The royal Lychguard of the Sacred Soul Cult were different from other elite Necrontyr warriors.
They were not mindless killing machines, but cold and ruthless soldiers possessed of their own emotions.
A trace of pity lurked in their eyes as they gazed at the Nemesor's unfeeling constructs of slaughter.
Their kin had not received the blessing of the New God. They remained devoid of all sensation.
It was a tragic fate. Before biotransference, every member of the Lychguard had been among the most elite and noble warriors of their dynasty.
Most had come from lesser aristocratic families. They had undergone rigorous training and possessed lofty ideals, an unshakable sense of honor, and deeply held convictions.
After biotransference, however, they had all become killing machines trapped inside prisons of metal.
Everything had become meaningless.
Fortunately, the Sacred Soul Cult and its Divine Envoy had brought them the blessing of the great New God, freeing their minds from emptiness and giving meaning to their existence once more.
They could feel honor again. They possessed freedom beyond the battlefield and time they could call their own, allowing them to pursue interests of their choosing.
Other Lychguard, by contrast, could do nothing but lie dormant within cold tombs until their masters needed them.
"We are warriors, not tools," one of the Sacred Soul Cult's Lychguard thought, standing tall with his head held high.
With the New God's aid, they had reclaimed part of their minds from the vile C'tan.
They believed that emotions and self-awareness made them better warriors.
The facts supported that belief. Eden had already discovered that once the Lychguard possessed emotions and independent minds, they could coordinate more intricate tactics and unleash even greater combat power.
At the same time, the foundational personality protocols still allowed him to maintain absolute control over them.
For now, however, his Lychguard could not compare to Zahndrekh's.
The gap in their baseline combat strength was simply too great.
Their equipment was an even bigger problem.
As a Nemesor, Zahndrekh had equipped his Lychguard with some of the finest wargear in the entire Infinite Empire. Even by the standards of the wider galaxy, it was top-tier equipment.
Just looking at it made Eden's mouth water.
There was no denying that the galaxy's former ruling species had one hell of an inheritance.
Humanity's technology during the Golden Age had been formidable, but it still fell somewhat short when it came to warfare.
The Infinite Empire, meanwhile, had plundered the legacies of both the Old Ones and the C'tan. If it had not lost so much of its active population during the War in Heaven, leaving countless weapons without anyone capable of operating them, the galaxy would have ceased to contain room for any other species long ago.
"Soon, all of this… will belong to me."
Eden's expression remained solemn, but inwardly he was already considering how thoroughly he could fleece these obscenely wealthy Necrontyr.
"Still, something feels off about Zahndrekh. Why can I sense killing intent?"
Eden watched the Nemesor's ceremonial procession approaching in formation, and unease gradually rose within him.
Even when Necrontyr nobles met one another, they generally did not arrive with such an imposing display.
More importantly, the killing intent did not originate from Zahndrekh's Lychguard. Powerful as they were, they did not pose an overwhelming threat to Eden.
It was radiating from the figure beside the Nemesor.
"Is that guy planning to kill me? Surely not…"
Eden's heart skipped a beat as a distinctly bad feeling came over him.
That feeling only intensified when he saw the warrior standing more than seven meters tall, his massive frame resembling a fortress wall.
That had to be Obyron.
As expected of one of the most renowned Vargards in the Infinite Empire. This was a monster who had taken down the White Scars' Chapter Master as casually as swatting aside a chick.
If Obyron suddenly attacked, the resulting trouble would not be minor.
There was no helping it. The Necrons' anti-warp nature was incredibly troublesome. They could only be destroyed through purely material means.
Worse, Eden was currently inhabiting a cloned living-metal body, severely limiting many of his powers.
The greater problem, however, was that Zahndrekh's tomb fleet remained within the system and could launch a devastating assault at any moment.
That would be disastrous.
If a battle erupted, the Sacred Soul Cult would inevitably come off worse.
While Eden considered how to defuse the potential conflict and quietly began mobilizing his armed fleet, Zahndrekh was feeling rather pleased with the imposing display presented by his procession.
"Those fellows from the Sacred Soul Cult must be terrified."
Ensuring the proper observance of Necrontyr noble etiquette while simultaneously flaunting his strength and intimidating the other party was one of Zahndrekh's little pleasures.
After all, as a Nemesor, it was his duty to proclaim his military power before all who witnessed him.
Such strength was a symbol of honor.
There were practical considerations as well. Zahndrekh had never forgotten why he had come to this planet.
He intended to determine whether the Sacred Soul Cult posed a threat to the Necrontyr and, if necessary, destroy it before it could become one.
As the two parties drew closer, Zahndrekh tightened his grip around the ancient war-scepter that symbolized his authority.
His presence silently intensified with every step.
It was the majesty of one who had fought tens of thousands of holy wars and slaughtered billions of enemies and aliens, combined with the pride of a noble Nemesor.
In Zahndrekh's eyes, the so-called nobles of the modern Infinite Empire had lost the honor they once possessed and become little more than barbarians.
Only he continued to carry himself as a true aristocrat.
Only he still understood how a noble ought to preserve his dignity.
"This… How is this possible?"
The moment Zahndrekh crossed the barrier surrounding the banquet grounds, however, the scenery before him transformed.
He saw what the barrier had concealed—
The pyramids no longer possessed the eerie green lifelessness typical of a Tomb World. They had been restored to their ancient appearance, their walls gleaming gold and adorned with blue-green minerals and dark meteoric iron.
Their austere, solemn lines conveyed reverence for death, the stars, and the blazing suns.
Banners stood like a forest across the pyramids' outer walls and stairways. Long standards symbolizing the dynasty's honor hung from the edge of every tier.
The heavy woven fabric came in deep indigo, dark gold, and ocher red, with fine threads of meteoric iron worked into the cloth to preserve it against wind and sand.
Emblazoned upon them were the Ramses Dynasty's solar emblem, the paths of the stars, and the Necrontyr's distinctive ritual motifs of winged scarabs.
Against the golden pyramids, the long banners turned soundlessly in the wind like a silent sea of glorious clouds.
The sight was magnificent and profound.
More importantly, special lenses gathered the light of the dim and dying star, focusing it upon the scarab statue atop the pyramid and illuminating the entire complex.
Sunlight also fell upon Zahndrekh and his ceremonial Lychguard, dispersing every shadow around them.
They had emerged from the darkness of their tombs into a realm of light.
The contrast was overwhelming.
Where the hell have I ended up?!
Utterly shaken, Zahndrekh stopped in his tracks.
Was this truly a Necrontyr tomb?
He stood frozen as fragments of memories long sealed away rose within his mind.
In a daze, the Nemesor remembered that sixty million years ago, the Necrontyr dynasties had looked exactly like this.
Back then, the Necrontyr had not yet fallen into endless darkness. They had not become cold, shadow-haunted beings of living metal.
Such a sight was enough to profoundly affect any high-ranking Necron, stirring memories they had forgotten and buried for millions of years.
For a moment, Zahndrekh believed he had returned to the past. He lost himself in memories of that glorious age.
It was the past they all desperately sought, yet could never reclaim.
"Nemesor, we finally meet."
Eden's warm voice reached him. He was quite satisfied with his guest's reaction.
Eden had invested a great deal of effort into recreating this banquet district, strictly adhering to what he had learned of Necrontyr history.
Of course, this was the only area he had decorated. He had not yet had time to renovate the rest, nor did he possess sufficient resources.
It was the equivalent of furnishing the living room while leaving the rest of the house as an unfinished shell.
Still, this alone was enough.
Zahndrekh gradually recovered from his shock.
Standing across from him were Eden, Phaeron of the Ramses Dynasty, and Fahra. Both wore magnificent robes of black, indigo, and gold that shimmered beneath the sunlight.
They stood side by side with solemn banners rising behind them, every inch the image of nobility.
"Lord Charles, your dynasty is… beyond the power of words to describe."
For once, Zahndrekh found himself at a loss. The awe in his voice was impossible to conceal, and all his previous imposing momentum had vanished.
He was now convinced that the Phaeron of the Ramses Dynasty was a true noble descended from an exceedingly ancient bloodline.
More importantly, both the Phaeron himself and the Lychguard behind him radiated an unmistakable aura of aristocratic dignity.
Zahndrekh looked down at his own somewhat withered, antiquated ceremonial robes.
The noble bearing in which he had always taken such pride appeared utterly insignificant beside Eden's.
Under the harsh contrast, his bare and entirely unadorned Lychguard looked almost impoverished.
The Phaeron had dressed in his finest garments to receive him, while Zahndrekh—who so prided himself on being a proper aristocrat—had arrived in an ancient set of ceremonial robes.
It suddenly struck him as terribly discourteous.
The result was inevitable.
Under Eden's program of cultural restoration, the Sacred Soul Cult had already revived several forms of Necrontyr art and begun producing traditional clothing, ceremonial wares, and other cultural goods.
Everything Zahndrekh wore, meanwhile, came from ancient and deteriorating stockpiles.
Naturally, there was a considerable difference.
Still reeling, Zahndrekh followed Eden toward the pyramid in a daze.
The passageways along their route were lined with layers of magnificent curtains and meteoric crystals. Sunlight refracted through specialized devices, filling every corridor and leaving no trace of the usual cold, oppressive gloom.
Solar Priests stood ready to attend them and offer blessings to the visiting guests.
As Zahndrekh walked across the specially woven ceremonial carpets, his emotions became difficult to describe.
For some reason, he felt diminished in the presence of Eden and Fahra, the two rulers of the Ramses Dynasty.
They seemed to possess some quality or bearing that he lacked, something that distinguished them from all other Necrontyr nobles.
Yet he could not understand what it was.
Before long, the Nemesor became completely immersed in the banquet's atmosphere.
At Eden's invitation, he admired the works of art held in the hosts' private collection and experienced the cultural heritage of the Ramses Dynasty firsthand.
To Zahndrekh, a true noble had to understand and appreciate art. Unfortunately, many modern Necrontyr nobles had lost that tradition.
Thus, upon discovering that Eden was also a passionate collector of art, Zahndrekh developed a considerably more favorable opinion of the Phaeron.
Vargard Obyron watched everything unfold with growing vigilance.
His master seemed to have forgotten why they had come here.
"How can this be here?!"
Zahndrekh suddenly stopped before a carved mural entitled Lament of the Dead, his face filled with disbelief.
The panel had been fashioned from extraordinarily valuable transmuted metagold. An entire planet rich in rare minerals would have to be smelted down to obtain enough material to create it.
Its distinctive grain possessed a naturally profound luster and displayed one of the most unique colors found anywhere in the galaxy.
The carving depicted a grand funeral.
At the center of the scene, a Phaeron dressed in splendid ceremonial garments lay within a sarcophagus. Grief-stricken nobles and priests surrounded him.
The nobles carried objects symbolizing mourning, while the priests brandished their staffs as though communing with the spirit of the deceased.
The entire scene radiated indescribable sorrow and solemnity, filled with reverence for death.
Any high-ranking Necron would be drawn in and emotionally affected by such a sight.
Without question, it was an extraordinarily precious relic and an invaluable work of art.
More importantly, Zahndrekh recognized it.
He had seen this very piece with his own eyes.
"Should this work not be inside the vaults of Trazyn the Infinite?"
Zahndrekh turned toward Eden and voiced his doubts.
He had once attempted to purchase the work from Trazyn, only to be refused.
The Collector had claimed it was a relic of an ancient dynasty and possessed unique historical value. A handful of Cairn-class Tomb Ships would not be enough to purchase it.
Trazyn would only consider an exchange if Zahndrekh offered Obyron in return.
That price had been far too steep.
In the end, Zahndrekh had abandoned the notion of acquiring the piece.
What?
Eden had been enthusiastically explaining the mural when Zahndrekh abruptly asked his question.
His heart immediately skipped a beat.
He had never expected to encounter someone connected to Trazyn, the unfortunate victim of Eden's previous activities, all the way out here.
This was awkward.
"Lament of the Dead is one of the sacred heirlooms passed down through the Ramses Dynasty. The Phaeron depicted within the relief was also one of my ancestors."
Eden's gaze turned solemn in the face of the accusation, as though Zahndrekh had gravely offended him.
There was no chance in hell he would admit the truth.
This artifact had belonged to the Ramses family since time immemorial, and that was the end of the matter.
If he admitted otherwise, explaining how he had obtained it would become extremely difficult and provoke a whole series of troublesome questions.
"This precious work of art has always remained within the vaults of the Ramses Dynasty. Whatever you may have seen elsewhere could not possibly have been authentic.
"What you witnessed was merely a pitiful imitation."
Eden spoke with absolute confidence.
In short, the one in Trazyn's museum was a fake.
The one here was the genuine article.
He fixed his eyes upon the Nemesor.
"You are my guest, but that does not grant you the right to insult my ancestor. Such conduct is unbecoming of a noble.
"Perhaps you should apologize."
Like any aristocrat whose honor had been offended, Eden fiercely defended the dignity of his ancestors.
On this matter, there could be no compromise.
"My apologies, Lord Charles. Please allow me to retract my previous statement…"
Taken aback by the rebuke, Zahndrekh paused before bowing and offering a formal apology.
His words had indeed been inappropriate. They were not the words that should have been spoken by either a guest or a noble.
Besides, Zahndrekh possessed no evidence proving whether this ancient relic was the original or whether the one within the Collector's vault was authentic.
The odds of this relic having come from Trazyn's collection were even lower.
No Necrontyr had ever managed to plunder treasures from the Collector.
Not even Zahndrekh himself could accomplish such a feat.
He could not imagine that the dignified heir of an ancient dynasty—a noble among nobles—would ever commit such an act.
Based purely on instinct, Zahndrekh was more inclined to believe that the relic before him was genuine.
"The heritage of the Ramses Dynasty is magnificent enough to inspire awe among the stars.
"Even after hundreds of millions of years, its brilliance has not faded in the slightest."
Zahndrekh praised them extravagantly, hoping to make some small amends for his earlier discourtesy.
"We have lost far too much, but someone must preserve the splendor of the Necrontyr, mustn't they?" Eden replied.
He did not pursue the matter any further. Zahndrekh had already apologized, and Eden only needed the subject to be put to rest.
Besides, most high-ranking Necrons either suffered from memory loss or had become deranged and senile. Very few retained the entirety of their memories.
If they could remember even a portion of their past, their own names, and a handful of significant events, they should already consider themselves fortunate.
Under those circumstances, all Eden needed to do was follow the broad outlines of Necrontyr history and culture, then invent the rest with as much confidence as possible.
Thanks to the information provided by the Adeptus Mechanicus' Necronologists, no one in the Pariah Nexus understood the Necrontyr better than Eden, the Savior.
This place was practically paradise for a con artist—aside from the Silent King and the handful of other Necrons who had never entered the Great Sleep.
Eden refused to believe that anyone else could genuinely remember every event and historical detail from sixty million years ago!
(End of Chapter)
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