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

Page 705

【Exactly. 】

As the Pale Lord spoke, the oppressive aura vanished, and Neos slumped helplessly in his chair.

Just then, Hades's voice came from the kitchen.

"Don't fight—whoever fights here, I'll take them down!"

Don't worry! It won't happen!

Angron responded, while Mortarion muttered a few words of dissatisfaction, but the Emperor started his antics again.

After a moment's thought, Neos spoke again, making a final desperate attempt.

“I understand what you mean—in that case, why don’t you have the other brothers come over and discuss it together?”

Before anyone else could respond, the Emperor raised his hand, and the image of the Eye of the Dragon appeared behind him. The Lord of the Fire Dragon, whose original form had not been seen for a long time, stepped out from between the huge frames.

Amidst vibrant green jade and heavy black rocks, flames rise and lick the warhammer; the burgeoning vitality is almost palpable without being perceived.

【My Lord, why have you summoned me—hmm?!】

The large, black man, who had been summoned, looked at his Primarch brothers, who were sitting at the table, with some surprise. Vulcan blinked, somewhat confused.

[I don’t understand——]

"Defend me."

Neos crossed his arms and spoke in a serious tone.

[Defend? Defend what?]

Loka was still in ascetic practice—he vowed to cleanse his soul through his faith, so Neos was completely unable to command his devout Primarch, and one of his powerful generals who could defend him was immediately reduced.

Vulcan asked in surprise, but by then his gaze had already turned to Mortalian, who had beckoned him over. Seeing that the Emperor did not stop him, the dragon sat down beside Mortalian.

There was neither Finus nor Fugen, whom he was more familiar with, here.

“I wish to transfer the power to govern the Empire to you Primarchs—but your brothers are clearly unwilling.”

Extradition power?

Vulcan had heard a little about this matter; as someone who guarded the Web of Man alongside the Lord of Mankind, he knew that the Emperor had been working on it for a long time.

This is a good thing, why...?

Vulcan's unfinished words were interrupted by Mortarian's gaze.

This is indeed a good thing.

The Pale Lord spoke with a grim face.

But he wants to just walk away—that's the real point, Nio, are you really going to just leave like that?

The Lord of Fire Dragons suddenly turned around and looked at the Lord of Humanity.

"So you've finally decided to go and retrieve Horus?"

Vulcan asked, his somewhat broad features ignoring Saint Gilles's sudden darkening expression, and continued to press on.

[So what about Alpha and Omega? I've also been looking for Fugen's whereabouts lately.]

Neos coughed awkwardly a few times.

“In fact, I have already regained part of Horus’s soul.”

He said calmly,

“But his condition is very poor and he is not suitable for a stable existence—I may need to focus on repairing his soul for a long time.”

Is this why you left in such a hurry?

Conrad braced his hands on the table and turned his head down 180 degrees.

【Exactly. 】

Saint Gilles Denius, his face dark, replied, and seemingly due to his unstable state, the archangel spat out blood.

Favoritism—this was the true nature of the father we once revered. He was indeed imperfect, for no perfect person would show such favoritism.

"This is my own choice."

Neos spoke calmly, switching to a completely expressionless demeanor.

"As I explained to you at the beginning, I cannot give you the same attention; who to give up and who to take up is not something I can decide—but my limited feelings will allow me to make up for it as much as possible afterward."

He could give up himself, his life, his power, everything... it didn't matter, but he had to win this gamble, it was that simple.

So you don't intend to make it up to us.

After a long silence, Corax spoke softly.

"I've made it up to you."

Neos said firmly,

“I am giving you power and strength—the best gift of an aging king, yet you all see it as a burden. I do not understand why you have become what you are today. Ten thousand years ago, many of you would have coveted the title of War General.”

Because we've seen it clearly, it's that simple!

Angron suddenly spoke, standing up and interrupting the Primarchs' questioning. He greeted Hades, who was holding a tower of drinks.

【grateful!】

As the Lord of Red Sand spoke, he helped Hades set out drinks, and the others also started to move, except for Neos, who sat firmly in the center.

"I've prepared some drinks that you can all enjoy, specifically tailored to your... uh... scents?"

You can just describe the taste.

Mortarian said calmly, holding the flat bottle Hades had handed him; the slightly dirty bottle contained a familiar taste.

"Okay, actually it's the taste."

Hades said, holding a coffee and sitting at the best viewing spot at the long table. He also prepared a cup of coffee for himself, but unlike Neos's, his was completely bitter, without any aroma.

"I'm curious, which of us tastes the best?"

Macardos slowly swirled his champagne glass, the clear, slightly pale golden liquid swaying within.

"..."

Hades fell silent.

To be fair, this is indeed a difficult question to answer. Hades is not one to savor the taste of things; he prefers to devour other people's souls directly.

If one were to categorize it precisely, Mortarion's soul tasted like his poison, but with the texture of dry, choking ashes; Magnus's soul was more radiant and intense, tasting like sunlight falling on the pages of a book; Saint Gilles was pure blood, mixed with the smell of organs; Conrad Coz made him feel as if he were eating moss that was growing wildly in a dark corner, splattered with blood, with fragments of his soul in his hands, still screaming wildly.

Besides, Angron's soul was like warm water, with no taste except for a gentle warmth, which sometimes made Hades feel quite good; Corax's soul was less of a sensation, and if one had to describe it, it would be the coolness of rain falling in the night—and of course, the Lord of Man's soul as well.

Hades could precisely describe the true essence of Neos's psionic energy, which was—

pain.

The pain was excruciating; the golden flames burned his throat, and swallowing it required immense courage. As long as Neos did not allow anyone to drain his spiritual energy, he would inflict pain on those who stole his spiritual energy in every way imaginable.

After much hesitation, Hades spoke carefully.

"Perhaps Magnus?"

This sentence was followed by Magnus's wailing.

I beg you to choose someone else!

Magnus wailed, while Mortarian stared at Magnus with a gloomy expression.

Hades chuckled casually, then, thinking of something amusing, he joked,

"But none of them are as good as Nagu."

Upon hearing this, everyone turned to look at him, and Hades had now firmly established himself as the most ruthless person.

Hades was about to say a few more sarcastic remarks, but the latecomer interrupted him.

Inside the house, the twelfth visitor arrived, and golden flames ignited, illuminating the metal sides.

[Sorry I'm late—I met Robert Guilliman and we discussed some things.]

Without a trace of emotion, Finus Manus walked straight past the Emperor and found an empty seat to sit down.

Sorry, sorry! I'm late too.

The thirteenth son, the thirteenth visitor, finally arrived. The king, crowned with a crown, smiled apologetically. His handsome face, set against the sapphire-blue backdrop, inspired immediate respect.

Hades heard Makado chuckle softly, so softly it was almost inaudible.

“The thirteenth… Jesus, now it’s time for you to accept betrayal.”

Guilliman looked apologetically at everyone, and then, as if he himself didn't realize it, he patted Neos on the shoulder and then sat down in the second seat to Neos' right.

Who will truly hurt you, Neos?

Yay, it's gone!

Remember to use it as currency for the Emperor, friends.

Chapter 734 Fighting with All Our Might!

Have you ever seen this scene in your hazy, dreamlike state?

My brown-haired king, have you ever worried? When will your brown eyes, gazing into the abyss, reflect the true man?

You are too tired, you are too weary, you should come down, come down, my king.

And your unruly child will take over the empire—becoming a king just like you were—or perhaps transforming into his likeness.

This is not important.

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

"I have a bad feeling."

Nios spoke quietly, sitting upright in the center of the long table, surrounded by others. The captured emperor spread his hands out on the white tablecloth.

"You're only now realizing the ominous sign—your prophecy is a little late, my friend."

Macardo wore a rather innocent expression, while the silver-haired youth swirled the wine in his hand and mocked the emperor beside him.

Are you really expecting some powerful being from Chaos to suddenly descend upon Terra, defeat Hades, and then rescue you?

Saint Gilles said with a smile, elegantly holding his wine glass, which held a thick, blood-red liquid that swirled within.

The archangel took a sip.

At least Khwarazm won't come today.

Saint Gilles spoke directly, opening his eyes to reveal blood-red pupils resembling those of a vampire.

Even the wicked wouldn't tolerate it.

The Pale Lord's voice rang out softly. Mortarion rarely removed his gas mask, his pale face reflecting the luster of his insect armor. His mouth looked more like a simulated crack, while his actual feeding device was at his neck.

As he spoke, Motarian fiddled with the dirty wine bottle in his hand.

【…】

Wait, what are you looking at me for?!

Magnus suddenly shouted. The Primarchs' gazes made him uncomfortable, but the implied meaning in their eyes made him feel hot all over.

[How would I know anything about the Lord of Change!]

"Tzeentch won't come."

This was said by Hades, for a simple reason: Tarachin told him—and Tarachin knew Eurycan.

Since Slaanesh's death, Tzeentch has been missing.

The Primarchs had already said all the sabotage, so Neos could only sigh deeply.

He couldn't expect Greenskin to save him—he wasn't Hades.

The Emperor felt the gazes of the Primarchs. Once upon a time, he stood on a high platform, and his offspring looked up to him. Now, everything had changed.

This is growth, this is change.

In the realms of rulers and subjects, fathers and sons, the shifting of power is accompanied by violence, and patricide will always be a perennial topic for descendants, though emperors have chosen a more subtle approach.