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

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After all, he had already promised Horus.

Even though the Empire blocked almost all information, some Primarchs still became aware of the bloodshed on the battlefield of Randan.

The thing the angels least wanted to see has happened.

If wolves and lions can raise their knives in the name of the emperor, then they have every reason to do it a second time.

The defect should be removed, but Saint Gilles and his legion were in the corner closest to the defect.

Beneath the perfect, calm exterior lies an uneasy and fearful soul.

But the smile on his lips remained unchanged.

The angel smiled and struck up a conversation with Don. It was easy to talk to someone who was willing to take anything seriously. In fact, Saint Gilles appreciated Don's frankness.

Dorn came here to provide a place for the ashes after the flames, but he did not yet understand all of this and was still communicating with the angels with some worry.

Mortalian was still present, and Saint Gilles could only offer him veiled comfort.

Horus went to see the Emperor and Macado, and also arranged this gathering to facilitate communication between the Primarchs.

The executioner was naturally not invited.

What comforted Saint Gilles somewhat was that Mortarion wasn't curious; the Death Guard was a byproduct of the campaign, and this newcomer shouldn't know too much about it anyway.

The angels could sense Horus's goodwill and concern for Mortarion, so Mortarion was also there. Horus hoped his taciturn brother would learn more about the rules of the Empire.

But Saint Gilles' attention was subtly shifted behind the Primarch for a moment.

what is that?

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Warhammer Fantasy: Make the Tomb King Great Again

Chapter 254 Blue and Red and Blue

Outside the castle, the honor guard continued to play hymns, and the sea of ​​red and blue flowed slowly.

Magnus felt very pleased.

Teaching and seeking knowledge are both virtues; the former, by setting an example, inspires the latter to pursue hope.

The sun has always existed, burning brightly. As someone who has witnessed the light, Magnus has vowed countless times to lead humanity out of the cave of ignorance.

Human beings deserve to live in the sunlight, not in the long, dark old world.

But wise men are always lonely, and even among brothers, few can truly understand Magnus's passion.

Superstitious barbarians, stubborn arrogance, dull-witted ignorance.

Perhaps the latter can still be saved, after all, not everyone is born with the keen eyes to observe and understand that wondrous subspace.

So Magnus, with his goodwill, understood and patiently answered Guilliman's questions.

The two Primarchs were moving slowly through the procession of people, surrounded by their offspring. The weather was fine, and the sunlight shone on their exquisite armor.

Generally speaking, Magnus, the Scarlet Monarch, does not have much interaction with Robert Guilliman.

Aside from the wise Khan or the omniscient Peturabo, Magnus maintained a deliberate distance from his brothers, who did not understand the world Magnus saw and lacked some of the psychic flashes.

Yes, Magnus is a unique being. Among his brothers, only he holds the power of psychic energy. His father had personally promised him his uniqueness; he is one of a kind.

Perhaps the angel Saint Gilles also had some knowledge of the use of psychic powers, but it was merely a superficial understanding. Saint Gilles lacked the necessary curiosity, and this lack of motivation prevented him from delving deeper.

At any time, a burning thirst for knowledge is clearly necessary and essential.

Magnus would not refuse to grant knowledge to humble and discreet seekers; it is their right.

Magnus would not refuse—

Even Guilliman, who showed absolutely no psionic energy.

Understanding psychic abilities requires passion, imagination, and intellectual richness, but Robert Guilliman is the complete opposite of these qualities.

The father of the Ultramarines, Lord of the Five Hundred Worlds, Guilliman lacked a certain essential emotional quality. He was a politician, a man who fought with forms, and such a person was naturally unsuitable for the Warp.

Even though Guilliman was his brother, Magnus could only sigh helplessly; they were destined to be strangers.

But on the way to the banquet, Killieman, with his politician's smile, stopped Magnus. Just when Magnus thought Killieman was about to ramble on about some meaningless nonsense, Killieman instead consulted him about matters of psychic powers.

To be clear, Magnus did not approve of Guilliman's usual practices. Guilliman was an ambitious man who, while other legions were shedding blood for the Empire, devoted himself and his legions to the construction of the Five Hundred Worlds. This was an arrogance that could not be ignored.

He was naturally unwilling to engage in conversation with politicians. Even though the Lord of Macurag was well-read, Magnus did not believe that a man who fought with an abacus could glean much passion from books.

But Kyliman asked him about psionic abilities, and his perfectly timed question hissed at Magnus like a snake flicking its tongue, making the Crimson Lord itch with desire.

“My brother, Magnus, you are the one among us who knows the warp best. Would you be interested in answering some of my questions?”

Sometimes, the professor's desire is harder to bear than the desire for knowledge.

It sounds like his brother wants to reform the Ultramarines' intelligence apparatus, but the Lord of Macragge knows nothing about the warp; he needs knowledge, he needs a teacher who can enlighten him.

And who could know more about psionics and the warp than Magnus, the Crimson Lord?

Unless it is their father, he will not find a more suitable candidate than Magnus.

Magnus patiently answered Guilliman's questions, some of which were perhaps too naive, but for someone who wasn't even a beginner, these questions were profound enough.

Attending this banquet was the right decision. After passing through the long procession, they could sit in the spacious hall and continue their conversation. Even though Guilliman had no talent, Magnus was willing to show him the wonders of psychic powers.

Seeing the two Primarchs chatting happily, Ahriman, who was standing beside Magnus, breathed a sigh of relief without even realizing it, though he didn't know why he did so.

In fact, before the banquet was about to begin, his guardian spirits seemed somewhat anxious. Peok's once-shining wings became dim, and Hathormat huddled in a corner of the cabin, shivering.

Under the leadership of the Crimson Lord Magnus, the Thousand Sons, who are familiar with psionic energy, can have their own guardian spirits. These small creatures, which are made entirely of psionic energy, were once thought by Ahriman to be angels.

His little angels would appear whenever Ahriman needed them, like a school of fish in the sky, shimmering with light, or like an eagle sculpted from several small suns.

Later, in the scholars' discussions, the word "angel," which had a special religious connotation, was removed. Only ignorant people would use words like "angel" or "demon."

Even if they are not angels, they are beautiful enough.

But now his guardian spirit is starting to get anxious. Ahriman knows what this means: a misfortune, a failure. What is his guardian spirit trying to remind him of?

In any case, he will be cautious about whatever might happen at the banquet.

Compared to his father, Ahriman was clearly more worried.

Something was about to happen, and he was completely unaware of it.

The servants bowed, the gate slowly opened, and the two Primarchs stepped through. At this point, all the guests for the banquet had arrived.

Hades skillfully put down his fork, stood up and bowed, but upon seeing the newcomer, the corner of his right eye twitched violently.

The first to enter was Robert Guilliman, the Lord of Macragge and father of the Ultramarines of the Thirteenth Legion.

The luxurious sapphire blue silk shimmered in the firelight, and a crown of emerald olive leaves adorned his short, golden hair. Killieman smiled—a flawless smile. He seemed like a wise monarch from ancient times, or perhaps an idealist who never existed on a campaign poster.

But most importantly, he looks like a perfectly normal person.

One, a normal person.

Hades would never admit that he had briefly cursed in his mind why he hadn't landed in Macurag.

Then Robert Killman turned around with a smile, and the person behind him was—

Magnus!

Hades paused for a few seconds, and in those few seconds, he seemed to see thousands of tragic fates.

He slowly and desperately realized that today's banquet seemed to be a mistake.

Hades' gaze shifted, watching the still oblivious angel pull Mortarian up to welcome his two brothers.

The only good news seems to be that if they start fighting, the angels can use force to control everyone.

Yes, there is a code.

Chapter 255 Are you a psionicist?

"Welcome, my brother."

"haven't seen you for a long time."

Saint Gilles, with a gentle smile, went to greet him first, and Gilles, who was opposite him, immediately smiled back warmly. The two exchanged a few pleasantries.

Generally speaking, angels don't like this, but he also realizes that these everyday greetings give Guilliman a sense of stable comfort.

Perhaps the angel's light was too dazzling, Magnus paused his eloquent speech and politely waited for the angel and Guilliman. The Scarlet King was in a good mood, so he patiently focused his attention on the angel, who was still as dazzling as he remembered.

Angels also possess psychic abilities, and the Thousand Sons do not release their guardian spirits in the presence of other legions, especially those that can see the Aetheric Domain.

Perhaps Guilliman did it on purpose, Magnus thought; politicians’ words are always the most seductive.

“This is our brother, Mortarian.”

The angel winked meaningfully at the two of them, then turned to the side. Only then did the two notice Mortarian, exuding an aura of death, standing beside Saint Gilles's shimmering wings.

Guilliman paused almost imperceptibly, then immediately and enthusiastically introduced himself to Mortalian.

Magnus began to scrutinize Mortarian with a wide-eyed gaze, but Mortarian, accustomed to this, ignored the tall, red-skinned giant.

“I am Robert Guilliman, commander of the 13th Legion of Ultramarines. It’s a pleasure to meet you, my brother. It’s always a pleasure to meet you.”

Mortalian responded to Guilliman with a dry, curt reply.

"The Fourteenth Legion, Commander of the Death Guard."

Guilliman smiled and extended his hand, hoping to shake hands with Mortalian. The angel smiled and looked at Mortalian from the side, while Dorn watched them with his arms crossed, but without any mockery.

"Another brother is back. It's a pity we can only meet now, but the good news is that we now have plenty of time to get to know each other."

Mortalian realized that they genuinely wanted him to enter this circle that Mortalian found inexplicable.

The circle called "family" is adorned with a glamorous facade.

He recalled the burning affection Horus had given him, the inexplicable kindness, the sudden warmth.

He also recalled the truth he had realized back then: gold will eventually decay, and the throne is destined to become tarnished.

Beautiful things always fade away.

Mortalian fell silent again. What he didn't notice was that as he subconsciously fell silent and looked away, Guilliman cast an inquiring glance at the angel.

The angel shook his head slightly.

Guilliman fell silent, while Magnus let out a loud sigh.

From Mortalian's perspective, everything at the banquet had an incongruous sense of grandeur; the excessive piling up of things made him uncomfortable.

He disliked the feeling of deliberately using gold and silver jewelry to declare his power and status.

But in the eyes of the other Primarchs, Mortarion was the most worrying presence.

He was too unique, too morbid, too bizarre.

Mortarian, their younger brother, was too thin, really too thin, with a sickly thinness. In the few places where he wasn't covered by clothing, almost no fat was visible, and his skin showed signs of being corroded by strong acid.

He was also very tall. Of all the people present, only Magnus was taller than Mortarian, but Magnus weighed at least three times as much as Mortarian, who was like a tall, thin, hunched, withered tree.

What chilled the Primarchs even more was that Mortarion was wearing a breathing mask. Why was he doing that?

The last breaths of a critically ill tuberculosis patient before death came from behind that pale, faded mask, labored and labored.

Without armor, Mortarion exuded a terrifying unease after losing the protection of his armor and the poisonous mist.

The angel was worried that Mortarian might be suffering from some kind of illness, or that his brother might be cursed, but from their previous contact, the angel had not noticed anything unusual.

Dorn believed that his brother was too unique and needed to adapt to the pace of the Empire rather than let the environment adapt to him.

Guillman Roberts pondered how to communicate with his brother. Motalian clearly needed to speak up; they needed more information about their brother to better help him or at least make him feel less uncomfortable.

Magnus was reading.

He was reading Mortarion, and the Scarlet King's attention once again shifted from the angels to Mortarion.

Magnus was shocked by Mortarian's appearance, but at the same time, this unusual brother aroused his curiosity.

When one's experience and knowledge accumulate to a certain level, one can transcend one's expectations and see the essence of things.