"Hee hee!"
Calliphone clamped her hands tightly over her ears. She knew well that she was powerless against these supernatural, eerie things. Not causing trouble was the greatest help she could offer.
But the strange laughter didn't seem to echo in her ears; it lingered within her consciousness. Covering her ears only made it clearer and more piercing.
Just as the girl was struggling to breathe under the torment of the whispers, a wave of warm power washed over her body like a spring breeze, dispelling the spiritual pollution of the whispers.
Caelan's psychic energy surged like a tide through the entire throne hall, instantly locking onto the source, beneath the base of the dual-king stone sculpture, twisted black mist churned and rolled, the fog vaguely revealing countless twisted human faces in silent howls.
Caelan's right hand clenched as if gripping something in the void. An invisible giant hand, manifested from psychic energy, firmly seized the black mist.
The faces within the mist instantly became ferocious and twisted, emitting silent screams.
The eerie laughter also stopped abruptly, like a strangled rooster, leaving only a few wisps of black smoke struggling futilely within the psychic confinement.
"Abo, smash the stone slab!"
Perturabo's warhammer crashed down. The stone slab of the base shattered under the immense force.
When the dust settled, two completely black daggers lay quietly among the rubble. The blasphemous runes etched on their blades flickered with the struggling black mist, like living things breathing.
Calliphone gathered her courage and followed Caelan to look. "They're the same type as the daggers used to assassinate us, but the runes seem a bit different."
She hadn't looked closely at the other daggers. Caelan wasn't there at the time, and she was afraid that looking too closely might be dangerous.
Caelan asked, "Where are those daggers now?"
Bam!
"Zoris is personally guarding them."
Dammekos's face was pale as paper. "Am... am I doomed?"
"If we had discovered them a few days later, probably."
Dammekos's face lit up with joy. "So we're not too late?"
Caelan rubbed his brow. "As long as you don't do anything stupid again."
Dammekos looked embarrassed. "But what if something like this happens again? What do I do?"
Caelan reminded, "Remember the Four Don'ts: Don't listen, don't believe, don't engage, don't take it seriously."
Bam!
"Is it really that simple?"
"That's the secret to resisting Chaos. It boils down to four words: resist temptation."
"With the Veil in place, Chaos's corruption of the material world can only proceed step by step."
"In a world not yet polluted by Chaos, all Chaos can seep into the material universe are ethereal whispers."
"The whispers won't directly twist your mind. Instead, they tempt you with promises of wealth, beauty, affection, power, strength, resurrection, and other seemingly beautiful things."
"As long as you hold your ground, these whispers are just annoying noise."
"But once you yield to temptation, make a deal with Chaos, or perform a sacrifice, you're completely beyond saving."
Daemonic temptation itself wasn't that significant. In the 40K era, some Chapters specifically used daemons to screen recruits, like the Space Wolves and the Grey Knights.
Only warriors who resisted daemonic temptation could join the Chapter; the rest died in the trial.
Calliphone asked, "What if the entire world has already been corrupted by Chaos?"
"Then fight to the death. You'll die with more dignity that way."
Chaos whispers are like water droplets. Just be careful to avoid them.
Even if you fail to get out of the way and a drop lands on your skin, it just feels cold. No real harm is done.
Unless you're so repressed that you feel the need to lick the drop and drink the water. Then you're completely beyond saving.
But in a world corrupted by Chaos, the veil of reality would already be riddled with holes, and the filth of the Warp would be inseparable from the material universe.
When mortals are exposed to such an environment, willpower becomes irrelevant.
Warp corruption is like a boundless ocean submerging the land of reality. Trying to avoid getting a single drop of water on you in the ocean is pure fantasy.
Even if you're an excellent swimmer and won't choke on the water, soaking in water for long periods, your skin will still become pale and wrinkled. In a person, this manifests as mutation.
Unless you can find a patch of land not yet submerged by the ocean, then you can last longer.
Or if you have a boat, you can float on the sea's surface.
That boat could be a powerful psyker, or a Blank.
A psyker can use a sturdy barrier to resist the sea's corrosion, but they might still capsize beneath monstrous waves.
If the psyker is corrupted, the boat will start leaking from the bottom.
A Blank can part the surrounding seawater, isolating the corruption, and has no risk of capsizing, but monstrous waves can still shatter the Blank.
A psyker is like a dazzling, brilliant lighthouse. Their existence makes the dark creatures of the deep swarm towards them, attempting to overturn the boat.
The area around a Blank is like a dead zone, just as eye-catching as a psyker.
"Father, what should be done with these things?"
Perturabo used torn silk fabric to wrap the two black blades, holding the dangerous package in his hand.
The outline of the daggers pressing against the fabric made Dammekos unconsciously step back half a pace. "Can't we destroy them?"
Perturabo said, "I tried. It didn't work."
He had been pounding the daggers with his warhammer just now, but couldn't break the blades.
Caelan said, "Warp 'artifacts' are difficult to destroy by brute force. The correct ritual is required."
Caelan had also tried using psychic power. He couldn't destroy these black blades either.
The most well-known Warp artifact in the 40K was the Anatheme that wounded fallen Horus.
Erebus used a ritual to shatter it into eight ritual daggers.
There was also a ritual dagger in the final battle between Neoth and Horus, which played a crucial role in Neoth's victory.
Although the functions and effects of the ritual dagger and the daggers made from Anatheme fragments are very similar, whether that ritual dagger was one of the Anatheme fragments remains unknown.
These black blades were not buried here recently.
The sculptures and their bases are monolithic. No one could pry open the base and insert the daggers without damaging the sculpture or alerting anyone.
So the truth is chilling.
These two black blades were already buried deep beneath the base when the dual-king sculptures were first laid.
They slept for six hundred years in the throne hall, like hibernating venomous snakes.
Until recently, when these black blades suddenly revived.
Caelan said, "This is no coincidence."
Perturabo looked down at the silk-wrapped dagger. "Were they meant for me?"
"I'm afraid so."
Apart from the Primarch, no one else would be worth the Four Gods making such a massive fuss over.
Forging Warp artifacts is very difficult. They are the material manifestation of some symbolic meaning within the Warp.
For example, ritual daggers are practically living Warp entities in the material universe.
Even if these black blades are not as powerful as ritual daggers, they are still terrifying Warp artifacts and must be handled with extreme care!
...
The black blades were stored in a secret room in a corner of the palace. The only entrance to the secret room was guarded personally by Zoris, leading over a hundred elite mortal warriors.
"My Lord!" Zoris struck his chest plate heavily with his right fist.
Perturabo asked, "Zoris, has anyone else set foot here?"
"No one else, my Lord." Zoris's answer was resolute.
Caelan said, "Open the door. Let us go in and have a look."
"Dammekos, Calliphone, you stay outside."
Mortals find it difficult to resist the whispers of Chaos. Even if they can resist Chaos's temptation, only those with strong willpower can use the whispers as a whetstone to temper their minds.
The vast majority of mortals will suffer varying degrees of damage as a result, some even irreversible.
It's best to minimize exposure.
The guards of the secret room exerted force together, struggling to push open the heavy stone door.
As the door pivoted, an icy chill rushed towards them like a tide, accompanied by Warp whispers mixed with snickering laughter.
The interior of the secret room was pitch black. Three daggers lay quietly on a stone platform, their blades emitting an eerie, faint glow.
In the light of the daggers' faint glow, the darkness seemed to be given life. Shadows writhed like tentacles, twisting into indescribable forms.
But in the blink of an eye, all the strange phenomena vanished like an illusion.
The blades still emitted an eerie, faint glow. The blasphemous runes seemed to crawl across the blades like living things.
"Father." someone called him.
"Father." another called.
"Father." a third voice called.
"Kurze, Vulkan, and Russ." Caelan stared at the daggers, selectively ignoring the whispers.
The other Primarchs weren't on Olympia. Only Perturabo and Dorn were here. How dare you try to shake my resolve!
The runes on each dagger were very similar, yet not identical.
Caelan extended his palm and used his psychic power to arrange and combine the five daggers, letting their runes form a seamless pattern.
"The Chaos Star. Not surprising at all."
Five daggers could only form about a quarter of the Chaos Star. Extrapolating from the missing parts, there were at least thirteen more daggers.
'Eighteen in total. That's far more widespread than ritual daggers.'
'And the number eighteen... is this a coincidence?'
Caelan didn't believe in coincidences.
Caelan asked, "Calliphone, have the identities of the assassins been determined?"
Calliphone answered, "They are all members of the Murder Cult."
Assassination plots by the Murder Cult against the Lochos royal family were common, but only this incident with the black blades involved the Warp.
Those assassins were all mortals. It was the black blades that granted them their sinister power.
When an assassin held a black blade, their presence became very faint, like a ghost melting into the darkness.
These were definitely artifacts perfect for assassins, perhaps even more effective for assassination than ritual daggers.
But why didn't those first two daggers whisper?
Caelan stared at the two daggers brought by Perturabo. Gradually, he seemed to hear voices calling.
"Father."
"Father."
Perturabo and Dorn called out simultaneously.
Caelan snapped back to reality. "I'm fine. Do you two hear any sounds?"
"I hear my brothers calling my name. Three different voices."
Dorn nodded. He also heard three.
Caelan stared at the daggers. Their blades still emitted an eerie glow, whispering in his ear.
"Father... save me... I don't want to die... I'm so cold... it's so dark here... save me... Father..."
Caelan raised his arm. The entire stone platform turned to dust under his palm. The flying stone chips were guided by an invisible hand, wrapping each of the five daggers within them.
Caelan brought his hands together. The pulverized stone chips reassembled in a faint blue halo. The platform's texture restored seamlessly, even the finest cracks disappearing, sealing the daggers within a dense stone coffin.
When the last glimmer of the daggers' faint glow disappeared into the stone platform, the Warp whispers lingering in their ears suddenly fell silent.
Caelan ordered, "Seal this room. No one is allowed in or out."
Caelan knew deeply that these Warp entities were dangerous, but both sealing and destroying them require complicated and proper ritual conditions.
He had none of those. Even if he did, he couldn't verify their authenticity and wouldn't attempt them rashly.
Sealing the black blades in the stone platform was a temporary measure, and a choice of last resort.
Caelan, "Abo, continue searching for the remaining black blades."
"These black blades should be hidden beneath the stone bases of various temples. There are likely at least fifteen more daggers. We must find them all!"
Perturabo's expression was also very serious. He realized the gravity of the situation.
As long as a single black blade remained at large, the danger would persist, and Olympia would know no peace.
Caelan walked out of the secret room and looked at Calliphone. "Calliphone, are there any myths or legends recorded on Olympia related to daggers?"
Calliphone said, "In the story of Antaram, the gods gave the assassin a pitch-black dagger."
Caelan frowned slightly. "Antaram again?"
'The gods gave the assassin one dagger, but in reality, there were about eighteen.'
'Was it shattered in a ritual, like the Anatheme? Or were there originally eighteen?'
'If these daggers were meant to assassinate Primarchs, where were the assassins to wield them? And when would the assassinations occur?'
"Dammekos..."
Caelan looked at the Tyrant, then sighed. "Never mind, it's nothing."
There were two daggers left near Dammekos. The reason he hadn't been corrupted...
Besides the fact that as Tyrant, he didn't lack for much, making corruption less likely, he also had Calliphone watching him closely enough.
But what about next time?
He couldn't always escape danger by the skin of his teeth.
But it wasn't entirely his fault. A mortal body ultimately struggles to resist the whispers of Chaos.
If he could be as unwavering as a Primarch, then he wouldn't be mortal; he'd be a Primarch.
Furthermore, the fact that Dammekos was targeted by Chaos was also thanks to Caelan and Perturabo.
Without the Primarch, someone as insignificant as him wouldn't be worth Chaos using schemes against.
Fortunately, they are now on guard. It won't be so easy for Chaos to succeed.
The Fourth Legion is also on its way to reinforce Olympia. Once the Fourth Legion arrives, everything will get better.
...
The dungeons of Lochos housed a variety of prisoners.
Most were serious criminals who had committed violent offenses, but political prisoners were rarely seen.
The reason was simple: the Dark Guard never took prisoners when carrying out their missions.
Lodask was the exception.
He was the only prisoner Perturabo had personally ordered to be kept alive, because he held too many unrevealed secrets.
The list he voluntarily provided alone offered Lochos crucial leads. The aristocrats on that list were ultimately confirmed to be secretly colluding with the temples. Lodask's testimony was not a baseless accusation.
But these were not things Perturabo wanted to hear.
Those aristocrats couldn't cause too much trouble. They didn't have the audacity to conduct large-scale civilian sacrifices.
Nor was Perturabo blind; he wouldn't allow the aristocrats to destroy social order.
Without external help, these people alone could hardly achieve anything.
"Lodask."
Perturabo stood before the iron window. The cold metal bars separated him from the dark cell.
Lodask was curled up in a corner. His tattered priestly robes were stained with filth, emitting a pungent odor of mildew.
When the Primarch's figure came into view, he suddenly staggered to the iron window, tightly gripping the bars, his voice hoarse and dry.
"You finally came?"
"You asked to see me. What other secrets do you have to tell?"
"I can tell you everything, but you must agree to one condition."
"What condition?"
A flush suddenly appeared on the priest's pale face, his eyes filled with morbid excitement. "Avenge the true gods. I want nothing else!"
"They are my enemies. There is no room for reconciliation between us, but I dare not guarantee success."
Perturabo wasn't contemptuous enough to lie to a mortal who had already gone mad.
"If you truly dared to guarantee it, I wouldn't believe you. They are so powerful, even the true gods..."
Lodask closed his eyes in pain. Those scenes kept repeating before his eyes, impossible to dispel.
"Since you know how powerful They are, why not embrace Them? They are also gods."
Bam! Lodask's forehead struck the iron bars heavily, his voice trembling with emotion. "If I were to betray the true gods and kneel to Them, what difference would there be between me and a blasphemer like you?!"
"I don't believe in gods."
Lodask let out a wry, self-mocking smile. "So you are destined to be incompatible with Them."
"Is your father still alive?" he suddenly asked.
"Yes. The assassination was stopped."
"He wasn't scratched by the black blade?"
"No. What are the consequences of being scratched?"
Lodask pointed to the sky. "Believing in Them. That's all."
"How do you know that?"
"It told me." Lodask pulled a pitch-black dagger from his robe, identical in style to the assassination weapons.
Perturabo's pupils contracted. "Where did you find it?"
"It found me." Lodask grinned, his cracked lips parting. "It was waiting for me in the cell the whole time. Always there. Hee hee."
Perturabo's gaze swept the cell. A stone slab in the corner had been pried open.
Clang, jingle!
The black blade fell to the ground, making a clinking, jangling sound.
The priest's voice was tired. "Take it away. Let me sleep soundly."
"Is this why you insisted on seeing me?"
"No, there's more!" Lodask suddenly rushed forward again, grabbing the bars excitedly. "Remember, Antaram was never just one person!"
"Hee hee."
He laughed and cried. In the end, he had truly gone mad.