Chapter 447: Clouds Gather, Winds Shift
Tzeentch raged.
Nurgle laughed.
"Why has the Warp suddenly gone quiet?"
Ramesses paused slightly, momentarily halting the psychic reassembly of Caliban, which he was orchestrating.
Arthur had purged the chaotic mess of corruption on Caliban with a C'tan-powered orbital strike. Now, Ramesses' task was to re-marinate Caliban with Undivided Chaos energy, making it easier for the Lion to regain control of the planet.
He had expected this process to be turbulent. He was ready to lead his Eldar from "The Park" into the Warp for a skirmish with various daemons.
But what was happening now?
It seemed... angry, but not actively interfering like before.
Especially Tzeentch.
Ramesses knew many coincidences were orchestrated by Tzeentch, but considering they were beneficial, and there was no countering an open conspiracy, he hadn't paid much attention, only maintaining high-intensity strikes against Tzeentchian daemons.
"What madness is this?"
Ramesses looked puzzled, instinctively wondering what these bastards were plotting now.
"What is it?"
Arthur, who was discussing the authority and responsibilities of the Wardens of Steel with the Lion, asked.
"The Warp is too quiet."
Ramesses wasn't reassured. He checked again carefully.
"But I can't see any problems."
The Golden Sorcerer scratched his head, baffled.
"Then continue."
Arthur trusted his partner's judgment. If Ramesses said he couldn't see a problem, there probably wasn't one.
But precautions were necessary.
After a moment of thought, Arthur raised a hand to signal the Lion, opened a partition on the star map, and pulled up the file on the Lamenters.
After completing the tests with the Dawnlight, the Lamenters had been deployed to the edge of the Ultima Segmentum, near the Obscurus Segmentum, a zone invaded by a splinter fleet of Hive Fleet Leviathan.
The Galactic Core was now a mess. The Leagues of Votann, Chaos Votann, two Ork Empires, Hive Fleet Leviathan, and Huron's Imperial forces were in a free-for-all. Various regions were also plagued by Chaos warbands emerging from the Maelstrom, which had expanded due to the Four Gods' power infusion.
The scope of the conflict had almost completely severed the connection between Segmentum Solar and Ultima Segmentum. After lifting the plague blockade, the Dawnstar Sector had deployed massive military assets along the route, hoping to contain the war within the Core, but the results were less than ideal.
The leak wasn't on the Ultima side, but in the Tempestus Segmentum to the south.
Necron Dynasties awakening, Ork Waaaghs!, Tyranid invasions... This sector, already rebellious by nature, saw many planets declaring independence. With only the Raven Guard, a First Founding Chapter, stationed there, it was chaos.
But everyone had expected this.
Looking at Segmentum Solar, where the High Lords were leading their personal armies in firefights against Khorne daemons spawning every eight days at various warp nodes, no one was too angry.
Just do what needs to be done. As long as Terra didn't explode, it was a stable improvement.
Currently, on the defense line of the Ultima Segmentum, the main force of the Lamenters bore the heavy responsibility of being a pressure valve. The Thermopylae Fortress World they guarded was near a super-massive black hole, where Warp influence was weak. Behind them lay the radiation zone of Ryza, an extremely wealthy Forge World—a feast for anyone.
This greatly benefited the Tyranid Hive Fleets' Narvhal propulsion, so much so that Hive Fleets struggling in the "Battle Royale" of the Galactic Core would run here.
Fortunately, with the support of the Dawnstar Sector and superior equipment, plus years of positive propaganda, many forces seeking a glorious death—like Knight Households, Astartes on Penitent Crusades, and the Death Korps of Krieg—converged on the Lamenters' zone. The defense line remained solid.
After all, bad luck only brings disasters far beyond your capacity to bear. When your teammates are strong enough, bad luck becomes opportunity.
"Have the Lamenters transfer a company here for testing," Arthur ordered the Astropath.
"Yes, Your Highness."
"Do not travel with the Mechanicus fleet. Synchronize the Lamenters' route with all units."
Finally, seemingly still uneasy, Arthur added a reminder.
"Yes, Your Highness."
The Astropath waited for a few seconds, then cut the connection.
The Lion, still observing the star map and analyzing the galactic situation, raised an eyebrow.
To be honest, although superstition was everywhere—from ribbon-cutting ceremonies for national projects to burning incense for code compilation—even the Lion would engage in some rituals before battle, and the Mechanicus had been kowtowing to machines for ten thousand years.
But such superstition reaching a consensus among the entire high command was truly rare.
"The Warp's influence is strong in this era. The veil between reality and the Immaterium is thin," Arthur explained, expanding the star map and calling up data.
"This is the survey of warp rifts we've conducted over the last thirty years. The year-on-year growth rate has been increasing, breaking 10% by 814.M41."
"Moreover, during this process, the number of psykers in various settlements has gradually increased over time. Visibly, the entire human race is irreversibly transforming into a psychic species."
"The Lamenters are an extreme manifestation of this era. Their fate is deeply bound to the Warp, endowed with unprecedented misfortune."
"Hm."
The Lion observed the data seriously.
No wonder Ramesses asked him if he had learned to teleport when they met again.
This era was no longer one where the Imperial Truth could ignore most supernatural threats.
Humanity needed a Primarch, but also one who recognized his own power, capable of leading humanity against monsters without falling easily. Otherwise, one could only rely on the Primarch's strong governance ability to save the Imperium through paperwork, organizing its massive bulk to crush opponents.
"So the current Imperium needs my mobility."
The Lion saw through the situation instantly.
With the Emperor on the Throne, he no longer needed to hide those supernatural powers. Primarchs didn't need to wear the skin of super-humans anymore. The Heresy had thoroughly verified which Primarchs could build an empire with the Emperor for a lifetime; human skin was no longer needed to prove their humanity.
Although the Lion was abstract, he had proven himself.
"Correct," Arthur agreed. "We need you."
Leaning on the table with both arms, although his appearance had aged due to his mentality, the Lion felt his power hadn't weakened at all. Instead, a steady stream of strength was pouring in.
After composing himself, the Lion immediately threw himself into the duties of a war leader. His heart held guilt from a detailed recognition of his mistakes, and gratitude toward these brothers.
I became like this, yet my brothers didn't think of killing me.
The Lion was truly grateful. Judging from the Emperor's attitude, if Arthur and Ramesses had truly wished to kill him, he would be dead.
As for the power he possessed...
The Lion had read the records of the Cadia counterattack. Perturabo's power was now held by Romulus.
They were willing to keep the Lion alive by their side simply because they believed he still had a chance to improve, just as they wouldn't rashly decide the deaths of ordinary humans.
They truly treated the Emperor and Primarchs as people, because people naturally make mistakes.
"No rush," Arthur said, staring at the seemingly burning star map. "Take it slow. We don't decide the duration of this war."
"I understand," the Lion nodded.
This would be a protracted war. As a Primarch who experienced the Great Crusade, he had a clear understanding of the Imperium's rot.
They still needed to adapt to their abilities, unite humanity's strength, play their roles, turn the situation in their favor through actions, and then go to the next place that needed them.
Just like now.
Lifting heavy weights as if they were light.
Truly, lifting heavy weights as if they were light.
The Rock, Command Center, Spectator Seats
The Eldar, finding they had done nothing but lead the way, were staring at the Watchers in the Dark.
The number of these robed little people had increased significantly. Those unfortunates blown away when Caliban shattered had returned, resuming their old trade, participating in the maintenance of Dark Angels' combat equipment.
These beings, with lives as long as Eldar history, seemed naturally adept at this profession, as if created for this duty.
"Am I seeing this right?"
After staring at these distant relatives for a long time, Eldrad Ulthran finally looked at the Phoenix Lord. Both saw disbelief in each other's eyes.
Yvraine, chatting curiously with the Watchers, looked up at the two whose worldviews seemed refreshed again, puzzled.
"I should be asking you, Old Farseer."
Facing this elder whose reputation within the Craftworlds was about the same as a Slaaneshi daemon, the Phoenix Lord even used honorifics.
"No change?"
"No change."
Eldrad nodded.
He pointed at the fleet ahead. Eldar super-perception allowed him to glimpse human souls from another perspective.
The Phoenix Lord looked at the plain scene before him.
As the rift closed completely and Nurgle's corruption faded, Caliban began to reassemble.
No earth-shattering anomalies. The distant stars didn't change due to a cross-time disturbance.
But this plainness was terrifying.
Thought of it, did it, and achieved it.
Is this normal?
Normal—
Normal my ass!
Is this something you can just do because you want to?
"Old Farseer, should we..."
The Phoenix Lord asked in ancient Aeldari.
As everyone knows, the Eldar's specialty as galactic overlords was latching onto powerful backers.
During the War in Heaven, they latched onto the Old Ones, and the whole race ascended. At the end of the War in Heaven, they latched onto the Eldar Pantheon, laying the foundation for their hegemony.
Later, when Asuryan closed the Pantheon due to prophecy and they lost their backers, they created a Big Daddy for themselves.
So, in terms of latching onto thighs, the Eldar were professionals.
They started worshipping gods millions of years before humans! They understood gods better than many gods.
These four didn't realize their true abilities at all. What were they doing messing around with humans?
The Phoenix Lord wished he could send these gods to the Eldar Pantheon right now.
As long as they were willing to rule the Eldar, the Eldar could return to their former status immediately.
Beyond the Three Realms, not within the Five Elements.
Eldrad gave the Phoenix Lord a sidelong glance. His eyes, filled with crystallized psychic energy, swept coldly over the fanatical Phoenix Lord.
The meaning was self-evident.
The Phoenix Lord shut up instantly.
Everyone knew that Eldrad was a heretic among heretics by Eldar standards. This guy even gathered the souls of the Infinity Circuits to ignite them, attempting to harm Slaanesh to save more kin. If even he thought it was outrageous, then it was definitely a no-go.
"Think about who the last god we created was."
Eldrad warned seriously.
The Phoenix Lord understood immediately.
Cold sweat trickled down his forehead. The greed urged by countless ancestral consciousnesses was immediately reined in.
Now is good too.
Yes, now is good too.
The Phoenix Lord repeated in his mind, watching Ramesses still busy assembling Caliban.
They didn't intervene, and they shouldn't intervene.
"Death. Our true enemy is Death."
Eldrad reminded him again.
"Right."
The Phoenix Lord's chaotic consciousness finally unified. Under the "is he crazy?" gaze of the Eldar girl, he hammered his head heavily a few times, then stepped forward, walking out from between Eldrad and Trazyn, who was still holding a recording device and shouting "Cool!"
"Stop, Xenos."
Kamael, Chapter Master of the Angels of Vigilance, stopped him.
"Chapter Master Kamael... no, Brother."
The Phoenix Lord spoke. Kamael heard thick sycophancy in his tone.
"I am not your brother."
Kamael frowned, doubting if this guy was still an Eldar known for arrogance.
"We will become brothers."
The Phoenix Lord said:
"Tell the Lords that everything on Craftworld Biel-Tan belongs to them. The handover can be done now. Biel-Tan needs a planet in the Dawnstar Sector—any planet will do, let us develop it ourselves. Biel-Tan will share all technology and unconditionally respond to the Dawnbreakers' call—"
"?"
Staring at the fanatical face of the Phoenix Lord, Kamael looked troubled.
What madness has seized this Eldar?
Is he in such a hurry to sign a slavery contract?
"What?"
Deep in the Webway, in a place no detector or Chaos God could find—the Black Library of the Laughing God, Cegorach.
Here was the gathering place of all Eldar knowledge, a remnant of the glorious era of the ancient Eldar Empire, a place longed for by countless beings in the galaxy.
Inside the Black Library, on a performance terrace.
Harlequins were rehearsing a play under the Solitaire's lead. The light and elegant dance music conveyed Eldar history while containing deadly blades.
Slash~
Monomolecular blades flashed.
Blood sprayed from several Harlequins, falling before the Solitaire wearing a Slaanesh mask.
The Solitaire's eyes, almost occupied by purple, carried deep sorrow, but his steps didn't stop, continuing his deadly dance in the center of the terrace.
This was The Fall.
And this was just a rehearsal. What truly saddened this Solitaire was that he might really have to wield deadly blades against his kin one day.
Bang!
But just as the Solitaire practiced tirelessly, Cegorach, the organizer of this play, interrupted the nearly perfect performance.
The Laughing God laughed no more. The tome in his hand fell to the ground, the performance planned for Ynnead, the God of the Dead, broken off.
The interrupted Harlequins were puzzled.
They got up, treated each other's wounds, and looked curiously at the jester, wondering what fun their god planned or what new script he had thought of.
Script? What script?
To hell with acting.
Cegorach's gaze fell on the text in the script, as if seeing something piercing. He picked it up immediately, then smashed it.
Contrary to the Harlequins' expectations, the god who hid sorrow with optimism laughed heartily from the bottom of his heart.
He rummaged through the Black Library, picked out a few scrolls that humanity had always dreamed of, and disappeared in the blink of an eye.
Too late if I don't go now!
"Mortarion."
Dusk. On a Plague Planet in the Ultima Segmentum, Ku'Gath Plaguefather, the premier Great Unclean One of Nurgle, waded through a swamp fermented from floating corpses.
Fluids sprayed, bones slipped.
In this swamp piled with countless humans, the mountain-like Great Daemon had half his body sunk in. Behind him, the echoes of countless dying people, the most desperate emotions condensed, were finally injected into a huge cauldron.
"What is it?"
Ku'Gath arrived at a palace. The dark green giant still hid his body in tattered grey robes.
He watched the vegetation absorbing bones and souls wither and flourish. Flies, bees, and worms crawled out of the rotten wood again.
"Grandfather's power has increased. I can feel it."
This was the truth of this world. And now he had completed a transaction.
He exchanged that future for another, a future far grander and loftier than this dying Imperium could promise. With every breath, every blink, he saw another possibility blooming, presenting a glorious side in turn.
He remembered what happened before birth; he perceived what had not yet happened. They had been engraved in history.
"Magnus ran away. Missing."
Ku'Gath said.
Mortarion shrugged: "Expected."
"Grandfather is urging."
Ku'Gath added.
Mortarion frowned: "What's wrong?"
"You are racing against time."
Ku'Gath said, pushing aside a skull soaked to rot.
"We need more sacrifices. These are not enough. Far from the standard of the Godblight."
They wanted to corrupt a Primarch, a Primarch imbued with ten thousand years of Imperial faith.
Ridiculous. Ten thousand years ago, they could corrupt Horus with a dagger. Now, facing the weakest link among Primarchs, it took so much trouble.
The increasing influence of the Warp on reality also strengthened these monsters belonging to the Warp.
"Then let my sons bring back more."
Mortarion waved his hand, issuing a ruthless order.
He received news of Typhus's death. Honestly, he didn't feel much fluctuation.
Because he had made a choice.
Raising his extended palm, Mortarion lifted his claws, blocking the last ray of light from the horizon.
This was the most important thing.
For a long time, he had wandered on the edge of his social relationships, resentful of the Emperor's impossible demands, angry at the countless injustices of the Imperium. He could have stayed in an ambiguous state, fighting for Horus without embracing the Ruinous Powers. He could have restrained himself, indulging in sorcery only when necessary, then refusing to plunge into that cold, dark pond, leading his sons to wander outside the Imperium and Chaos.
But now it didn't matter. He didn't care.
The sun slipped away. The entire palace fell into darkness. The castle began to turn withered yellow. Only clamping, grasping, ruthless squeezing remained.
Mortarion looked up at the only shining planet under the filthy sky.
That was the target Grandfather gave him.
He extended his right claw, stretching the mutated blades, as if to dig open that planet, grab the resident cowering within—that sleeping brother—and grip his skull with a filthy iron fist.
"Let them bring enough sacrifices!"
"It sounds unrealistic."
Ramesses met the Phoenix Lord.
"Your speed of changing faces is unprecedented. Or is this your true nature?"
The Phoenix Lord bowed his head in respect, kneeling on one knee. He knew he should show respect now, and also to avoid looking at Ramesses again.
He made an elegant gesture. The representatives of Biel-Tan knelt along with the troops behind them.
"We are honored by your presence."
The Phoenix Lord said. Whatever a god said, nothing he said would be an offense.
"It is you who honor me, Phoenix Lord. Just like those compatriots who already stand beside us."
Ramesses said: "You gave us this opportunity to break the deadlock. More and more companions gather around us. We will face the same enemy together."
"After Kamael told me your pertinent proposal, I understood your thoughts. Just as you will fully support me, I will fully support you, not just dole out a chance for survival like those slave owners."
"As long as you remain a member of humanity, I will personally lead you in operations. Wherever you go, I will follow like a shadow."
Ramesses knew the significance of such an Eldar allegiance. He wouldn't screw it up.
Facing the Radiant One's promise, the Eldar showed expressions of unbelievable gratitude.
What level of treatment is this?
With others, only the Everchosen gets such favor. Here, it's a privilege written in the contract!
"Now, rise."
He continued, spreading his arms, his cape billowing like liquid gold.
"Yes!"
The Phoenix Lord—no, the Herald of the Corona—stood up.
"Let us begin."
Ramesses said, lifting the schematic of Craftworld Biel-Tan, his gold-encased finger pointing straight at the Crone Sword within.
"Yes, my Lord!"
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