Chapter 440 – Horus in High Spirits! The Peach Blossom Deal!
Facing Malcador's doubt, the Emperor replied without hesitation:
"He wants to be Warmaster and not be at the mercy of the High Lords, doesn't he? Very well, I'll let him have his wish."
The game of power was always dangerous. Since Horus was so curious and eager for authority, the Emperor might as well let him indulge himself. It wouldn't take long before Horus would realize just how deep and treacherous those waters ran.
"What… you're still going to make him Warmaster?" Malcador was utterly stunned. He glanced at the Universal Megacorp envoy, Paul, thinking that this was practically a slap in the Megacorp's face.
They had sent a representative all the way here just to warn the Imperium, and yet they were acting as if they hadn't heard a thing—persisting in appointing Horus to a position of immense power.
Paul, however, said nothing, not even changing his expression—still the same calm, unruffled demeanor as before, as if the matter had nothing whatsoever to do with him.
The Emperor did not tell Malcador or Paul why, but his gaze said it all: when it came to Horus, he had his own plans.
---
Cthonia.
This was a world ravaged by severe industrial pollution, yet as Horus's homeworld, it had undergone sweeping reforms and expansion under his rule in recent years. He had transformed it into the Luna Wolves' primary military stronghold.
Unlike Magnus's Prospero, which was advanced and beautiful, Cthonia was a grim, desolate human world. Its street gangs were remarkably fierce, imitating the young Horus of old, all yearning for the day when they might be recognized by the Emperor—or by Horus himself—and rise to prominence in the Imperial military.
At that moment, Horus's flagship, the Vengeful Spirit, was holding position in low orbit over Cthonia, as if impatiently awaiting some news.
"My lord!"
It was then that Sevetar, Chief Librarian of the Luna Wolves, strode in to report the latest developments to his Primarch:
"A dispatch from Terra, my lord. You are requested to review it."
Could it be—?!
At last, Horus had received word from Terra. He did not allow himself to show the overjoyed reaction he felt, instead feigning calm as he gestured toward Sevetar.
"Sevetar, you've come at the perfect time. Sit down and have a drink with me first!"
A lovely handmaiden stepped forward with a flask, pouring amber liquid into Sevetar's cup. Horus smiled warmly.
"The dispatch can wait. You know how the High Lords are—they only ever send us running all over the place."
The fragrant, intoxicating drink gave off a refreshing aroma, and the handmaiden's beauty was undeniable—but the impatient Sevetar had no interest in such distractions.
"My lord, this one bears the Emperor's personal seal. I doubt it's an ordinary order from the High Lords."
At that, Horus feigned surprise, quickly motioning for the dispatch to be brought to him.
The post of Warmaster of the Imperium—everyone knew it was his for the taking—but the Emperor had never officially issued the order to appoint him. That delay had left a lingering pressure in Horus's heart.
After all, the longer it was dragged out, the greater the chance of some unforeseen change.
Horus could not bear the thought of waiting and hoping, only for some mere mortal to be appointed Warmaster in his place. That would drive him to madness.
Before long, surrounded by his most trusted warriors, Horus read through the dispatch from Terra. As he had expected, it was the long-awaited decree: the Emperor had finally ordered his formal appointment as Warmaster—
—publicly, before all the Primarchs and the high echelons of the Imperium, acknowledging his position for all to see!
In an instant, the Luna Wolves' officers were elated. Their own Primarch had been made Warmaster, and they would bask in his reflected glory—becoming the most honored of all Astartes.
Horus no longer bothered to hide his delight. He threw back his head and laughed to the skies. The day had finally come! No one but him was worthy of the Warmaster's seat!
The decree's wording was almost identical to what he had imagined in his mind: first praising his illustrious victories during the Great Crusade, then commending his ability to unite the Primarchs in brotherhood, before proceeding to grant titles and honors—promoting him to Warmaster and placing the Imperium's armies under his command.
The Emperor's personal sigil shone on the parchment, its radiant psychic imprint leaving no doubt as to its authenticity. Horus had seen Imperial decrees before—he knew this was genuine.
At that moment, Horus felt a surge of unprecedented elation. Nothing in life was more gratifying than this. He alone was fit to be the first among the Primarchs, commander of them all.
"Excellent! Set our course for Terra at once!" Horus ordered, his voice brimming with excitement.
It never occurred to him that this might be part of some plot by the Emperor. He didn't even bother to bring his full forces—only a portion of his honor guard and senior officers.
Nor did his advisers suspect anything amiss. In both seniority and capability, Horus was the ideal choice for Warmaster.
The Emperor himself had hinted at Horus's ascension in public before. While some dismissed it as empty promises, everyone knew how highly the Emperor valued him.
Becoming Warmaster was merely a matter of time.
By now, the Great Crusade was drawing to a close. Each Primarch's forces were steadily wrapping up their remaining campaigns and returning to their home territories.
The vast galaxy had been nearly purged; alien casualties were catastrophic, and it would take centuries for them to recover.
Disarming and turning to civil administration was inevitable—and for any warrior seeking to remain relevant, the only path forward was to trade the sword for the quill.
Terra was the beating heart of the Imperium, the center of its political power. To be invested as Warmaster there was a prize beyond measure in political significance.
Many of Horus's advisers realized it immediately: their Primarch might not only become Warmaster—he could very well be the first to take a seat on the High Lords' Council.
"Tell my brothers to join me on Terra for the celebration. And arrange a grand feast—bring out all our finest treasures for everyone to enjoy!"
Horus swept his arm in a generous gesture, launching into a spree of largesse. From senior officers to common guards, even Cthonian street gangs and stray hounds would get a share of the spoils.
He wanted not only to announce his investiture to the other Primarchs, but also to have his sons and warriors revel in it—bolstering morale across the board.
When a man succeeds, his whole household prospers. A timely reward was the surest way to strengthen the unity of his forces.
Over the years, the Luna Wolves had fought across the galaxy, amassing countless treasures: tributes from local populations, spoils taken from enemies, and the Emperor's own gifts. Horus had been saving them for this very day.
The Vengeful Spirit rang with the sounds of celebration, echoing through the Warp. Across the galaxy, Primarchs in their respective realms received word of Horus's impending investiture.
One by one, the flagships of the Primarchs turned toward Terra, prepared to offer congratulations.
---
001 "Netherrealm(spectre)" Universe.
"Trazyn, have you reached a decision?" Jack Wells looked at the metallic skeletal figure before him and spoke.
In recent days, Jack had made a point of sending Trazyn all over the universe, showing him around, and selecting a few choice star systems as a Peach Blossom Spring—a hidden paradise—for the Necron race.
As long as the deal went through, those unclaimed lands would be theirs.
"This place is rich in resources, and we've already relocated the native inhabitants to Birch World as part of the wildlife reserves. Other than us, there won't be anyone else here," Jack Wells said.
In Universe 001, there were hardly any well-developed alien civilizations—making it a rare untouched land. Just by selecting a few prime spots, it was enough to meet Trazyn's demands.
If the Necrons were to fully migrate here, it would be nothing short of a rebirth.
Here, no one would disturb their existence. They had Infinity lifespans and limitless time to contemplate how to rebuild their souls and transform themselves into beings of flesh and blood.
Or, they could rise to join the ranks of the Universal Megacorp, acquiring anything they desired within the interstellar trade network.
Whichever path they chose, the Megacorp had no objections.
"I have to admit, this is indeed a fine place," Trazyn nodded sincerely.
Before this, he hadn't believed that any other universe could hold a true paradise untouched by others—and even if it existed, it could never be unclaimed territory.
Where there's profit, there's competition; where there's none, there's nothing to gain.
Now it seemed the great interstellar Megacorp was the ultimate "landlord," holding the choicest plots across multiple universes in its grasp.
While this place did have higher-dimensional passages akin to the Warp, it lacked Warp Chaos Gods, daemons, or any such higher-dimensional lifeforms. After the Megacorp's development and restructuring, the place was cleaner than one could imagine.
It could be called a fully furnished "little villa."
"Since you're satisfied, let's move on to the specific terms," Jack Wells said. He didn't want to waste too much time here with Trazyn. While the current situation in the Warhammer universe was relatively stable, new trouble could arise at any moment.
For now, Grand Admiral Thrawn was temporarily handling the Ninth Expeditionary Legion's affairs, but if anything urgent came up, Jack would have to take command personally.
"I'm not in the mood to haggle with you—just name your price," Trazyn said with a tone of wealth and confidence.
He was determined to claim this territory, and if it could be obtained peacefully through trade, all the better.
After all, the Necrons couldn't defeat the Megacorp in battle—and even if they could, they lacked the means to traverse the star gates into this universe. It was far wiser to cooperate for mutual benefit.
Trazyn was fully prepared to be charged a hefty price.
But the moment he heard Jack Wells' proposed terms, he grew agitated, declaring that such an outrageous demand was something the Necron race would never accept.
"This is impossible! Your asking price is far too high—there's no way we could afford it!" Trazyn exclaimed with exaggerated gestures, as if putting on a performance.
And indeed, that was the case.
Lacking souls, Necrons could not display emotions as vividly as organic beings. The body language Trazyn used now was more for Jack's benefit than genuine expression.
It was perfectly reasonable for him to be dissatisfied with the Megacorp's conditions, but it was far from unacceptable. He simply wanted to bargain the price down.
"At such an exorbitant rate, we'll never agree," Trazyn said firmly.
The Megacorp's demand was that the Necrons hand over all their scientific knowledge, weapon schematics, and equipment samples—along with the Star God shards they had discussed earlier.
It was practically stripping the Necrons bare.
If they agreed, how could the Necrons survive afterward? A civilization without the power to fight back was nothing more than a fattened lamb waiting to be slaughtered.
"What we're offering the Necrons is not just a safe haven to live in," Jack replied, "but also membership in the interstellar trade network. As members, you'd have access to a portion of the Megacorp's technological assets."
"Even if it's only a portion, the value is immense—it's a fair trade."
"Moreover, your scientists would be allowed to join the Megacorp's Central Research Division and contribute to its projects. The research results they gain during that time would also be available to you."
Jack Wells didn't ease up in the slightest at Trazyn's display. Long before this meeting, the Megacorp had already investigated and assessed every asset of the Necron race.
The proposed terms were aimed directly at Trazyn's weak spot.
Normally, other alien civilizations wishing to join the trade network—or participate in the Central Research Division's projects—would first have to pay a substantial "entry fee."
The Megacorp lured potential members by showcasing its immense power and dazzling megastructures, then demanded payment in the form of technological data and rare resources.
Afterward, they would assign the other civilization's scientists to research projects or integrate their military forces, having them serve in expanding the Megacorp's territories.
The so-called entry fee was simply a way to screen out weak or ill-intentioned players from entering and causing trouble.
By demanding a heavy price, they forced potential partners into becoming deeply tied to the Megacorp's interests—ensuring that betrayal would mean losing everything. That way, members would stay loyal and committed.
It was the same principle as the blood oath of an outlaw brotherhood: the more you invest, the harder it is to walk away.
Of course, with a blue-chip "stock" like the Megacorp, civilizations that joined early had already reaped hundreds of times their investment—another reason for its strong cohesion.
Governor Li Ang of the Megacorp truly knew how to share the "profits."
"We can rise again without ever leaving our homeland!" Trazyn snorted coldly, his voice brimming with pride. "Long before mankind appeared, we defeated the mighty Old Ones and the C'tan. Even after suffering grievous losses, our race endured."
"Given time, it's no great challenge for the Necrons to rule the galaxy again!"
Jack Wells didn't immediately counter. Trazyn's confidence was not unfounded—the Necron race was indeed formidable.
This ancient and powerful civilization had a shining record of "god-slaying." Even if victory over the Old Ones required two-against-one tactics, the fact that they had crushed them was proof enough of their strength.
And precisely because of this, Jack Wells refused to back down even an inch on the terms.
Having defeated the Old Ones and battled the C'tan, the Necrons had gained no small amount of valuable spoils.
When they withdrew from the stage, avoiding entanglement with Warp gods and daemons, they carried with them vast treasures and advanced technologies, sealing themselves away to enjoy them in peace.
If the Megacorp were to show even the slightest leniency, the loss in profit would be astronomical.
So no matter how sharp the cut, Jack Wells had to press the blade against Trazyn.
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