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

Page 398

A hoarse voice rang out.

My suggestion is that you should donate more blood to make your babies to relieve your boredom—instead of trying to contact me every day.

Angron grinned as he watched the figure gradually become clearer in the fog.

"I'm just so bored, bro. You should learn to relax a bit too."

Angron said, but in reality, from beginning to end, the Lord of Red Sand was only confirming one thing in his own way—

That is, will Mortarion become increasingly inhuman as the "change" occurs?

It's not about appearance; Mortalian has already been expelled from humanity in terms of appearance.

Angron refers to personality traits. Having experienced the possession of the Great Vortex Emperor, he knows what that feels like; people become unlike their original selves.

They will be swept away by those more powerful, more primal forces.

If one is not strong enough, then one's original personality will be dissolved.

Angron was very worried about this. To some extent, he didn't want Mortarion to become, in terms of personality, some kind of "higher-dimensional" being.

Of course, the Pale Lord, who emerged from the mist, severed this possibility with his sharp words.

Angron was relieved to realize that although he had noticed something was wrong with Mortarian after that meeting, Mortarian's attitude toward him quickly returned to normal after his persistent attempts to comfort him.

Since Angron had nothing else to do and was just idling around anyway, guided by his own abilities, the Lord of Red Sand began to actively pay attention to the mental and emotional health of those around him.

Mortarian is certainly a key focus.

The Pale Lord's face, which looked as if he had been dead for seven hundred years, emerged from the mist. He looked somewhat different from when they last met, just as the mist itself had no fixed shape, and perhaps neither did Mortarion.

Regardless, he looked as if he were dead, perfectly embodying the image of the Grim Reaper in the minds of the local people.

The empty cloak covered most of the Pale King's body (or there was nothing under the cloak except for mist).

As for those wings…wings…Angron’s gaze wandered, finally settling on Mortarion’s back—

Ah, it's folded up to resemble a cloak.

The Lord of Red Sand's assessment of this was that it was acceptable from a distance, but up close... it's best not to look at it up close.

It is not suitable for close viewing.

Miserable.

Guilliman, standing beside the Lord of Red Sand, frowned and carefully circled Mortalian.

Motalian stood there confidently, not thinking there was anything wrong with his mimicry.

【All right,】

Killieman said,

[Luckily, I arranged a spot for you beforehand, Mortalian. Don't you mind if your position is a bit out of the way?]

The Pale Lord answered Guilliman's question with a sneer, which Guilliman took as a tacit agreement.

Mortarion stood there, disdainfully spreading his wings slightly, letting his offspring pat him with camouflage powder.

A brief silence fell over the room as the three of them each had their own thoughts.

Suddenly, Mortarian spoke.

[...Makado, the warp has been quite unstable lately; you need to come and take a look.]

Beneath the hood, Macardo looked up at Mortarian.

"You can now identify warp paths?"

【No,】

Motalian said bluntly.

It is subspace; it has changed itself.

Great!

Chapter 468 The Second Empire is Established in Grand Style!

Nine months after Pluto's fall, nine months after the starlight was extinguished,

One after another, second empires were established.

This marks a significant victory in regional stability for the Empire since the galaxy was torn apart.

----------

The glorious sun of Baltimore cast its golden rays upon the earth.

On the high platform, in the only patch of shadow, Conrad shifted uncomfortably, but maintained the necessary silence.

it has started.

The sound of golden boots stomping on the ground rang out.

My believers, my people!

The archangel's majestic voice resounded across the land. He stood on the high platform in front of the church. Below the high platform, tens of thousands of warriors stood in formation, and countless Titans, knights, and stormbirds had their engines humming impatiently.

Behind him, on the cathedral, countless white statues gazed down at this darling, stone silk draped from their smooth, curved arms.

People gazed at him, their eyes filled with suffering, holding either golden double-headed eagle statues or simple archangel sculptures, muttering incessantly.

For the God Emperor,

The archangel, wings outstretched and each feather shimmering with iridescent light, cried out...

I know that you have given your all simply to stand here, simply to maintain your purity.

As the archangel spoke, the wind began to blow fiercely.

I know you have come here, to Baal, to the Legion's protection, hoping to find a safe haven to spend the rest of your lives.

Saint Gilles's broad wings were lifted by the wind, and naturally, the archangel rose into the air.

In a daze, everyone on the ground seemed to see the golden teardrop shimmering on the archangel's cheek.

But I can't keep it from you.

Saint Gilles sighed.

I cannot guarantee you a secure future—the galaxy is burning, and wars capable of tearing an entire planet apart rage constantly. Evil lurks in the darkness, always watching us.

The people who had been praying in hushed tones began to stir, but they did not speak. Instead, they huddled together like more uneasy lambs, conveying their unease with their eyes.

【Yes,】

The archangel sighed,

For humanity, this is hell.

I have seen the devil with my own eyes, seen the existence of blasphemy. Hell exists, and it is as evil and repulsive as described in the oldest myths.

They wantonly torment our souls, taking pleasure in the depravity of the pure; our suffering is the best nourishment for their growth and expansion.

They are the demons that embody our deepest, most hidden desires.

The archangel's wings shimmered in the air like the rising sun of Baal, each white feather bathed in a dazzling golden light.

I should...

The archangel lowered his eyes, his gaze sweeping down as if looking directly into the soul of each person, gently asking if they were still pure.

How can I save you?

Saint Gilles spoke softly, his voice seemingly carried on the wind, yet everyone heard it clearly; it resonated in their very souls.

How can I save you?

The archangel asked again, his tears sliding down his cheeks, blooming into a tiny, crystalline flower in the wind, only to vanish in an instant.

This is a battle to see if we remain pure. I need the most valiant warriors to not be consumed by the battlefield, the most compassionate healers to not cling to life, the most learned sages to not spend their lives engrossed in books, and the most rigorous artists to not linger in their studies—I want you to put aside your joys, angers, and delusions. I want you…

The archangel's voice gradually faded away.

This is too cruel.

A sigh shattered in the wind.

This is too cruel; I just can't convince myself to do it.

Tears streamed down his face, as if Saint Gilles were shedding all the tears, all the resentment, pain, and anger of his life, until only the sorrowless and tearless archangel remained.

I can't do it, but... but I know this is the best path I can offer you.

Saint Gilles opened his arms as if to embrace those who loved him and were willing to give their lives for him.

Saint Gilles, they are willing to give themselves to you, so why are you not willing to offer yourself to them?

You should blend yourself into the vast sea of ​​people, and never see yourself again.

Let faith reshape you.

[Upholding our integrity as human beings and preserving our original soul—this is the only path that will keep us unharmed in this hell. I ask you to lose a lot, we have lost a lot, and what we have given up will give us back the dignity we retain as human beings.]

We are human beings.

Saint Gilles spoke, his voice trembling, as if those words had drained all his strength.

[By the Divine Emperor, He has endowed us with the inherent rights of purity and freedom. We are human beings, and we should not be slaves.]

Those who blaspheme, those who are frenzied, those who whisper softly beside our weary souls, they want us to abandon our purity, they want us to fall into demonic ways—to fall into their slavery.

Saint Gilles paused for a moment, and in the morning sun, his wings seemed to ignite.

【No,】

The archangel said firmly,

No, I look at each and every one of you, every human who has come to Baal, and I see your souls shining brightly. I cannot... I cannot bear to see your radiant, pure souls fall into depravity.

I see that no human soul, whether poor or noble, lucid or mad, whole or broken, can accept the truth of that depravity—an evil beyond the comprehension of the limits of thought.

The archangel fell silent, his tears glistening.

But I can't bring myself to do it...

He murmured in a low voice,

Therefore, I beg you,

Saint Gilles spoke softly and patiently, as if he weren't the archangel. People of his status wouldn't normally speak like that to civilians and refugees.

But he is not human; he is Saint Gilles, he is an archangel.

Only a divine being could possess such mercy and compassion.

Beneath the archangel's wings, the people huddled together thought...

I implore you to maintain your purity, your fidelity, and your... human pride.

The archangel's whispers drifted down lightly, just like the archangel descending from the raging wind, which began to dissipate and turn into a gentle breeze.

The golden boot tips pressed silently against the ground.

The archangel folded his wings and gazed gently at the people.

Whether you can achieve it or not, whether you stubbornly remain on the path of purity or unfortunately fall, at this moment, as I look at you and see your unwavering commitment, I offer you my sincerest blessings.

The archangel stepped forward and walked to the edge of the platform.

May the God-King protect you.

The words fell silent, utterly silent. People stared blankly at the archangel, their faces already wet with tears. They felt as if some words were stuck in their throats, yet they could not utter a sound.

Every voice, every vow, paled in comparison at this moment.

The archangel raised his hand and casually wiped away the non-existent tear tracks that had already fallen, and a bright smile reappeared on his face.

Azcalon stepped forward and offered the archangel his spear of victory. The archangel raised the spear.

Now, in order to ignite the last spark in this hell, and for the eternal purity of humanity, I declare the Second Reich established today!

His response was a thunderous roar of shouts and vows.

The archangel smiled, a smile that seemed to come from the heart. He tilted his head slightly, and two other giants stepped forward beside him.