing upon Mortalian's reason.
Shadows hung over the long corridor. In the dim light where no light could reach, Mortalian finally couldn't hold back any longer. His Primarch buried his head, his white hair cascading down, and his shoulders trembled.
Finally, finally!
Motalian laughed. Finally, after two thousand years of working overtime, that stingy tyrant, Robert Guilliman, had finally chosen to send troops!
The oppressive reality nearly eroded Mortalian's sanity. Endless exploitation and working under the cold-blooded monarch Robert Guilliman meant an endless, sleepless, and painfully bleak life.
Finally—finally!
Mortarian couldn't stop laughing, but his laughter sounded like the dying struggle of a tuberculosis patient. He subconsciously reached out and took out the Poisonous Mask from the void.
Unlike the Mortarion gas mask from the main world, the mask Mortarion presented was grotesque and bizarre, with fangs and spikes protruding from it, and eerie lights flowing across its surface in vibrant green, purple, and bright red. White mist gushed continuously from its back.
Take a deep breath, take a deep breath.
Mortarion pressed the gas mask deep into his lower body, craving oxygen like a drowning man, while the Primarch leaned against the wall, resting his massive body against it.
Ten thousand years have passed since that day when he swung his sickle toward the emperor.
Ten thousand years have passed since that day when he put on the golden shackles.
Over these ten thousand years, there have been regrets and hatred, but more often, exhaustion and forbearance. Robert Guilliman would never allow anything else to shake his empire, so the work was never-ending, but there would never be any epic or perilous battles.
Working under Robert Guilliman felt less like working for an empire and more like working for a large corporation.
Mortarian took a deep breath of the poisonous gas that made him dizzy, trying to calm himself down from what he had just heard. Guilliman was not one to joke about tactics and direction, and when the cold-blooded king said this, it meant that he had been thinking about it for a long time.
Breathe, breathe again, Mortarian processed the fact, lost in thought, his soul overflowing with ecstasy—an emotion rarely felt by Mortarian.
Subconsciously, he wanted to share this fact with others.
Mortarian pondered for a moment, still leaning against the wall, but apart from the hand pressing down on the poisonous demon mask, his other hand stretched out into the void, psionic light shining from his fingertips, and Mortarian skillfully began to draw a spell.
He paused for a moment and decided to share the news with only two people for the time being.
..............................
【garden】
"The eye boogers of a marsh toad, the seventh eyelash of a rotting fly, the soul of a human who died from a rotting left leg...who is it?"
Beside the grass buzzing with methane flies and vomiting bees, amidst the lush flowers, Typhon, who was stirring the crucible, suddenly stopped what he was doing.
It was this moment of distraction that caused Nurgle's cauldron to emit an "unpleasant" smell, and Typhon cursed in dissatisfaction, saying that the cauldron was now ruined.
This pot was made by him at the request of the swamp green dragon Vulcan to make ointment for the green dragon's pustules. The green dragon wanted his skin, which was as dark as soil, to have a beautiful color like a flower bush, so he needed a little bit of the medicine to make the sores grow in different colors.
Typhons looked at the communication device with some annoyance, and communication mycelium began to grow around his feet. The sticky mycelium grew rapidly around his feet and eventually took the shape of Mortarion.
"Motalian?!"
Typhon cried out in astonishment. His four transparent yet hard wings, like those of a fly, flapped behind him. Because he had replaced Mortarion, Typhon had been rejected by the Father at the very beginning of the blessing. Therefore, he would never be as plump and voluptuous as Nurgle, he would never become the ripe and rotten fruit on the branch, he would never grow up. This was the Father's punishment.
Therefore, compared to other Nurgle demons, Typhons still largely maintains the physique of a Space Marine, but with four wings growing from his back.
Mortalian hadn't contacted Typhon in a long time, not because their friendship had faded, but because Mortalian was too busy. Almost all Primarchs were busy, especially Mortalian, who had the most direct pact with Guilliman.
Every time Typhons saw Mortalian, Mortalian always looked exhausted, as if he had never had a proper rest.
He had sighed and considered letting Mortarian take a good nap in the garden to rest, but Mortarian refused—they both knew it was inappropriate.
"Motalian, did that wind blow you here? Have you finally decided to overthrow Guilliman's rule?"
Typhons hurriedly asked, while Mortarian, composed of mycelium, chuckled coldly twice. Even though he was composed of mycelium, Mortarian's eyes revealed an uncontainable joy.
【send troops.】
Mortarian could barely contain his joy.
[Killiman has finally decided to send troops.]
The short sentence struck Typhon like a thunderbolt. He took a step back in disbelief, and his eyes welled up with tears. He believed in Mortalian, and those few words seemed to drain all of Typhon's emotions.
Pus flowed from his eyes, which would never clear.
"one,"
Typhons let out a strange laugh, like a cry.
"Ten thousand years, Mortarian."
"I had almost forgotten about our decision back then."
【Me too. 】
Over there, Mortarian revealed a smile more painful than a grimace. Ten thousand years, a full ten thousand years. Back then, they were young enough, angry enough, and resentful enough. In the torrent of fate, they were pushed along the most painful and longest path—
Today, the dimly lit path was finally illuminated by the morning light.
But I know you haven't forgotten, Callas.
"Won't,"
Typhons shook his head; thanks to his father's blessing, his voice was no longer sharp and harsh, but instead carried a dull, viscous quality.
No, I will never forget—
Typhons made a slow joke.
"After all, I am the offspring of a loving father, and a single thought can be eternal."
Then, as if fearing this was all a dream in the Father's Garden, Typhon immediately asked in a hurry,
Is it true? When, and how should we get through it?
[Killiman is still resolving the issue.]
Motalian said,
[But Guilliman could mobilize the entire Imperial army in just two months, and I suspect his plan requires the support of the three gods—therefore he needs some time to negotiate.]
"This will happen very quickly."
Typhons added,
“Killiman is the god’s favorite…he will get what he wants.”
Mortarian sneered. He used to hate hearing such words, but now he wished the gods would love Guilliman a little more and send troops immediately.
"So what does he plan to do there?"
"Typhons asked, and Mortalian gave an ugly smile."
[When the snipe and the clam fight, the fisherman benefits; a feigned alliance, a charade.]
Mortarian, the First Rebel, said,
That was his tactic back then—he would win, he always had.
Typhons hadn't yet caught the sarcasm in Mortalian's words, but he hurriedly waved his hand.
"I think there are still people waiting for your news. Go, go, give that old woman a fright."
I will.
Mortarian smiled again, and amidst a faint stench, the mycelium at Typhon's feet withered and shrank into a small clump of trash.
"Send troops, send troops..."
Typhons muttered to himself as he poured the cauldron in front of him into the swamp beside him. Soon after, fish and toads with their bellies exposed floated to the surface of the swamp.
But Typhons paid no attention; he seemed completely absorbed by the word. He swung the crucible bar and continued stirring, but became distracted.
Vulcan the swamp dragon is unlikely to get the skin sores he desires anytime soon, but that's alright, Vulcan will forgive Typhons, for they are both sons of Nurgle.
........................
[Imperial Palace]
A dream woven from magnificent silk, with layers of curtains hanging down, sighs drifting in from the gaps, petals and leaves scattering onto the bed, playing a tragic and beautiful melody of sorrow and love.
A gentle melody, like flowing water, softly seeps into my dreams.