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

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[Fuggen! Your perfume is suffocating me! My offspring's noses are going to rot—get away from us, or you could sit next to that stinky fellow!]

Mortarion and Fugen frowned almost simultaneously, which successfully interrupted Fugen's desire to show off, and the Phoenix led his offspring back to their seats step by step.

Then there was Clarks, who seemed quiet and normal. Mortalian didn't recognize him; he was practically invisible, in fact, he was like a ghost throughout the entire meeting.

However, because he looked very much like Conrad Coz, Mortalian raised his vigilance and dislike for him to the highest level.

Next came the White Scar Think Tank, sent by the Khan, which entered along with the think tanks of other legions. The Khan himself did not attend.

Rogdoryn, Mortarion suspected he came because the Emperor was here. This big guy with dry, white hair had just been appointed Grand Master of Terra. He would be the Primarch among them closest to the Emperor, never leaving his side—what a terrible treatment.

I heard Peturabo is furious—he deserves it.

Mortarian remained silent. Some of his brothers had already started chatting, and he was being ignored again. This was a good thing, as even Fugen didn't dare to bother him this time.

The archangel was the second to last to arrive before the meeting officially began.

Everyone held their breath, or rather, they forgot to breathe. They forgot to stand up, forgot to cheer, and their mouths, which were chatting, were foolishly wide open.

People's eyes were fixed on the archangel flying in the darkness, each of his wings shimmering with a dazzling light.

The angel lightly touched the ground, his feet firmly planted on the earth. He looked at his father, who had painted a tear stain on the angel's face.

His enormous wings slowly folded, and his offspring, left behind, arrived at the angel's side. The angel knelt down reverently and lowered his head.

The stage lights made his curly, smooth blond hair shine.

Good day, my father.

"My Lord is pleased with your presence; you look to be in great shape."

The angel bowed slightly, as if in acquiescence, then rose, turned to smile at the mortals, and spread his wings, flapping them as if in a gesture of expansive joy.

Mortalian remained silent. He knew the difference between the angel and Fugen: one was a noisy, flightless chicken, and the other was a flying birdman.

Neither of them were good people, and Mortarian began to find the Wolf King to be kind and approachable.

Thankfully, the angel didn't continue to assault Mortalian's eyes with those mutated human wings, because the last legion had arrived—

Mortarian stared intently at that damned, crimson figure.

He squinted, like a hunter examining the throat of his prey, or an executioner gesturing at the neck of a sinner.

"Imperial Chancellor," Makado's voice rang out as the Scarlet King rose to his feet.

"The meeting is now in session."

Why isn't Hades here? Mortarian stared in shock at the empty seat, but Macado's words still echoed in his ears.

"If you want to speak, then swear that everything you say is true. Lies on stage will be punished most severely. We despise liars and those who distort the truth. Only the truth will be the gold on the scales of justice."

No, even if Hades isn't there, Mortarion will do what he's supposed to do; he will be the first to raise the banner against wizards.

Mortarian does indeed await his friends, but he also has his own path to follow.

Mortarian was the first to stand up, and under everyone's gaze, he walked towards the center of the stage.

In the name of facing death, I swear an oath.

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Chapter 366 Everyone except Angron was persecuted.

[Nicaea Theater Main Hall]

Magnus panicked.

The High Heavens were hinting at something that was about to happen. He felt uneasy, a vague sense of panic. The flow of the psionic river was no longer calm, and the dim glow of the guardian elves also indicated that something was about to occur.

He attempted divination to predict the future—

The Nicaea Conference—all the rivers of psychic energy flowed toward it; some unfortunate tragedy was bound to occur here. Magnus took a deep breath; he could perhaps imagine the worst possible outcome.

This is a murder, a conspiracy against the wise, the psionic, the forerunners of the empire. The foolish witch hunter will use prejudice as flames, clamoring to burn his body.

Could his father, the Emperor, be deceived? Magnus wondered. Would he be convinced by Mortarian and Lemanrus's impassioned but flawed words?

The worst outcome would be the Emperor's trial of the think tank, which would be a disaster. Magnus's brain trembled with rage at the thought of Mortarian's mockery of him after his victory.

No—he won't let any of that happen.

Magnus tried to reassure himself, but his heart was guided by the unease of his psychic powers. He entered the theater with fearless steps, but after settling into his seat, he nervously clutched the hem of his clothes in the darkness.

He saw the Emperor, Saint Gilles, Fugen, and the think tank led by White Scar, who smiled at him, which warmed his heart.

But in an instant he saw Mortarian, saw Lemanrus, a rude and savage fellow, both of them cruel and extreme, who would tear anyone they didn't like to shreds.

Magnus took a deep breath, and behind him, Ahriman saw the Scarlet King unconsciously tapping his chair.

But this was still not the last straw that broke Magnus's back.

His gaze shifted to the empty seat facing the stage, where he saw the Silent Sisters surrounding it, and the mechanical sages, known for their ignorance and stubbornness, sitting silently around it.

Magnus felt his heart plummet, as if his soul and reason had suddenly fallen into an abyss.

No—no, how could that be?

Magnus muttered to himself, staring incredulously at the empty seat. There was no doubt that someone opposed to psionics would be sitting there.

One who opposes psionicists!

He will be sitting in the main seat directly opposite the podium!

Everything became clear in an instant: this was a hanging of an innocent victim. They disguised the foolish act of burning at the stake as a just trial, mocking him and wanting to see him struggle!

No, how could that be?!

Magnus trembled slightly as he looked at the Emperor, hoping he would say something, express something, or give Magnus some hint that the seat was not intentionally designed. But the Lord of Mankind remained as still as a statue.

Magnus looked at the angels, at Fugen, hoping his allies would see that this was an unjust murder, which caused him to miss the sight of Mortarion rising and walking onto the platform—the Lord of Death had seized the opportunity.

Even the first shot of evil was fired by the enemy.

Magnus felt despair, felt deceived, felt mocked, and felt a burning psychic energy coursing through his body... No, perhaps he should be optimistic.

Magnus's lips trembled as he forced a self-deprecating or perhaps lucky smile.

The meeting had already begun, but the man at the head of the table hadn't arrived yet, which meant he still had hope. The biggest murderer wasn't present; if he could refute Mortarian and Lemanrus's claims and convince his father—

So, there is still hope!

Magnus was immediately invigorated, but then he caught a glimpse of a familiar yet terrifying figure in his sea of ​​consciousness.

It is heading this way.

Unable to breathe, filled with anger and despair, Magnus stared at the empty seat. He seemed to realize that everything was beyond redemption. Was the fate he was about to suffer far more cruel than he had imagined?

No—who will tell him that fate is not like this! Magnus hid his gasping soul beneath his silent body, knowing that his fate was not so tragic!

But that footstep is getting closer and closer.

------

[Nicaea Theater Corridor]

Hades scratched his head, glancing at the sparsely populated servants in the corridor.

"Are we a little late?"

Angron shrugged indifferently.

I don't care about any of that, and besides, if it weren't for me, you should be able to arrive on time and be the model citizen they like.

"All right,"

Hades spoke,

"I think they've already started debating. Shall we go in quietly and not disturb them?"

He looked at Angron and frowned instantly. The Primarch said in a gruff voice...

Why, Hades? Both you and the World Eater deserve a respectful entrance. They should show us respect for our arrival. No gladiator would step into his arena like a thief.

Hades paused for a moment.

"Um……"

Hades blinked, then he laughed.

“Perhaps we could enter separately? I prefer not to disturb others—you know, Angron, the Silent Retreat is for quiet.”

Angron's brow furrowed even deeper. Hades was insecure? He realized this with a start. Did Hades not realize that he deserved those people to stand up and bow to him? He was stronger than ninety-nine percent of the Empire. Those scum should be offering their necks to him.

Or... Angron recalled what Hades had told him earlier. Hades seemed very worried about how Angron's other brothers viewed him. This would be the first time Hades would appear in front of most Primarchs in an unconventional, formal capacity.

Would his brothers be hostile to Hades?

Angron thought angrily, he knew it, he knew this feeling, Angron had experienced it in his past rages.

No, he would never let Hades be embarrassed in front of his "brothers".

Angron laughed.

I'll listen to you.

He said he would make Hades realize that the World Eater would be his strongest shield.

------

[Nicaea Theater Main Hall]

I have witnessed countless innocent minds corrupted by witchcraft. They should have been citizens of the Empire, fathers of children, soldiers of generals, but were transformed into inhuman monsters by the corruption of the Warp!

Completely unlike Mortalian's usual whispers, the Lord of Death's booming voice resounded throughout the theater; he shouted as if cursing the wizards.

Think about it, ladies and gentlemen! Witchcraft offers people an easy shortcut to gain without effort; it's like the sweetest honey, tempting the mind and amplifying the deepest desires to an infinite degree—all to make you stick out your tongue and devour it like a starving ghost.

No, no… Mortarian’s voice hummed in Magnus’s ears as he felt the suffocating monster slowly approaching and heard the sharp sound of the executioner sharpening his knife.

Magnus's reason was crumbling, but he still knew he was right, and he subconsciously and painfully refuted Mortarian in his mind.

Only fools would use psychic powers by any means necessary. The use of psychic powers is a complex subject that requires a high degree of self-discipline and self-control, and it is not as Mortarion claims!

Beneath the honey lies only poison! Lies often wrap the sweetest bait, then reveal their sharpest blade, constantly eroding your spiritual power and cursing everything about you.

Motarian looked at the empty seat in front of the podium, and suddenly raised his voice.

Since the Death Guard's inception, we have fought countless Xenomorphs and Psionic beings. We have never been defeated, but the threat posed by Psionic beings constantly serves as a stark reminder to every Death Guard and citizen of the Empire who battles them! Only when you are locked in a life-or-death struggle with a monster driven mad by psionic energy will you realize just how terrifying psionic beings truly are!

It turns the good into the evil, makes the wise foolish, the calm mad, the loyal betray, stirs the soul, and amplifies desires; it is the root of all evil and tragedy!

Mortarian's high-pitched voice stopped. The Lord of Death took a deep, deep breath, and the entire theater fell silent. Everyone could hear the strained hissing from beneath the Lord of Death's mask.

Motalian suddenly seemed weary. He spoke softly, his amber eyes gleaming in the golden light of the stage, like churning golden lava.

I am well aware of the Thousand Sons' glorious achievements on the Great Crusade; my brother has led his legion to conquer world after world—but I am deeply worried for him. The Thousand Sons' use of psychic power has made me deeply uneasy; they are overusing this ability. An ominous cloud hangs over my brother.

Magnus felt his stomach churning along with his soul; he was about to collapse. Fine beads of sweat trickled down his forehead. He was almost there… No, no… The light in Magnus’s eyes began to flicker; he could feel his psychic energy trying to save him.

However, the witch hunter's words continued to echo, and as if aware of Magnus's predicament, Mortarian whispered in a voice so soft it was nauseating.

I do not want—I do not want the Empire to have conquered countless worlds, to have crushed one regime after another ruled by ignorant wizards and psionic beings, only to find ourselves surrounded by our enemies.

Motarian paused dramatically for a moment, then gently shook his head.

"This shouldn't be," he said. "This shouldn't have happened."

He was met with a deathly silence. Mortarian knew he had won. He kept a close eye on the situation at the Thousand Sons' location. The Lord of Death keenly sensed that Magnus was not in a good state—he seemed to realize that he had already lost.

Beneath his mask, Mortarian smirked, looking somewhat disappointed at the empty seat facing him. It was a pity Hades couldn't appreciate all this—

The Lord of Death caught a glimpse of a light out of the corner of his eye.

Above the main seat, a corner of the main door was opened, and light shone through the gap, revealing a black helmet boot—

"boom!"

The deafening sound of the door opening rang out, and Hades turned around abruptly in surprise. He saw Angron, who had promised to let him enter separately, standing right beside him.

The Lord of Red Sand's hearty laughter echoed throughout the theater, and everyone turned their heads sharply.

Sorry everyone, it seems we're late!