Chapter 307: The Gained Blade
The Emperor watched closely. As he stood there, patiently waiting for Cyrene to finish her prayer, Hades curiously poked his head out from the building—and, a moment later, his expression twisted into one of unmistakable disgust.
It lasted only an instant, but it was there.
The Emperor's face remained impassive. He stood calmly in the moonlit alley, listening to the prayers and cries of billions across the Perfect City, to the sound of Cyrene's awakening. Then he raised his hand—
A faint golden radiance bloomed. In the next instant, the weeping Cyrene bowed her head and went silent. A Custodian stepped out from behind the Emperor and gently carried the unconscious woman away.
The Emperor lifted his gaze slightly. Hades's expression of disgust had grown even more pronounced, less concealed now—but when he noticed the Emperor's eyes on him, he quickly masked it again.
The Emperor spoke, his tone flat and calm.
"What have you discovered, Hades?"
"A suspicious middle-aged man standing in an alley," Hades replied dryly, "and a young woman kneeling at his feet, crying."
The Emperor turned his gaze toward Hades; Hades met it evenly. The night wind whispered through the alley.
"I am already aware that you found the Anathame," said the Emperor. "That is why I am here."
Hades let out a loud sigh, but when the Emperor stepped closer, he still dutifully pushed open the hall doors for him.
They walked past the nine-eyed Buddha, the rack of eight swords, the seven bundles of wheat, and the six-sided veil of incense.
With each exhibit they passed, brilliant golden flames erupted, devouring the darkness. Firelight crackled across the barren ground.
Hades frowned and looked back at the burning displays. This is unnecessary, he thought—his Black Domain had already cleansed the area.
But this was the Emperor—he could do as he pleased. His duty was merely to guide him to the shattered statue.
The Anathame was still there. Hades hadn't dared to touch it—though his Black Domain had completely suppressed its psychic aura, even devoured it—yet the foul pus still oozed and spurted outward, obeying the crude laws of physics.
Just as Hades had done earlier, the Emperor circled the sword embedded in the stone.
Hades stood silently to the side, waiting patiently.
Finally, the Emperor returned to his starting point, staring at the sword with an unreadable face.
"Do you know what this is, Neoth?"
The Emperor paused. Then, slowly, he shook his head.
Hades raised an eyebrow. Even he doesn't know? That wasn't a good sign.
"So you're not sure either? You don't know its origin, or what it's meant for?"
The Emperor's deep brown eyes regarded Hades with calm detachment.
"I am no god, Hades. I am not omnipotent, nor omniscient. The destiny entangled with that blade—you may understand it better than I."
Hades took a deep breath, scratching his head.
"Alright, I thought you might have some answers. I didn't expect that a routine inspection would turn into this—I figured we'd just find a few cultists or cursed trinkets, not this thing."
He stepped forward a few paces, squinting at the sword. 'Damn it,' he thought, 'those obsidian runes look just like a variant of the Barbarus script… or maybe Barbarus writing actually evolved from this thing?'
The Anathame—in the original timeline, it came from a civilization allied with the Luna Wolves: Interex.
Interex was a highly advanced human civilization, rich in culture—and, most importantly, they knew of Chaos and had fought against it for centuries.
But just as the Luna Wolves were about to forge an alliance with them, Erebus stole the Anathame, triggering chaos and mistrust that destroyed all hope of peace.
In the end, the negotiations collapsed, and the Imperium was forced to annihilate the Interex.
Through the manipulations of the Four Gods and Erebus, the sword eventually fell into the hands of the Planetary Governor of Davin, already blessed by Nurgle. The governor wielded the cursed blade to betray and wound Horus, the corruption nearly killing him.
Unconscious and dying, Horus was then carried by his desperate Luna Wolves into the temple tainted by the Four Gods—the place where his fall truly began.
It could be said that, in Horus's story, this sword marks the beginning of corruption.
Though Horus grew increasingly irritable and suspicious after becoming Warmaster, he was still—at least then—loyal.
So what was going on now? The Anathame was in Imperial hands. What were the Four Gods thinking? Or had he truly just stumbled into this and—by sheer luck—stolen their prize?
Hades stared at the sword and spoke slowly:
"I have two theories… First: we actually caught a big fish this time."
"And second…"
He looked up to meet the Emperor's gaze—and in the Emperor's calm eyes, golden flames of restrained anger burned.
"They're provoking us," Hades said, "mocking us for changing the plan—a direct response to our defiance. They've heard us."
The Emperor gave a slight shake of his head.
"Hades, you still don't understand these wretches."
"Don't be frightened by their petty tricks. They have time, they have patience, and they have countless pawns to throw at us. What you see here is merely one of those—a piece casually cast onto the board."
"It is, it isn't. It was intentional, it was accidental—none of that matters."
"What matters is this: I will burn the Perfect City. I will proclaim my godhood. I will construct the Webway. To fixate on their games will only drag you into the swamp of their deceit—a place where they thrive."
Hades hissed out a breath. 'And that,' he thought bitterly, 'is exactly why you failed in the original timeline.' He was too dismissive of the details.
But then again… the Emperor wasn't wrong either. If the Four Gods kept tossing out relics and memories from his own past to bait his attention, they really could trap him.
Hades sighed. It seemed he would have to become far more flexible in the future.
"Alright, I get it, Neoth," he said at last, waving a hand wearily.
"So what do we do with this sword? You want to burn it?"
The Emperor shook his head.
"I cannot destroy it. There is no psychic echo left within it."
Hades blinked.
"Then… you'll have the Custodians take it?"
"I refuse."
The Emperor's answer was firm and immediate.
"Then we can't just leave it here, can we? We have to remove it or destroy it somehow!"
The Emperor's gaze rested on Hades in silence before he finally spoke.
"Head of the Silent Sisterhood—I believe you can take it."
Hades looked at the Emperor in utter disbelief, as though betrayed.
"What the hell would I want this thing for?"
"As Head of the Silent Sisterhood," the Emperor said evenly, "you are responsible for the containment of dangerous relics. This sword will not harm you now."
Hades clearly wasn't about to order one of his subordinates to draw it—he didn't trust anyone to try, nor did anyone have the courage.
In the end, resigned to his fate, Hades stepped up to the broken statue. The shattered fragments of the God-Emperor lay scattered around him; the room had grown so dark that no light could penetrate it.
He steadied himself.
Then he reached out, gripped the hilt of the broken sword tightly—and pulled.
The chains clattered violently. As the blade came free, the stone base split apart and collapsed, pus gushing outward.
Hades turned, sword in hand, his expression grim and lifeless—as though he were already dead inside.
"So you came all the way here just to talk to me, Neoth?"
The Emperor calmly took a few steps back. He raised his hand, and golden fire flared, incinerating every trace of the vile liquid.
"I also enlightened my followers," he said quietly. "That was necessary."
"And what about the Blessed Lady? Are you planning to make her a bishop or something?"
"She will awaken in her home," the Emperor replied, "and believe that it was all a dream."
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