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

Page 426

This is what Fugen said himself.

The giant had already fallen, his massive corpse smashed to pieces on the ground. All the legion could do now was gather his scattered remains and, from there, bring hope to those who were still alive.

Thus, the emperor's son began to build his own power in the shadows of the empire.

Surprisingly, all the legions that the Primarch favored quickly submitted, and the Emperor's Son soon established his own sphere of influence.

After that, Fugen received a message from Horus—after a moment's thought, the phoenix decided to keep the appointment and set off for Cardia.

Horus would not tolerate Fugen's behavior, but Fugen knew how to express himself in a way that would get Horus's permission.

After all, the Primarch had sworn that Horus knew the Emperor's Son was on his side.

His descendants were puzzled by this, but from beginning to end, the Primarch did the right thing. He saved the Legion and put it back on the right track, so no one questioned it.

Before that, before meeting Horus, they needed a celebration, a coronation, a ceremony to summarize their previous glory.

The planetary nobles, now part of the Sons of the Emperor's Legion, gathered around the legion's ships, cheering and celebrating their planet's new masters.

The celebration was about to begin, and in the magnificent hall, everyone was filled with joy and tears.

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【…】

Korax stood silently in front of the screen, while the Primarch, whose restraints had been loosened slightly, stared in disbelief at the image being transmitted back to him.

That was the Imperial Pride, which the Midnight Tragedy Troupe had scouted in advance.

Surrounded by countless ships covered in spikes and writhing flesh, the once magnificent Queen Glory now resembled a fallen noblewoman, her ornate jewels dripping with putrid liquid.

The scene shifts to those loyal to Slaanesh walking through a corridor adorned with flesh, their faces displaying eerie, gleeful smiles.

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【Cardia】

Luo Jia, who was fighting the demonic tide, suddenly stopped. The Primarch stood on a high place, his head with his eyes closed, turning in a specific direction.

In the distance, where the demonic tide was surging, a disheveled figure staggered out along with it, as if the tide had emerged from the same spot.

Why now?

Luo Jia, with her eyes closed, thought of...

Why you?

He watched as the disheveled, almost broken silver-haired Primarch walked toward the spot where Fenus had died.

That's it! Great!

Chapter 500 Corax thought this wouldn't work.

Corax turned his head once.

His gaze swept over the people, then quickly averted.

The Primarch swayed, and Corax turned his head again.

The Eldar around him noticed the Primarch's unusual behavior, and the aliens looked at Corax, asking him if he had any questions.

Corax's gaze was fixed on the richly dressed nobles, who were bowing their heads in devout prayer, but now the word "Pluto" had been replaced by "The Fool."

They prayed with such devotion and concentration that they were able to completely ignore the fact that a living Primarch was standing before them.

These people were recruited by the Eldar as bait to attract the attention of the Lord of the Silent Order.

Not only nobles, but among those people, the Primarch keenly spotted the psionic attire.

Corax's gaze paused for a moment.

[Where did you find these people?]

The Primarch asked softly,

I mean, how did you... get them to develop a faith?

"It's simple,"

The Eldar calmly stated, "The Merciful Ones are generous enough. We merely selected these human nobles in advance, informing them of an impending catastrophe, and that only [it] will be the antidote."

The Elven race's gaze fell upon the nobles.

"They were the last survivors of their planet, which had been swallowed up by the youngest lady—and it was their faith that saved their lives."

It is not difficult to establish a small organization brought in by the powerful and influential, and the Eldar do not need to plant enough faith in their hearts; they only need to know that the Fools exist.

When the torches of hope were extinguished and true disaster struck, those who survived naturally clung tightly to faith as the only path forward.

Therefore, with little effort, the Eldar gained a following of devout human followers of the Fools, and their faith has proven capable of attracting the attention of the Fools.

Having understood what the Eldar had said, Korax slowly spoke.

[Summoning it requires certain conditions?]

The Eldar looked at the Primarch, their eyes flickering beneath the mask.

"As of now,"

The spirit said, "There are only two conditions for summoning it: first, you must possess a soul; second, you must use its proper name."

"The stronger the soul, the easier it is to attract its attention; the more devout the believer, the easier it is to receive its response."

Immediately afterwards, the Spirit Race let out a sneer.

“You have absolutely nothing to worry about… We are certain that the Primarch’s soul has an extremely strong attraction to it; you just need to say that word—”

The ship rocked violently, interrupting the Eldar's words. Corax heard gasps of surprise from the nobles behind him. The Primarch silently placed his hand at the location of the power whip at his waist.

The raid has begun. The Eldar's actions are quite simple and brutal. The raiding ships at the front will slice through the ships surrounding the Imperial Sons fleet like sharp daggers, and then send the "ammunition magazines" inside, into the heart of the Imperial Pride.

After successfully arriving at the Emperor's Pride, the Eldar will use short-range psionic teleportation to send some of the bait into the altar, while the others will choose to infiltrate.

During this time, all Eldar who participated in the raid had the right to pray to the Fool.

For the Eldar, the key to success or failure lies in summoning the Fools in time and ensuring that the majority of their attention is drawn here.

Corax listened to the prayers of the nobles behind him.

Human bait… the Primarch thought, were these Eldar worried that they wouldn’t be able to attract the Lord of the Order of Silentness?

The Primarch suddenly felt absurd and ridiculous that gods existed, that humans had their own gods, and that alien races were trying to pray to the gods of humanity.

These three facts left Corax feeling utterly helpless; it was as if he were in the most insane dream.

But he also needs to immediately accept this insane reality and take action.

The Primarch's keen hearing picked up the sound of the explosion outside the cabin. He overheard the Eldar talking among themselves. Corax silently counted in his mind: if the Eldar's operation went smoothly, they would be here soon.

Kolac silently memorized the summoning term. The Primarch despised his own actions, but if it could truly save his life—and prevent him from becoming like that…

There's nothing wrong with that.

The cabin shook violently, the lights above their heads flickered, and people cried out in alarm. But then Eldar appeared from the darkness, comforting those who had chosen to die.

For those who choose to believe the Eldar's words, being swallowed up by the god they devoutly believe in during an operation is nothing to fear.

After all, having lived on a fallen planet, they had already experienced true fear and chaos. Having had their friends and family taken away by Slaanesh, they were ready to dedicate themselves to a greater being.

The Primarch waited quietly, having already made his plans: to seize a ship and leave, for this was not his battlefield.

If Fugen is truly beyond redemption—then let him fall into depravity.

Kolac just wanted the Eldar's operation to actually succeed so that his brother could be saved from real suffering.

...Corax remained silent, but then, something occurred to the Primarch, and an unease, like the ever-present, insidious darkness, crept into his soul, making him nauseous.

Have you had any successful precedents for your operations?

The Primarch spoke in a low voice; the Eldar beside him was clearly preparing for the upcoming battle. The Eldar glanced at the Primarch.

"We never do anything pointless."

The Eldar said, adjusting the power sword at his waist.

“We are not the first. Similar things have happened more than once in this galaxy, some big and some small. Similar dramas have already occurred.”

Corax knew what he had realized.

【…】

The Primarch remained silent for a long time, his completely black pupils fixed on the Eldar before him. The Eldar, seemingly puzzled by the Primarch's sudden silence, raised his face, which was covered by a comical mask, and stared at the Primarch.

Let's assume...

Corax's voice always carried a hint of sadness; the Primarch always seemed pessimistic.

The "deity" you're targeting knows your hatred for Him.

The Primarch paused, emphasizing his tone.

This has happened many times—I don't know the exact number, but it has certainly happened.

Corax sadly saw a fleeting look of panic in the eyes of the Eldar opposite him, but the next moment, they had reached their destination. The rapidly moving ship crashed into the Imperial Pride, and the inertia threw everyone out.

This further solidified Corax's resolve to run away.

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On the Imperial Pride, Fugen, who was lazily sprawled among layers of silk, lazily raised his eyes. The servants who were applying makeup to him beside the Primarch hurriedly put down the cosmetics they were holding.

[...Enemy attack?]

Fugen spoke slowly, Lucius before him clearly anxious. The Primarch smiled gently, his face like that of a goddess, gesturing for his offspring to relax.

No need to worry.

Fugen said, "Let them in. At my coronation, I will personally water our glory with the blood of the invaders."

Lucius responded and immediately went out to make arrangements. For some reason, he keenly sensed a certain expectation in Fugen's expression.

Watching Lucius leave, Fugen lay on his side behind the bed curtains. He happily glanced at himself in the mirror with its gold tassels, and as if satisfied, he lowered the mirror and yawned.

【continue,】

The Primarch commanded the mortals to continue sculpting him, and an irrepressible smile crept onto his lips.

This is the only time—I will face all of this with my best attitude.

His chest trembled, and the Primarch let out a satisfied sigh, as if excited about what was about to happen.

That's all, I still need to review today.

Chapter 501 is here, bro?

In the crowded hall, a soaring symphony resounded, the strings vibrating and flowing with magnificent music.

"Oh!"

The noblewoman, dressed in elaborate and heavy attire, let out a gasp. As if she had been suddenly bumped, the ornaments on her head swayed with her stagger, shimmering with starlight.

Seeing this, the men beside her immediately went to comfort the frightened woman. The woman smiled and raised her glass, responding to the men's flattery in an affected tone.

"Shhh."

A grotesque, stiff smile played on his lips, and his index finger stood upright.

A tall, leering alien figure brushed past the chatting man and woman, a corner of his long gown lightly brushing against the woman's heavy hem.

But the group seemed completely oblivious to the alien race, gracing them like clowns in a dance.

Beneath the dazzling crystal chandeliers, amidst the crowds, the clown's outlandish and exaggerated costume darted through the rapids like a fish, silently and unnoticed.

Those who came to attend the Primarch's coronation ceremony raised their glasses in celebration. Amidst the toasts, the nobles' foolish power games continued. Even if the galaxy were to collapse, they could remain holed up on their own planets, exchanging their decadent lives for the Legion's submission.

Who is in power and who holds authority is not something these local tyrants need to worry about.

This is no different from their previous extravagant lifestyle; it was the same in the past, it is the same now, it will be the same in the future, and it will continue with their descendants...

Sweet and deceitful, every word a gem, turned into indistinct moans. With each dance step, the flowing skirt transformed into finely tanned leather. Flesh embraced flesh, and beneath the stray hairs, black eyes, like spider eyes, darted around in a daze.

The clown at the front paused, his gaze fixed on the archway separating the hall from the corridor. Pink armor crisscrossed the corridor, blocking their path.

The Elven race turned around, and the leader, a clown, was dressed in clothing completely different from his race. On the pitch-black cloth, silver-white and dazzling green lightning patterns exploded irregularly.