Sorry for not uploading yesterday I was outside the whole day and came late at night.
But there is a good news, Since we have stockpiled quite a few chapters I have decided to upload 2 chapters daily again!
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"Aren't you going to ask me about my motive for resurrecting you?" Zeke's voice sounded a bit abrupt.
Malcador tilted his head slightly. "Motives are often hidden within the results. Just as Roboute said, what you have done for the Imperium is proof enough in itself."
Zeke shook his head. "Don't treat me like a saint. I'm just a collaborator. Everything comes down to compensation."
"Talking about compensation is good. The most dangerous people in this world are always those who ask for nothing in return." Malcador walked over to Zeke and sat down beside him.
The old man and the young man sat side by side, looking out at the prosperous Macragge bathed in sunlight.
"So, young man, this old fellow is quite interested in you."
"Just how exactly did you pull those of us who should have been dead back to the shore, one after another? Would you be willing to tell this man in his twilight years that story?"
Zeke looked at Malcador, who kept throwing around the phrase "young man," and felt uncomfortable all over when he remembered that behind this aged husk was actually a silver-haired pretty boy under eighteen.
"You look too relaxed, Malcador. The Emperor misses you dearly. Shouldn't you hurry back to see Him?"
The word "Emperor" struck a chord in Malcador's heart, and his hands trembled slightly, unable to control themselves.
As the second person in all of human history—and the only one—to sit on the Golden Throne until his body and soul were utterly annihilated, Malcador knew better than anyone what that felt like.
He hardly dared to imagine everything the Emperor had endured. Just what kind of twisted form would the Emperor have taken after experiencing such agony?
"Is He alright?" Malcador asked.
Zeke's voice dropped low. He shook his head repeatedly, mingling his words with heavy sighs.
"Alas, on that cold throne, the Emperor's humanity has long been ground away to nothing. He is on the verge of becoming a god."
Malcador's heart plummeted to rock bottom. Even though he had long anticipated this answer, when the truth spilled from Zeke's mouth, he still felt on the verge of collapsing.
"You can't imagine His current miserable state," Zeke continued describing.
"A rotting skeleton. Even when facing the returned Guilliman, the only words He spat out were 'liar,' 'tool,' 'pawn'... Your friend is no longer there.."
Malcador closed his eyes in agony. "My old friend, what exactly have you been through?" He gripped so hard that his fingernails pierced his skin, drawing blood.
"Of course, all of that was before I showed up." With a single sentence, Zeke pulled Malcador back from the brink.
Malcador opened his eyes in shock, meeting Zeke's eyes, which were flashing with a sly gleam.
"Hah, got you, didn't I, Malcador?" Zeke laughed unkindly as he watched Malcador's expression go through such massive emotional whiplash.
Sitting off to the side, Guilliman helplessly rubbed his temples. Zeke, does messing around like this make you happy?
"Relax, the old man is doing incredibly well right now. A glass of milk every morning, then sitting on the Golden Throne directing me around—don't even ask how comfortable he is."
Zeke spoke with a mouth full of grievances. "Considering the stuff He gives me is pretty decent, I guess I'll hold my tongue a bit."
Malcador didn't quite understand what kind of milk Zeke was talking about.
But he caught the core message: the Emperor had been freed from that eternal instrument of torture.
"You'll know once you go back and see for yourself," Zeke said. "When the time comes, you'll definitely be grateful to me. I don't ask for much, just give me that double-headed eagle staff of yours and we're good."
As one of the Imperium's strongest psykers, Zeke was already brainstorming how to stealthily learn a few Iron Magic tricks from Malcador.
"I will go," Malcador regained his confidence. "Guilliman, prepare an expeditionary ship to Terra for me. The faster, the better."
"Lord Regent Malcador, you're old and out of touch with the times. Ships are long outdated. Nether Portals are all the rage on Macragge now."
Malcador's gaze turned toward the space above the suspended void port. "Are those the constructs?"
"Yes. I solved the Webway problem a long time ago." Zeke stood up. It had been a long time since he'd seen Dance. "I'm also going to see a friend."
With that, Zeke gave a vigorous leap, his figure bounding out the door.
Malcador followed nimbly, the double-headed eagle wooden staff tapping against the floor in a brisk rhythm.
"I will go with you. You still haven't told me that miraculous story about the resurrections."
"Since you want to hear it so badly, I suppose I should tell you."
The two walked side by side down the street.
Guilliman followed behind, maintaining an appropriate distance.
He watched as Malcador patiently listened to Zeke's recounting, occasionally extracting aspects of Zeke's personality from those absurd tales.
Through the stories, Malcador learned what kind of person Zeke was, while also finding out what exactly this "milk" and "Nether Portal" were.
"Ah, Sanguinius's feathers..." Malcador suddenly chuckled softly.
"To think you plucked so many feathers from that child. The Great Angel values his wings as much as his own life. But, I'll let you in on a little secret: I've actually done something similar."
Zeke stopped in his tracks, looking at this ancient relic in shock. "You've plucked them too?"
"Back then, I kept a pet on Terra." Malcador's gaze grew distant. "Using Sanguinius's feathers to tease that cat, watching it pounce around under the halo-lit feathers, was one of my few forms of entertainment."
"I am absolutely going to tell Sanguinius this in person." Zeke's mouth twitched. "Just wait to face the Great Angel's wrath."
"If you dare tell him, then I'll tell the Great Angel about you plucking his feathers too."
"You wouldn't dare!"
"Why wouldn't I?"
Walking behind them and listening to their conversation, Guilliman's eyes lit up. He quietly took out a small notebook and jotted down the fact that Zeke had plucked Sanguinius's feathers.
He finally had some blackmail material on Zeke. The next time Zeke made a joke about Imperium Secundus at his expense, he was going to leak this information.
"Let's stop talking about me. Let's talk about you and that guy sitting on the throne," Zeke changed the subject, growing curious.
Malcador's smile gradually faded. He fell silent for a moment, reorganizing those dust-covered memories.
"The Emperor and I once had a very long debate," Malcador said softly. "In that debate, I lost miserably."
"His intellect was as magnificent as a star, His logic impeccable. In those moments, He would occasionally display an extremely rare sense of humor during our debates... Can you believe that?"
"I'd sooner believe Khorne would change careers and start selling his backside than believe He has a sense of humor." Zeke didn't buy it.
"At the very least, He used to have one. As for now, after experiencing ten thousand years of solitude, even I am not sure anymore." Malcador's words carried a trace of apprehension.
"I still remember the subject of our debate back then: it was about rulership."
"The Emperor always stubbornly believed that rulers must sooner or later exit the stage of history. When humanity as a species became mature enough to rationally control its own destiny, He would let go."
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