As Eden introduced the treasures displayed around the outer hall, he recounted the history of the Ramses Dynasty.
According to him, his ancestors had endured a tragic and heroic past.
During the Wars of Secession, the founders of the Ramses Dynasty had refused to take part in the slaughter of their own kin and resolutely migrated to the edge of the galaxy.
There, they had braved countless hardships to carve out new territory. They defeated terrifying barbarians and void-beasts, expanded their family's power, and eventually established their own dynasty.
"Our ancestors never forgot the lands of their homeworld. When they learned that the Wars of Secession had ended, they returned to their ancestral homeland with the entire family.
"They hoped that we, their descendants, would one day bask beneath the sun of our homeworld and gaze upon its stars.
"Then biotransference was created. We trusted the Silent King. We trusted the C'tan. In the end, they robbed us of our flesh and our souls.
"Afterward, our dynasty fell apart during the War in Heaven…"
Eden's voice was heavy with sorrow.
His telling was so compelling that even Zahndrekh, Fahra, and the others grew somber.
It was a tragic history, yet it was also the fate suffered by the overwhelming majority of Necrontyr dynasties.
The C'tan's deception and the War in Heaven had destroyed countless dynasties like Ramses. Many vanished into the depths of history and were forgotten entirely.
"Damn the secessionists! Damn the C'tan! And damn the Silent King! They dragged our entire species into the abyss!"
As a general who had personally fought against the secessionists, Zahndrekh understood that pain all too well.
He likewise despised the C'tan's deception and Szarekh's self-righteous arrogance. That Triarchal Phaeron bore an inescapable responsibility for the decline of the Infinite Empire.
Eden watched everyone's reactions and decided that the story had worked rather well. It had successfully stirred the emotions and memories of the Necrontyr.
Every intelligent species needed stories.
The Aeldari had legends of their gods. Humanity had its ancient myths and the sacred deeds of the Emperor and the Savior. The T'au Empire had the Greater Good. Even the Orks had stories of Gork and Mork—one brutal but cunning, the other cunning but brutal.
Of course, the Orks now had another legend: Brother Eden, the savage, treacherous, and cunning Ork-Eater.
A good story could forge a common identity and shape the spirit of a people. It was essential for uniting a species, establishing rule, and passing its culture down through the ages.
Winning the trust of the other dynasties won't be easy. If I truly want to rule the Infinite Empire, I'll need to tell my story well—the story of how I will make the Necrontyr great again…
That was Eden's conclusion.
The most important purpose behind the tale of the Ramses Dynasty was to establish that Charles Ramses came from an impeccable background and possessed the purest Necrontyr noble blood.
His pedigree was beyond reproach.
At the same time, the story subtly spread unfavorable views of the Silent King and the Stormlord.
He branded one as the great sinner of the Necrontyr and the other as a potential secessionist, thereby encouraging the Necrontyr to distrust and even resent them.
Eden had also spread rumors that the Blackstone pylons emitted harmful radiation. As a result, some Necrons had developed an aversion to the anti-empyric matrix constructed by the Silent King.
They did not dare dismantle the structures, but they had established exclusion zones around them or simply moved away from the affected regions.
That was the power of narrative.
Whoever controlled the narrative could subtly influence how others thought.
Naturally, the Silent King and the Stormlord were doing the same thing.
One promised to use the anti-empyric matrix and reverse biotransference to help the Necrontyr reclaim the galaxy. The other wanted his people to embrace ascension through living metal, then use their powerful bodies to conquer the galaxy and the wider universe.
Eden believed that his own story—making the Necrontyr great again—was far more appealing.
It was grounded, practical, and anything but an empty promise.
Any Necrontyr who accepted Eden and joined the Sacred Soul Cult could experience emotions again instead of languishing forever in a meaningless void.
After that, they would regain their flesh and souls.
Eden intended to refine this story slowly, spreading it from one dynasty to the next.
As time passed, the story would become increasingly polished. It would attract more supporters and ever greater numbers of fanatical believers.
Meanwhile, his emotion-virus factories had been producing at full capacity. He had already accumulated sufficient reserves to spread the virus freely across even more regions.
By combining the two, Eden would inevitably create an unimaginably vast religious following and armed force.
No sooner had he finished recounting the Ramses Dynasty's history than preparations in the banquet hall were completed.
"My lord, honored Nemesor.
"All within the hall has been prepared. The rites are in harmony, the banquet vessels have been cleansed, and daylight now shines upon the seats of honor.
"Please follow me to the feast—
"May today's gathering endure as firmly and lastingly as the foundations of a dynasty."
The Master of Royal Ceremonies arrived and respectfully invited the hosts and their guests to enter.
…
The Banquet Hall.
This hall had not been constructed from cold noctilith. Instead, it had been built from ancient stone and long timbers, then decorated with gold leaf and indigo minerals.
Long curtains hung from above. Sunlight gathered through the high windows and fell across the polished floor in pillars of gold, illuminating the painted murals upon the walls.
They depicted the epic history of the Ramses Dynasty and the sacrificial myths of the Necrontyr. Other murals portrayed Necrontyr worshipping their new deity.
Pluto, the New God, was a god of the underworld who also presided over the setting sun before nightfall.
The Necrontyr preferred sunset to the blazing midday sun. At that hour, the radiation from their homeworld's star had been less intense.
The New God's appearance somewhat resembled an ancient Egyptian solar deity. Above his head floated a setting sun reminiscent of the Sun of Hope.
The long tables on either side of the hall had already been laden with an astonishing variety of delicacies, fine wines, and freshly harvested fruits.
When the ritual instruments rang out with clear music, Eden, Fahra, Zahndrekh, and the others took their seats, formally beginning the royal banquet.
The atmosphere was warm and relaxed, and the servants moved without a sound.
Seated among the guests, Zahndrekh gazed at the splendid food and wine, the golden pillars of sunlight, and the curtains swaying gently in the breeze.
The ghostly green flames within the Nemesor's eye sockets flickered. For a moment, his gaze grew distant.
Much of what he saw seemed unfamiliar. He had forgotten it all long ago.
Yet a faint premonition rising from the fragmented data of his memories told him that he had experienced these things before.
These Necrontyr utensils, customs, and dishes had been buried deep within his memory. Even without a soul, even after forgetting far too much, traces of them still remained.
Sixty million years ago, Zahndrekh had attended noble banquets just like this one and enjoyed the prosperity of that age.
The Infinite Empire—their noble and exalted species—had expanded at an astonishing pace. Its territory grew constantly, bringing countless planets and unimaginable resources beneath Necrontyr rule.
For the sake of a single dish served at a banquet, they would cross half the galaxy.
They would scale the steepest cliffs and plunge into the deepest aquatic abysses, gathering the most succulent fruits or hunting ferocious leviathans beneath alien seas.
They would consume the entire output of a star to power a single ship, all so that the freshest and most delicious ingredients could be brought back in time to satisfy their palates.
At other times, they would travel together to banquet halls built at the very edge of the galaxy, admiring the grandest vistas while sampling the most exotic delicacies.
That had been the Necrontyr's most glorious age.
They still possessed flesh, breath, warmth—and, most precious of all, souls.
Zahndrekh had not yet been a general in those days. He had merely been the young son of a noble family.
He had been strong and filled with vitality, his heart pounding as vigorously as that of a wild beast.
He had been free to enjoy life and everything beautiful the galaxy had to offer.
But those golden days did not last.
The more the Necrontyr nobles wanted to enjoy such luxuries forever, the more anxious they became about the brevity of their lives. Territorial disputes also grew increasingly fierce.
That led to division and war within the Infinite Empire.
The secessionists destroyed Zahndrekh's home.
The Silent King rallied the Necrontyr against the separatists. Zahndrekh joined the war during that period and rose step by step until he became a Nemesor.
The Necrontyr suffered catastrophic losses during those conflicts. To end their internal disputes, their rulers manufactured a powerful external enemy—the Old Ones.
The Necrontyr soon paid a terrible price for that disastrous decision.
They had underestimated the Old Ones and plunged themselves into an even bloodier war.
With no other choice, the Silent King eventually formed an alliance with the C'tan and used the power of those galactic gods to defeat the Old Ones.
The Necrontyr gained the power of gods and achieved victory, but the price of that victory was their flesh and souls.
Most tragically of all, they had conquered the galaxy only to lose the ability to experience it.
They became part of the living metal, their hearts forever cold.
Gradually, the Necrontyr stopped living as they once had. Everything from the past became unnecessary.
Even something as simple as breathing.
Their civilization declined at terrifying speed. Only war remained, followed by an eternity of slumber and emptiness that had lasted until the present day.
That was the price of Necrontyr greed—and of placing their faith in false gods.
As Zahndrekh lost himself in his ancient memories, an almost imperceptible tremor passed through his cortical field.
What happened?
He was taken aback.
It was a subtle warning from Vargard Obyron, delivered with the utmost caution.
So that is the Sacred Soul Cult's New God. The beginnings of another cult resembling the old worship of the C'tan…
Realizing what Obyron meant, Zahndrekh followed his Vargard's gaze. His eyes immediately narrowed.
The so-called New God, Pluto, possessed the body of a man and the head of a bird. He carried a staff and resembled a Phaeron.
His body towered higher than any pyramid, and an eternal red sunset burned above his head.
The New God gave Zahndrekh a peculiar impression. Even depicted as a relief upon the wall, He projected an aura of holiness and solemn majesty.
Through his observations over the past several days, Zahndrekh had already discovered that the Sacred Soul Cult wielded tremendous influence.
It had spread throughout the Necrontyr population of the entire Fahra Dynasty.
Furthermore, under the influence of the Sacred Soul Cult and its New God, those Necrontyr had become noticeably different from the rest of their species.
"They are as fanatical as the old worshippers of the C'tan. Their behavior is also becoming increasingly… strange."
That was the only word the Nemesor could find to describe them.
Those Necrontyr moved and behaved with far greater flexibility and vitality.
Zahndrekh understood that Obyron was warning him not to lose himself in the banquet. He needed to remain objective and reach an accurate judgment.
He had to decide whether to strike now and eradicate the Sacred Soul Cult before it could expand into more regions.
Vargard Obyron appeared to be standing there blankly like a statue, but in truth, he had been on full alert from the beginning.
Within one-fifth of a second, the Vargard could bypass every member of the Royal Lychguard, reach the Phaeron of the Ramses Dynasty, and unleash a terrifyingly destructive attack.
Even a Phaeron would struggle to withstand such a sudden assault.
Admittedly, that would violate the aristocratic code of honor.
However, the code applied only to genuine nobles—not secessionists or slaves of false gods.
Without question, the Phaeron of the Ramses Dynasty was very likely a slave of the New God Pluto.
Some false higher-dimensional life-form from the galaxy or the Warp had once again set its sights upon the Necrontyr.
It was using the Phaeron before him to spread its faith, waiting for the right opportunity to harvest its believers.
The greed of such gods surpassed even that of the Necrontyr in their darkest age.
"Lord Charles—or perhaps I should call you the Divine Envoy…"
Zahndrekh did not drink the wine in his goblet. Instead, he placed it down and stared at the Phaeron.
His voice was entirely devoid of emotion.
"I am curious about the teachings of the Sacred Soul Cult and the existence of its New God. Would you deign to explain them to me?
"Is He truly real?"
In the eyes of any believer, the Nemesor's words were a grave act of disrespect and provocation.
In an instant, the Royal Lychguard, the ceremonial officers, and the servants all turned toward him. Ghostly flames flickered within their eye sockets.
They were angry.
The atmosphere in the banquet hall grew tense, as though the air itself might ignite.
Obyron's joints tightened almost imperceptibly. He was ready to act at any moment, eliminating every threat to his master.
His fortress-like body cast a heavy shadow across the floor, and his imposing presence spread throughout the hall.
"The great New God Pluto exists. That is an indisputable fact. He is a benevolent and tolerant being, willing to grant His blessing to any living creature."
Eden met Zahndrekh's gaze, his tone equally solemn.
Then his manner abruptly softened, and he raised his goblet.
"However, this is hardly an appropriate occasion for preaching. The New God forces no one to believe in Him, nor would He begrudge us the pleasure of enjoying this banquet. Wouldn't you agree?"
The teachings of the Sacred Soul Cult were exceptionally permissive, with freedom as their central principle.
As long as one believed, that was enough. There were no particular taboos or ideological restraints.
This was primarily meant to accommodate the chaotic multitude of deranged ideologies currently flourishing throughout the Infinite Empire.
There were simply far too many lunatics.
Some Necrontyr had even settled upon feral worlds and become savages. They lived quite happily among the apes.
Eden had invested enormous effort into preparing this banquet. Naturally, he did not want a fight to break out here.
What if they damaged his precious relics and antiques?!
He did not have the time or energy to acquire another complete collection—or raid Trazyn's vaults again—to display his status.
Newly manufactured objects simply did not have the same character.
A Necrontyr could scan them at a glance and immediately determine whether they were genuine ancient relics or newly made goods.
Everyone watched Zahndrekh, waiting to see how the Nemesor would respond.
His attitude would decide whether he became their enemy or remained an honored guest.
Perhaps this banquet was about to become a blood-soaked feast.
Within the Infinite Empire, murderous bloodshed during a royal banquet was hardly unusual.
Worse, the war triggered by this bloody feast would engulf the entire core Tomb World.
Eden continued holding his goblet, his manner as warm and relaxed as ever. There was not the slightest trace of worry upon his face.
After all, as the most legitimate and orthodox noble in all the Infinite Empire, he had already foreseen the worst possible outcome—
And placed a team of professional axemen in ambush ahead of time.
(End of Chapter)
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