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

Page 324

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Peturabo was acutely aware that he was mocking his own soul; he clearly saw how it all happened—

How I became who I am today.

He gave the child a paltry reward and watched him secretly rejoice over the scraps for a long time.

If he was in a good mood, he would casually call the children over to chat, and then send them away when his interest waned. If he was not in a good mood, he would ignore the children for days or even months. Peturabo focused his attention back on the fleet's infrastructure and deliberately ignored him.

Peturabo Jr. needs to be strong both inside and out; his inner self also needs to be tempered.

Peturabo said this to himself, but he knew perfectly well that it wasn't true. A twisted sense of satisfaction grew within him. He thought of the Emperor. Did the Emperor think and treat him in the same way?

He carelessly abandoned his offspring in remote places, assigned them impossible tasks, forced them to give up what they loved to do, and then rewarded them with scraps of food while they eagerly awaited his attention—that was enough to appease them.

Peturabo burst into laughter.

He found it laughable, he found it absurd, yet he was truly immersed in this ocean of power and domination. He was content to watch as Peturabo studied his every move, trying to please him, trying to get his attention, and as a reward for his diligent tail-wagging, Peturabo would glance at him.

It was strange, Peturabo thought. Why had he never derived the thrill of domination from anyone else? Even after he had the power to control an entire fleet, he would only sigh with relief that there were no more useless people and that he had finally gained control of the world.

He had never known that his desire for dominance was so abundant and vibrant; he recklessly watered this greedy flower with his violence against himself—

How he despised this little fellow who only knew how to live off the rewards and words of others!

Ha...hahahaha! Ha!

Every time, every time he spoke to his former self, praising him, punishing him, neglecting him, Peturabo's soul seemed to be torn in two. One half let out a satisfied sigh, while the other half trembled and roared, "Why do you do this to me?! Why?!"

Why did he do this to him?! He shouted at the figure. Was this what he thought all along? To control his offspring, to take pleasure in it, and to satisfy his lust for power?

He frantically imitated the Emperor's atrocities, and Perturabau didn't know why. When he realized he was retracing the Emperor's path, he had already been on that path for far too long! He subconsciously rewarded and punished himself with his attention. Ha, he was also a cruel man in this world!

Shh... no.

Peturab told himself that he was not, that he was far less cruel than the emperor, and that at least he would not use blood ties or physical force to compel their loyalty to him.

Peturabo chuckled softly, a self-deprecating laugh escaping his lips. If he were to remove the gene for loyalty from his body, would he still bow down before him? Would he still desperately try to earn a second glance, a single compliment? Would he still secretly envy the rewards Peturabo bestowed upon his other brothers?

Emperor, you are far from worthy of these!

He doesn't deserve it!

Peturabo thought angrily how the man who committed such atrocities could still openly enjoy the tributes from his offspring, and enjoy their fear of his every move... unless it was his nature, that he was greedy and cruel.

Peturab has made his decision: Your Majesty, if you are truly a noble person, then you need not restrict them with genes and flesh!

Hearing footsteps outside the room, Perturab felt a sense of mockery. Yes, the emperor was greedy and cruel; otherwise, how could his offspring possess such a brutal and absurd nature?

The footsteps stopped at the door.

【Come in.】

Peturabo said lazily and in a hoarse voice,

The door was carefully pushed open, and he chuckled as he watched little Peturab enter, trying to look as upright as possible. The child stared at him in astonishment; he was already several years old, but still acted like a child. Peturab's partial removal of his genes had hindered the Primarch's own growth.

Peturabo took a small breath.

His adoptive father was leaning against the cold, inorganic back of the medical chair, his upper body bare. Countless tubes were inserted into his upper body, and through some of the translucent tubes, little Peturabo could clearly see the scarlet liquid.

"If you know how to operate this, come and operate it."

His adoptive father gave the order, and young Peturabo stepped forward without hesitation to operate the large machine. His adoptive father had taught him before, and he was afraid, but he skillfully buried his cowardice deep in his heart.

What exactly is this... supposed to be?

Little Peturabo listened silently to his adoptive father's panting. The strong smell of blood clung to his nose, bits of flesh splattered down, and beads of sweat trickled down Peturabo's forehead.

"All right."

He spoke as calmly as possible, and Peturabo stepped back from the instrument, hiding his hands behind his back as much as possible—his hands trembled slightly as he realized he seemed to be hurting his adoptive father.

He turned to look at his adoptive father, a father he had never seen before. His eyes were filled with the undisguised gaze of a ruler, not the usual expressionless face of his adoptive father.

Good boy.

The adoptive father said,

Come here now.

Little Peturabo walked obediently, terrified yet expectantly. He had completed the task perfectly and was looking forward to a reward from his adoptive father, but his adoptive father's strange state and the blood splattered on the ground frightened him.

Peturabo's heart pounded violently as his adoptive father struggled to sit up, his warm yet hard, steel-like arms reaching out to him.

His adoptive father gave him a hug.

Peturabo's mind went blank for a second. He heard his adoptive father's low laughter, which was mixed with self-mockery, sadness, greed... and liberation.

"……father--"

Click.

Perturabo released his grip expressionlessly, watching the body slide unconsciously to the ground, its neck limp. Soldiers were already waiting outside the door. The partial removal of genes from little Perturabo's body was already complete; the next step was to erase his memories and then casually throw him, along with his nursery, into the warp turbulence.

Peturab thought calmly that he would return to Olympia, that he would forget everything except the Eye of Fear, and the knowledge Peturab had taught him… He would continue to bow down to those in power until… until the Möbius strip reached its end.

Perturabo took a deep breath, letting his thoughts drift to the Emperor. He realized he was no longer so majestic; he realized he was just a monarch, no longer wagging his tail at him—no, never again.

He is himself, he is Peturabo, he will only satisfy himself, and he will no longer bow to that liar, that tyrant.

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Vashtor walked silently down the Ironblood's corridor. The Iron Warriors had successfully colonized many planets within the Eye of Fear. By replicating the original primitive inhabitants of these planets, Perturabo had expanded his army. His abilities didn't require teaching them anything; simply planting a seed would grant Perturabo a new set of data.

Perturabo even mastered some of the operating methods of Blackrock Spire, originally from these planets—methods that were supposed to be taught to him by Vashtor in the future.

How terrible… Vashtor thought, this is the monster they have fed, the out-of-control creature tacitly approved by the gods.

It walked into the hall and Vashtor saw the monster sitting on the Iron Throne, who belonged only to himself and satisfied only his own desires.

And now, it is clear that their desires are aligned.

Vashtor laughed, flames spewing from its mouth. It gave a graceful bow, and the monster of iron and fire whispered...

Congratulations on gaining your freedom, Lord of Steel.

Now, can we discuss the actual contract?

Vashtor was glad it had bet right, and that Peturabo's previous breach of the contract had resulted in consequences... It was pleased that he had broken it.

5 words, that's it! Yay!

Ugh, I don't really know how to properly corrupt the Primarch either. Actually, if I wrote this quickly and went into detail, it would take a week, but that would be too slow. So, just get a rough idea of ​​how I planned and designed Old Man Pi. (Okay, I don't know how to corrupt either. I looked through the original text but still couldn't figure it out.)

Chapter 390 The First Victim

Aside from Peturabo himself, no one knew what the Lord of Steel had experienced within the Eye of Fear, but when he reappeared in people's sight, he became... more arrogant and more composed, and the steel was no longer regular, but was melted and cast into other shapes.

After vaguely informing the Empire that they were still active in the Misty Starfield, the Iron Warriors began to develop based on the Eye of Fear. One infrastructure after another was built, and the Iron Warriors were sweeping through the planets near the Eye of Fear at an insatiable pace.

This wasn't just about developing the legion; Peturab was doing something else entirely. He needed to create chaos. His ambitions had grown. Peturab no longer wanted to submit. He had tasted true power, and he wouldn't kneel again.

The Iron Lords carefully forged a brief alliance with the warp creatures, each getting what they wanted: the Iron Lords desired the death of a Soulless One, while Peturabo desired a turbulent empire.

Near the Eye of Fear, countless black stone obelisks on various planets are marked on the map. The technology of these alien races... reminds Peturabo of that unpleasant battle from the past. And now, these black stone obelisks are in a state of [suppression].

[Suppression] These tall, silent towers are suppressing the outflow of the Eye of Terror from the warp. When Perturabo enters them, the Lord of Steel can clearly feel the powerlessness, his soul imprisoned.

All he had to do was flip their states over.

Flip it over, and it becomes [Amplification].

On the desolate land, one after another, colossal towers, flashing with dim green arcs of electricity, erupted with lightning after a violent hum. The curtain billowed, and the warp storm that had been imprisoned within the Eye of Terror for millions of years began to rage.

The Empire's warp communications began to falter, and countless previously stable shipping lanes began to shut down intermittently. Star Speakers wailed and wept blood, while navigators trembled as they tried to retrieve their coordinates.

This will be the prelude to a warp storm powerful enough to tear the entire empire apart, but unfortunately, no one is aware of this yet; they simply think it is normal warp fluctuation.

Tear this empire apart.

Peturab thought that this would cause countless deaths and turn peace back into war, but he didn't care. He only cared about himself now. If the empire breaking in two would benefit him in accumulating strength and establishing his own kingdom, then Peturab would do it.

He carefully calculated that Peturabo was manipulating everything, and he couldn't be too hasty, lest the Empire realize that this was intentional—he couldn't let people discover him.

His power is still too insignificant.

But... Peturabo knew where to seek his help.

The legion closest to the Iron Warriors is the Fist of Steel. Manus is preparing to lead the Tenth Legion north to join the Third Legion's Sons of the Emperor. This is good, like the two sides of steel. Perturabo knows that this former candidate for Warmaster is not someone who is easily swayed.

To the northwest of the Iron Warriors lies the Raven Guard, which Perturabo is not particularly interested in. Although the sons of Coracus have a “fine” tradition of being ruled by other Primarchs, the Nineteenth Legion’s forces are simply too weak, and they are primarily assault troops… their numbers are too low.

Peturabo wasn't in a hurry, because the right person had already come to him on their own.

The Lord of Steel sat to the side, casually holding up the envelope in his hand. It was gold. How ridiculous. The Seventeenth Legion clearly had its own color scheme, yet they still stubbornly chose that guy's color?

Luo Jia… He silently repeated the name of his former brother in his heart, rather than serve as a dog for the emperor…

Perturabo thought that the blasphemous idea excited him; he felt like vomiting, but his heart was pounding.

...It would be better to use it for his purposes.

Perturabo's other hand rested casually on the armrest, his palm hanging down, a strangely shaped dagger gleaming in his hand.

Vashtor gave the Iron Lord this dagger—[Death of Faith], forged from the last church in Terra. The Emperor himself destroyed the Thunderstone Church, marking the end of religion.

How hypocritical, Perturabo thought. The Emperor burned and destroyed the last church on Terra, loudly condemning people's faith, and what did he do afterward? He went to Mars and declared himself the Om Messiah, the representative of the gods!

Peturab couldn't help but laugh. The absurd truth was that the Emperor was the biggest liar in the entire empire.

Filled with a vague unease and a touch of cruel curiosity, Peturabo could hardly wait for Luojia's arrival.

He raised the dagger to his face, examining it closely. If what Vashtor said was true, then he was murdering his brother—this made him shudder again.

He loosened his grip slightly, and the meaningless letter from Luojia fluttered to the ground.

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[My dear brother, I've heard that many planets in your region practice heresy. To purify this heresy, I'm planning to lead the Word Bearers on an expedition to this star system. However, since Fernus seems to be planning to visit Fugen, I can't contact him directly, so I've come to find you.]

The navigation routes in the Misty Starfield are notoriously difficult to navigate. My navigator has repeatedly shown reluctance to grant my request. Brother Peturabo, do you, who are currently engaged in this campaign, possess a stable map of the subspace routes? And would it be convenient for you to send me a copy?

I also look forward to seeing you. The Fourth Army is always busy, isn't it? You didn't attend the Warmaster's promotion ceremony. You could have met with me and Magnus... Perhaps you could have persuaded Magnus to stay, or perhaps I should have arranged for the Khan to speak with Magnus. You know, that might have prevented what happened later.

Although Magnus was arrogant and often made hurtful remarks, I know he didn't intentionally harbor malice.

But I was absorbed in my own world at the time, and besides, I'm not a strong person. We argued about my own issues, and I didn't pay much attention to Magnus's old psychic topics.

Luo Jia paused, his pen poised. Perhaps he shouldn't have written this; Peturabo and Magnus were close friends, and he shouldn't have brought up this topic.

On the other hand, perhaps the Lord of Steel, far from the political center of the empire, is anxiously awaiting news from Magnus.

Luo Jia pondered for a moment, then took out a new sheet of paper. He should consider Peturabo's feelings, so he picked up the discarded manuscript, carefully folded it, and threw it away.

The black scepter beside him was radiating a warm aura. After the burning of the City of Perfection, Luo Jia ordered the craftsmen to forge a scepter for him out of black stone. Black stone was the same material used to execute sinners, and it served as a constant reminder to the Primarch that he had almost crossed the line in the past.

Luo Jia always carried the Black Stone Scepter with her. Through the Primarch's daily devout prayers and the daily use of it in battle, the scepter gradually became imbued with the faint glow of psionic energy and faith. In the Primarch's hand, it emitted a faint golden light.

Luo Jia unconsciously stroked the black scepter, which had become a habit of his. Finally, he decided to tell Peturabo why he had led the Word Bearers here. The God Emperor's order to him was to spread the word, but not to disturb the already settled areas.

This means that the Word Bearers should go to more turbulent regions, preferably planets that originally practiced paganism. These planets have the custom of faith, but in the wrong direction. Under the leadership of the Word Bearers, those pagans will submit to the power of the God-Emperor.

Moreover, if they are truly beyond saving, then Luo Jia would not hesitate to use the extermination order.

As a result, the turbulent regions of the Misty Starfield became the best areas for the Word Bearers to spread their teachings. Perhaps because of their relatively weak connection with the Warp, most of the people here believed in some strange and unusual religions.

Luo Jia pondered, wondering how he should answer if Peturabo asked him about Magnus's details. Luo Jia wasn't present at Nikaya either; he had heard from the White Scar Think Tank that the Silent Ones had played a crucial role in the incident.

Hades, the Lord of the Order of Silence.

Luo Jia thought silently, it's him, there's no mistake.

So, did Magnus commit the same foolish act as Luo Jia did before? ...Was he also deceived and betrayed by his offspring?

Luo Jia remained silent, but this only confirmed his suspicions. Hades, the King of the Underworld, held an important position in the God Emperor's plan. He was his true executioner, his corrector, and the God Emperor's agent on Earth.

Hades… He recalled that night, and Luo Jia’s soul trembled slightly.

No, he thought. He was loyal to the God Emperor. The God Emperor was powerful, bringing empires and peace, and providing people with direction and paths. He would remain loyal to him.

That's all for today... I'll be busier on Wednesday and Thursday, so I'll be posting less... My health is the most important thing...

That's right, if the Emperor can be ahead of the version, then so can the opponent (silently covering face).