The small tomb ship did not land directly among the pyramids. Instead, it came to rest in a secure zone on the outskirts.
A Catacomb Command Barge then emerged from its hold, its shimmering gauss energy filling the air with the scent of rust.
"Ah, how nostalgic.
"How long has it been since we last visited another dynasty as proper nobles?"
Nemesor Zahndrekh sat upon the barge's throne with his Vargard beside him, seemingly lost in fond memories.
"Six hundred and eighty-five dynastic cycles, my lord. No one has invited us anywhere during that entire period.
"The last time we attended such a gathering, we were ambushed by the Stenra Dynasty.
"Given the level of threat posed by the Sacred Soul Cult, we should remain vigilant—especially during their court banquet."
Vargard Obyron delivered his report with characteristic seriousness while uploading the more precise temporal data directly into his master's cortical field.
"You always know how to spoil the mood."
Zahndrekh's enthusiasm faded somewhat, but he had long since grown accustomed to Obyron's ways.
Besides, attending the court banquet and indulging his nostalgia were only part of the reason he had come. His more important objective was to determine whether the Sacred Soul Cult posed a threat.
As Obyron had said, there was no guarantee that schemes, slaughter, or open conflict would not erupt between them.
No one knew whether the Sacred Soul Cult still bore a grudge over Zahndrekh's previous attack—or whether the banquet itself was a trap.
Of course, Zahndrekh had hardly arrived with the purest of intentions.
He disliked religion, especially religions capable of beguiling the minds of others.
If the Divine Envoy of the Sacred Soul Cult intended to use this banquet to win him over rather than simply engage in a cordial exchange between nobles, then they had badly misjudged him.
And Zahndrekh would be deeply disappointed.
Obyron stood rigidly upright, as immovable as a wall.
His hand tightened around his phase blade. The Vargard knew that he might be forced into a brutal battle at any moment.
A battle fought while surrounded by another dynasty's royal Lychguard.
"Damn. Our procession still doesn't look imposing enough…"
Eden gazed at Zahndrekh's grand ceremonial procession as it approached from the distance and couldn't help sighing.
The Necron forces at his disposal were still far too meager.
Not only was his honor guard considerably smaller than Zahndrekh's, but even the Catacomb Command Barge he rode was a size smaller than his guest's.
There was no question that the opposing procession looked more intimidating—and was probably more powerful as well.
Fortunately, this was only an ordinary court banquet, not a war.
Even so, Eden was accustomed to overwhelming others through sheer spectacle, so the disparity still left him uncomfortable.
If he couldn't project enough grandeur, how was he supposed to campaign among the dynasties in the future? How could he compete with the Silent King and the Stormlord?
"I need to get myself a truly formidable Catacomb Command Barge. Otherwise, it'll be downright embarrassing to leave the house."
Because he had come in such a hurry, Eden was currently borrowing Fahra's barge.
It was honestly rather pathetic.
He was shamelessly living off a woman—and acting like he owned the place while doing it.
A Catacomb Command Barge was practically standard transportation for Necrontyr nobles, equivalent to a supercar or luxury vehicle. It was also a symbol of status and prestige.
Even when two dynasties went to war, their respective Phaerons would arrive in their finest barges, accompanied by their royal guards, and face off before the battle began.
It was essentially the Infinite Empire's version of flexing military strength and trading insults before hostilities commenced.
Under such circumstances, traveling without a luxurious Catacomb Command Barge of his own was absolutely unacceptable.
He couldn't very well confront the Silent King and the Stormlord while they rode aboard the finest command vessels in existence, only to show up himself in some rattling three-wheeled junker.
His army's morale would collapse before the fighting even started.
As Eden brooded over his procession's lack of grandeur, he suddenly felt a small, warm hand brush against his.
He turned to look.
Fahra was gazing at him gently, seemingly hesitant to speak, as though trying to remind him of something.
"My princess, we should go down and welcome our guest."
Eden suddenly remembered that Necrontyr nobles received guests as a family.
He was supposed to take Fahra's hand and welcome Nemesor Zahndrekh alongside her.
The Necrontyr had once placed great importance on their emotional bonds. Perhaps that was precisely why losing their souls and emotions had caused them such agony.
They had gone directly from flesh-and-blood beings with rich emotions to unfeeling killing machines.
Worse still, their bodies had become eternal prisons from which there was no escape.
Aside from the Phaerons, most Necrontyr did not even possess the authority to end their own lives. Even if they destroyed themselves, their reanimation protocols would simply restore them.
Bound by their personality engrams, they possessed no freedom whatsoever. Everything they were belonged to their dynasty.
Even Phaerons had to pay a tremendous price to end their own existence—and first obtain authorization from the Triarch.
It was a truly miserable fate.
The Necrontyr whose souls had been stolen by the C'tan were in much the same position as humans whose souls had fallen into the hands of the Chaos Gods.
If one insisted on comparing which fate was worse, humans who fell into the hands of Grandfather Nurgle or the Prince of Pleasure could at least enjoy themselves occasionally.
The Necrontyr could not enjoy anything. They possessed no sensation at all. Even the Dark Gods would pass them by without bothering to corrupt them.
Under such circumstances, Eden could understand Fahra's longing for flesh and a soul.
He could also understand why she treasured her newly acquired emotions—and the fabricated relationship between them.
"Let's go."
When Eden took Fahra's pale hand, he could clearly sense the delight welling up within her.
She was happy that the two of them could welcome their distant guest together.
This was the first time their royal household had received a visitor, and it would serve as a public acknowledgment of their relationship before the other nobles.
That made it extremely important to her.
As for how Eden knew, Fahra had left her cortical field almost entirely undefended against him.
Through the pulse particles flowing between them, he could feel her emotions and even glimpse some of her thoughts.
The Infinite Empire possessed an extremely rigid hierarchy, and those of higher rank could freely impose their will upon those beneath them.
If Eden wished, he could even deceive Fahra into allowing him to establish a superior personality protocol over her cortical field.
Once that was done, he could issue direct orders to the young Phaerakh, and the protocol binding her would leave her with no authority to refuse.
That was why Eden trusted Zabok enough to allow him to return to the Imperium and deliver a message.
Through a personality protocol, Eden had already secured absolute control over the living-metal governor and Phaeron.
It would be extremely difficult for Zabok to betray him.
Of course, unless it became absolutely necessary, Eden had no intention of doing the same thing to Fahra. It could cause a devastating collapse of trust between them.
Even when nobles founded a new royal household together, they rarely signed superior-subordinate personality protocols. At most, they established protocols of equality.
Phaerons were almost always high-ranking nobles with independent minds. Unless they felt extraordinary trust and adoration toward someone, they would never willingly permit that individual to control them through a personality protocol.
Even the Silent King did not possess the personality protocols of many Phaerons.
Furthermore, by paying a tremendous price, a Phaeron could potentially tear up such a protocol unilaterally.
Still holding Fahra's hand, Eden descended from the Catacomb Command Barge.
He could feel the softness and warmth of the young Phaerakh's palm. Living metal was an organic substance engineered on the nanoscopic level, a full generation more advanced than the silicone technology humanity had possessed during the Golden Age.
In theory, Fahra could shape her body to reproduce the texture and warmth of any flesh-and-blood species. Using living metal to simulate organic tissue, she could assume virtually any appearance she desired.
In fact, while they were in the bedroom before, Eden had asked the graceful Phaerakh to experiment with that ability. He had her imitate several familiar figures and even a few characters from anime.
The results had been extremely convincing.
Fahra had concluded that he possessed certain minor interests involving other species, but such inclinations were hardly considered excessive among high-ranking nobles.
Even at the height of their civilization, the Necrontyr had never been as decadent as the Aeldari. Nevertheless, they understood that life was brief, that one should enjoy it while it lasted, and that there was no harm in trying new experiences.
Back then, they had possessed many slave species, and their nobles had not objected to becoming intimately acquainted with members of other races.
Of course, Fahra's imitation remained superficial. At most, she could provide emotional responses and a modest simulation of physical sensation.
Compared to genuine flesh and a true soul, there was still a noticeable difference.
That was largely because Eden himself was currently inhabiting a living-metal body.
If he returned in his true body, the experience might be entirely different. After all, Fahra was exceptionally gentle.
Given their present circumstances, however, Eden could hardly use his true body to engage in any cross-species intimacy with her. Doing so would most likely trigger a catastrophic war.
If Fahra discovered the truth, she would either hunt him to the ends of existence or be annihilated by humanity's relic weapons.
Eden did his best to cooperate with Fahra in her role as hostess and complete the family-style reception ceremony.
According to Necrontyr noble etiquette, heralds had to exchange formal messages while the two parties were still separated by a considerable distance.
"Nemesor Zahndrekh, the House of Ramses welcomes your arrival.
"Our banquet hall has long awaited you. This gathering concerns neither war nor alliance.
"It is simply one Necrontyr household extending the courtesy owed to another noble and honored bloodline…"
Eden delivered the formal greeting.
After establishing a new royal household with Fahra, the young Phaerakh, he had acquired a new family name—one that also served as the name of their new dynasty.
Ramses.
In the Necrontyr language, it meant the sun.
Of course, according to Eden, he had merely restored his family's ancient name.
The Necrontyr had never worshiped the sun to any great extent. The star of their homeworld had hardly been something worthy of adoration.
They had feared it far more than they revered it.
Once Eden finished speaking, the herald faithfully conveyed his greeting to their guest.
"Ramses?"
On the other side, Nemesor Zahndrekh looked puzzled when he heard the name.
There was something inherently majestic and indisputable about it, as though the name itself carried a subtle air of intimidation.
For a moment, he could not recall any high-ranking noble house that bore such a title.
Perhaps an ancient house had returned?
The Nemesor did not find the possibility especially suspicious. His damaged logic cores had cost him far too many memories, so forgetting something like this was perfectly normal.
Some high-ranking Necrons had even forgotten their own names.
Furthermore, the Infinite Empire's rigid hierarchy made impersonating a high-ranking noble virtually impossible.
Any disguise could be exposed with ease. Almost every being beneath the rank of Phaeron remained bound by command protocols, and a single glance at their cortical field would reveal the truth.
Unless someone was already a high-ranking Overlord, crossing the boundaries between social classes was essentially impossible. The odds were almost zero.
Noble status itself was equally difficult to falsify. At the very least, no such case of impersonation had ever been recorded in the Infinite Empire's history.
"There is no need for such ceremony. It is our honor to enter the home of another noble bloodline."
Zahndrekh sent his response through his herald.
The exchange was a traditional ritual. For safety's sake, the two sides would approach one another only after confirming that neither party harbored hostile intentions.
Of course, the ritual had long since lost any practical value and remained little more than an ornamental formality.
After receiving Zahndrekh's reply, Eden bowed once more.
Only then did the reception ceremony finally proceed.
Music rose from Eden's procession, produced by stringed instruments and metallic fork-bells, while Zahndrekh continued advancing at the head of his honor guard.
The ground trembled without a sound.
It was the low-frequency resonance produced by countless metal feet striking the earth in perfect unison, accompanied by a faint, icy hum.
The Nemesor's royal Lychguard marched through the shadows cast by the pyramids. Their metagold armor resembled solidified night, while undying emerald flames burned within their eye sockets.
They were towering figures, armed with hyperphase swords and dispersion shields forged from metagold and blackstone. Shoulder-mounted gauss disintegrators shimmered beneath entropic fields that seemed to swallow the surrounding light.
The royal warriors advanced without the slightest disorder or hesitation.
Their steps were so perfectly synchronized that they appeared to be limbs extending from a single body. Only faint energy scorch marks and deathly silence remained in their wake.
There was no question that this was an extraordinarily elite fighting force—a personal guard potentially capable of destroying an entire planet.
"These guys are considerably stronger than Primaris Marines…"
Eden couldn't help thinking as he studied the elite royal guard.
Without a significant numerical advantage, humanity's Space Marines would have no chance against them.
The last time the White Scars had confronted this same royal guard, they had suffered a disastrous defeat. Even their Chapter Master had been captured.
It had been a catastrophe among catastrophes.
The incident had already been written into their little black Book of Grudges.
Now that the White Scars possessed more powerful bikes and other combat vehicles, they might be able to hold out longer.
But with equal numbers, the fight would still be overwhelmingly unfavorable.
"If I can defeat the Silent King and gain true control over the Necrons' core technology, I'll be able to enhance my Space Marines' equipment even further.
"Whatever else can be said about them, Necron technology has plenty worth taking—especially when it comes to armor and alloy materials.
"I might even be able to create armor with the same kind of stored-pattern regenerative ability as Necron bodies."
Eden looked forward to that possibility immensely.
Then he suddenly noticed Fahra squeezing his hand.
It had been an unconscious reaction.
Clearly, even the young Phaerakh was wary of the Nemesor's strength. Zahndrekh was one of the most renowned warriors among the Necrons.
Furthermore, not long ago, he had broken through the system's outer defensive line and threatened its core worlds.
Few dynasties within the Pariah Nexus possessed the strength to defeat the famous Nemesor.
If Zahndrekh had arrived with hostile intentions and successfully landed on the planet, a single command from him would be enough to inflict a devastating price upon this core world.
"Fortunately, the war has already ended. This is only a friendly court banquet."
Fahra reassured herself.
Then she seemed to remember something and raised her head proudly.
The royal Lychguard of the Sacred Soul Cult behind her did the same.
When faced with Zahndrekh's royal guard, they neither stood there dumbly nor showed the slightest trace of fear.
Instead, they openly and confidently examined their counterparts…
(End of Chapter)
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