Chapter 369: For Tzeentch's Sake, Let Me Run First!
Seeing this scene, Helbrecht declared loudly:
"The Soulspear is a relic given to the Soul Drinkers by Rogal Dorn, and Sarpedon can still activate it. There is no doubt that the Soul Drinkers are sons of Rogal Dorn."
The watching elders remained silent, handing the decision-making power to the current rulers.
Pedro Kantor, who had leveled up to Chapter Master at light speed and never had the chance to participate in a Feast of Blades, immediately raised his hand to join the fun.
"Agreed."
Other successor Chapters responded immediately.
No one questioned the legitimacy of the Soul Drinkers anymore, especially those Chapters who had never suffered from the genetic flaw known as 'Dorn's Darkness'.
This was a deep imprint left in Rogal Dorn's heart due to excessive psychological pressure during the Siege of Terra, which penetrated into his descendants along with some influence bound to the gene-seed.
If the Soul Drinkers were not genetic sons of Rogal Dorn, what about those Chapters born in the Second Founding who did not suffer from mental illness?
Although it didn't seem like a big deal now, continuing to ask would be somewhat impolite.
"We aren't really Ultramarines, are we?"
Pedro, the first to respond, sat back down and couldn't help but mutter.
Bonk!
Polux punched Pedro on the head.
Your ancestor is sitting right here, and you doubt your bloodline?
As for the issue of Dorn's Darkness, it should be because their culture is closer to traditional Ultramarines, so their mentality is generally good, and there is no trigger for the illness.
Didn't the Blood Angels have one who mistook his father?
Wasn't it discovered by the Blood Angels only after accidentally triggering the Black Rage?
What's wrong with Ultramarine culture? It suppresses the Red Thirst and Black Rage.
Polux felt there was nothing wrong with the Second Founding. Although Lord Ramesses always joked about the Crimson Fists getting a bucket of blue paint during the split, and was closer to the Ultramarines than the Imperial Fists, and their planet was chosen from the Five Hundred Worlds, it didn't mean they were really sons of Guilliman.
"However—"
Arthur spoke again.
"According to our investigation, there is indeed long-term corruption within the Soul Drinkers Chapter."
The moment his voice fell, Sarpedon was pulled out of the joy of recovering the relic.
"These are the relevant documents."
Azrael immediately handed the Dark Angels' investigation results to Sarpedon.
It included clues to the corruption of the Chapter's Chaplaincy, the connection between the Catechism Martial followed by the Chapter and warp daemons, and an ancient Dreadnought who had existed in the Soul Drinkers Chapter for a long time and was the author of the Catechism Martial, yet whose identity was known to few.
"My lord, the Soul Drinkers are willing to cooperate with the investigation. I will issue orders as Chapter Master immediately."
After reviewing a series of secrets unknown even to him, the Chapter Master, Sarpedon immediately requested instructions.
The Dark Angels' current style gave him a considerable sense of security.
With this attitude, if there were problems, they would likely be resolved within the Astartes. Rather than handing it over to them when something was wrong, it was better to leave it to the Dark Angels.
Lysander was still struggling with the composition of the Imperial Fists and nodded absent-mindedly.
Receiving the cousin's reply, the accompanying Dark Angels also felt a heartfelt relief.
"Mm, we will conduct an investigation centered on your Chapter's Chaplaincy and the Catechism Martial you revere as a holy book. The process and results will be communicated to you within three days, and whether to make it public will be decided with reference to your opinion."
Sarpedon nodded repeatedly and immediately grabbed one of his Captains.
"I leave it to you."
Arthur dropped a sentence, then left directly with the Soul Drinkers Captain and the Dark Angels, leaving the conference hall completely to the sons of Dorn.
The Warp, The Crystal Labyrinth
This is the domain of the Changer of Ways, the manifestation of His power.
Among the magnificent crystals undergoing endless transformation, a Tzeentchian Daemon Prince was waiting excitedly.
Abraxes, ascended to Daemon Prince long before human history, leaving traces in ancient human myths.
At this moment, he was excitedly watching realspace.
Recently, it had been a disastrous time for Tzeentchian daemons.
The birth of the Formless Lord made almost all daemons below the level of secondary gods deeply taste fear. With the universe heading towards a chaotic and ethereal future with no return, the Changer of Ways' attention on the other party made every daemon working for Tzeentch panic all day long.
Those with names, Tzeentch was reluctant to lose; those low and despicable, Tzeentch despised.
In the end, the pressure fell on those like them who were neither high nor low.
[No! Can't you, please, I can guide you through the maze of the Changer of Ways, I can be loyal, I can love the Imperium too, no—]
The wail of another nameless Greater Daemon passing away echoed among the crystals.
Abraxes's fingers trembled at this moment, rejoicing in his wit.
He had woven a corrupted web for a Chapter early on, planned a conspiracy to invade realspace again, and was about to succeed, so the Changer of Ways' hand picking sacrifice pawns would not fall on him for the time being.
He pointed his staff at the mirror surface, focusing on his chosen servant.
This was a Dreadnought of the Soul Drinkers Chapter, and some Chaplains.
He spent thousands of years laying out the plan, inducing the other party to compile the Catechism Martial, spreading corruption among the Chapter's Chaplains, finding a daemon portal named the 'Soulspear', and transferring this portal closed by Rogal Dorn himself to the Phalanx.
Unfortunately, he didn't realize at first that there was a problem with the Soul Drinkers' bloodline. Only Rogal Dorn's bloodline could restart this ancient artifact.
So the initial conspiracy came to nothing.
But it didn't matter; everything was going according to plan.
He planned to continue corrupting the Soul Drinkers Chapter, forcing the other party to break with the Imperium. During the interrogation, he would secretly send the corrupted Dreadnought into the Phalanx, rely on the Imperial Fists inside to perform the ritual again, restart the portal to descend, desecrate the Phalanx, a relic of Dorn, while forcing the Soul Drinkers to betray completely.
For this reason, he deliberately staggered the timeline to ensure that the Formless Lord and the other three dangerous adults would not intersect with the Soul Drinkers.
He easily bewitched a group of Mechanicus, letting them trouble the Soul Drinkers during this gap, cooperating with him to launch an attack, but he didn't expect the usually stupid and extreme Imperium not to force the Soul Drinkers to rebel.
As a result, those Mechanicus he finally managed to partially control through knowledge corruption were destroyed silently, and he couldn't find any clues.
Still, it didn't matter. As a qualified Tzeentchian Daemon Prince, change is common. Learn to accept this change and make the right decision based on it, so you can reverse the situation in desperate situations again and again.
The Daemon Prince believed his plan was seamless; its thoroughness was comparable to his stubbornness.
His gaze fell on those Chaplains.
He could sense that the soul fires of these Chaplains had been extinguished.
It didn't matter.
This was normal. Although the Imperium's reaction was slow, there would eventually be a day of exposure, and the exposed conspiracy was just one of the triggers.
The Daemon Prince stared fixedly at the door emerging as an afterimage in the crystal.
The 'Soulspear' he had been paying close attention to had unfolded. He only needed this anchor to enter realspace, then launch a massacre, absorb change, and leave the seeds of conspiracy.
Even if he was banished, it didn't matter. The change he extracted from it was enough to please the Changer of Ways for a period of time in the future.
Crash!
The time has come!
"Destiny converges at this moment!"
Abraxes, who had been sitting for unknown ages, suddenly stood up. The crystals almost wrapping him shattered at this moment, revealing his magnificent wings and armor.
"Thought begets knowledge; knowledge begets thought."
Accompanying the low murmur, the nine constantly changing eyes on his forehead burst with bright light.
"Only the sacred Tzeentch remains unbound."
Tzeentchian daemons emerged with his words, twisted faces with greed and expectation, staring closely at the gradually stabilizing portal in front of them.
"Everything is going according to plan!"
Endless brilliance was born from the crystal. Abraxes waved his staff excitedly, and his daemon army began to pour into the portal under his command.
He also stepped forward decisively, rushing into the glowing door.
"Come, meet your destiny! I am A—braxes! I am the shadow hidden in your human destiny."
The moment he completed the teleportation, he shouted the cry brewed in his mind for nine millennia.
Smack!
A Blue Horror slammed into his magnificent armor, its bloated body instantly splashing countless filthy liquids.
"You!"
This made Abraxes extremely annoyed.
He reached out, igniting flames, intending to drag this daemon who offended him into eternal torture!
The fire ignited, sweeping up, swallowing the traces of this daemon completely in the blink of an eye.
"..."
Abraxes looked doubtfully at his palm wrapped in magnificent crystal.
Where did its soul go?
Bang!
Another impact hit.
This was a Flamer of Tzeentch riding a chariot. This turbulent impact knocked the still dazed Abraxes to the ground.
"You—"
Just as he wanted to roar, continuous trampling drowned his roar under the feet of countless daemons.
That was his daemon army, power belonging to him.
At this moment, they were fleeing, muttering words.
"Run!"
"Why is that lord here!"
"Help! For Tzeentch's sake, let me run first!"
"Enough!"
These damn slaves, when he pleased the Changer of Ways, he must devour all these wastes.
When Abraxes shook off many daemons with endless anger and stood up from the rain of blood they kicked up, he found a giant with a golden mask standing not far from him.
"I wondered why I couldn't see anyone."
The man was pulling the beak of a Lord of Change. Abraxes recognized him; it was his enemy, a Lord of Change who had been trying to steal his plan.
And that Lord of Change, usually incredibly proud, now had only fear in its eyes.
Abraxes watched it begin to beg for mercy, then turn into scattering sand amidst miserable wails.
Gone!
The surrounding Tzeentchian daemons ran狼狈ly towards the portal, then turned into sand and fell on the way.
Abraxes just watched, watching everything of his seem to fade away in accelerated time, finally returning to nothingness.
He didn't dare move.
In Tzeentch's maze, he had seen nine hundred possibilities, nine hundred futures, including victories and defeats. He never cared about temporary gains and losses, nor brooded over a single failure.
He would eventually bring disaster to the Phalanx, defile this precious relic, making her never escape change.
But he never expected the arrival of this one.
Aren't you still fighting in the Obscurus Segmentum? When did you sneak back?
Abraxes trembled.
He couldn't move at all.
Rustle~
When the golden-masked sorcerer scattered the sand in his hand, Abraxes finally met those brilliant pupils.
"Hello."
The golden-masked sorcerer was very polite, waving his hand.
"Tzeentch, I—"
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