Serious People, Who is Learning Magic at Marvel?

The meeting starts again.

No, seriously, how many more times does this go on? Stop midway, adjust your mindset, and then come back and continue to face these almost unbearable things...?

Sanguinius had no answer. He didn't know how many more times this was going to happen, just like he didn't know when those out-of-world enemies would come. From this point of view, the main content of this meeting is as terrifying as those enemies.

He looked around and saw the only thing in common among the faces that were either calm or blank - anxiety.

No one knew what would happen next, except Angron and Lorgar. But even they have unease. This kind of anxiety is very strange. You know that the future is not going to be any better, but you still have to deal with it.

Perhaps this is the meaning of courage.

"Then, do you still want me to continue telling the story?" Jin Yan envoy asked.

"Actually," Mortarion said slowly. "In addition to these... things, I want to know another thing."

He looked at the Emperor.

"Does all this really make sense?" The Lord of Death asked in a low voice.

"I can't see how these things might help us. You said that we would be involved in a doomsday war, and everyone would die. If that was true, I would accept my death. However, all this has nothing to do with What does that fight matter? They're the opposite of us, what we could be, wouldn't want to be, or dream of being—so what, Father?"

It was the first time he had addressed the Emperor as father since his return.

"...Maybe I'm too stupid to see the meaning of it all. Or maybe it doesn't make sense at all." Mortarion said, closing his eyes.

"The trap of nihilism is eating you, brother."

Chagatai commented quietly, with a calm expression on his face, he seemed to have regained his composure.

"At the end of the day, you're just bored by the foreseeable mishaps in that story, and please come to terms with it, you're just a bystander, and this isn't your story. So we're going to finish it anyway. Like What Angron said . . . is a heroic epic."

"But he's dead!"

Mortarion seemed to be irritated. It wasn't the first time he had confronted the Khan, but it was the first time he had spoken words. Still, his words are just as powerful.

"The dead lose everything!" he snapped.

"A person who is much stronger than me will also face misfortune and bad luck, so what's the point of being stubborn all the time?!"

"He lost his life, but not everything."

The Chogorian sighed, melancholy over his brother's paranoia at the moment. His grief is palpable, almost overflowing the surface. The unexpected happened at this moment, and Mortarion was not made more angry by this pity.

"Really? So, what did he get? False honor? Or a sung name? What's the use of these things? It's impossible to bring the dead back even if you chant the sutra ten thousand times!"

"When a person dies, his property is called an inheritance, brother," Jaghatai said.

"The dead always leave something to the world. No one can feed their dead body into the cycle of nature, let alone a hero. Their names will be words of inspiration to each other, their The experience will be turned into a bright pearl in history, so that more people can learn from it and draw closer to them."

"After this, everyone who killed traitors in the name of Mortarion and the Death Guard gave meaning to the suffering he and his Legion endured. And you, brother, question whether his life meaning, but in my opinion, you are actually sympathizing with him, you are empathizing with his misfortune.”

"You grieve over his fate. Your questioning... is really just a question, you want to know why even heroes don't survive, you want to know why you did something wrong and yours can sit here and listen His story, am I right?"

Mortarion didn't answer, but someone was applauding—Konrad Curze applauded heartily, and even stood up. But he didn't smile, in fact, his face was serious.

The lips are tightly pursed, the arc is downward, the brows are furrowed, and there is approval in the eyes. Just looking at the description, you wouldn't think this is a look that Conrad Coates could pull off.

The Lord of the Crows sitting next to him was not much shocked, and even applauded in agreement, but quickly pulled Curz to sit down.

"I must admit, Jaghatai, that your opinion makes it seem unnecessary to continue our meeting..."

Sanguinius smiled wryly: "No matter what it goes after, your words are the best explanation for these things."

"But we still have to go on." Khan was indifferent to the Archangel's compliment, his calm was terrifying. "It's painful, it's true for everyone, but we have to get down."

Mortarion still didn't speak, his mind lost in memory, his life, his past, and what had happened on Barbarus. And at the head of the round table, the Emperor is also remembering.

The difference is that his memory is not that simple.

You see, mages can do a little tricks.

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At first, it's just pure nothingness here. Then, little by little, there was light. Slowly blooming, slowly appearing, as if some ancient existence is being awakened. Then there were more, the rough lines gradually became solid within a few seconds, colors began to appear, and there was even sound.

Then, the Emperor opened his eyes.

Ah yes.

He looked here with a little nostalgia, an ordinary room, empty test bench, extinguished forge and empty storage containers all showed the real purpose of this place.

A...craft room.

That's what he calls it here.

One must always have some kind of craft, pure craft, for the pursuit of pleasure and nothing else.

He had said that to Mortarion, and here was his happy place. Here he had forged arms or armor for his sons, and it was with great joy that he forged them.

And now, in the deepest part of the room, a person was sitting sideways to him, with a black robe hanging down, sitting in a leisurely posture. Half a minute ago, he didn't exist.

"Glad to see you passed the little test I left behind, old man." The mage greeted with a smile, but didn't look up. He was playing with a letter opener. The straight lines of the knife seemed to interest him.

"You stayed?" The Emperor smiled. "You are just a phantom, a personality captured by me."

"But that doesn't stop me from laughing at you."

The mage laughed loudly, and seemed to have some warmth in a daze: "However, I do have to admit that you are a genius. You can actually acquire this level of knowledge I left behind within a few hours."

The emperor's smile restrained a little.

"Not enough," he whispered. "If it's going to get to the point where they break the rules, it's not enough."

"Don't worry, remember the destruction?"

"You mean the human?"

"Yes, if nothing else happens, he has now arrived in the eternal heaven...Well, but I'm not sure. After all, I'm just a phantom you created, and I can only rely on the information you know to infer. Therefore, if he really has some behind-the-scenes that you don't know about, I can't draw a correct conclusion."

"I wish you really knew everything." The Emperor sighed. "I've tried that damn spell in my memory more than seven thousand times, but I still can't reproduce it to your level."

"Oh...so that's it."

The mage nodded thoughtfully: "I'm going to take back my comment, you're not a genius, old man. You actually cheated by slowing down the time in your own memory!"

"But I have contemplated magical powers, and I have mastered a lot of spells. Judging from the mage classification you made, I can obviously be called an official mage now."

"I don't have a ceremony for you here." The mage rolled his eyes, still sitting on his velvet chair, unwilling to move. "As for that spell... like I said, don't take it too seriously."

"How can I not care?"

"It's very simple, just forget it. Brainwash yourself and forget about this matter. There are so many things people forget every day, why not forget this matter together?"

"You know how important that spell is to what we are about to do... I cannot afford to fail," the Emperor whispered.

The mage shook his head, and slowly gestured to the letter opener in his hand: "It's you, only you, old man. I'm already dead, and it's hard to say whether that god will survive."

"Can't you make an inference?"

The mage stopped his movements, looked at the emperor fixedly, and did not speak. The barbarian in Eurasia could only smile wryly: "Okay, okay, I know, you are just a phantom I made, you can't speculate on things that I don't know either."

"Let's get back to the point." The mage yawned. "Breaking the rules... ha. You can't even cross the border, and no one will give you a second look except that tree man."

The Emperor was noncommittal, and the mage gave him a warning look before continuing.

"Don't think how kind they are. There are less than one human beings in the White Tower. The tree man is only bound by his own rules. It wears a mask, and its identity as a businessman binds it. When we meet next time, it Might be wearing another mask, like The Destroyer or the Liar for fun or something..."

"But what it's doing right now is good for us."

"It's you, only you." The mage emphasized again. "I'm dead, don't forget about it, old Hutu. Also, I remember I told you."

"What?"

"The body, appearance, attitude, and even the soul of cross-boundary mages are irrelevant to them. They live only to kill endless life spans."

The mage shrugged: "You can't expect a group of guys who play live-action large-scale role-playing games to really have an unbreakable bottom line, otherwise why does it imply that your rules can be broken?"

"In the final analysis, it is a businessman, and it can't afford it without profit. The corpses of angels are excellent and extremely precious energy transmission materials."

"But at least it is on our side..." said the Emperor after a moment's silence. "That's enough."

"Don't be so naive, Lord of Humanity."

Bored, the mage tossed the letter opener into the air, and started playing catch with one hand, so leisurely.

He yawned again: "You have to be clear about one thing. Even if you can cross the boundary and officially become a member of the White Tower, you are still a poor mage. You have a little something that can be traded None, how are you going to complete the transaction with that merchant?"

"Stellar cores, extremely precious world-class treasures, or things like timelines or even worldlines that have been split out separately, you can't get them."

"I'll find a way."

"Oh, don't tell me that you really plan to live broadcast on the White Tower's internal network as the tree man said...Although I don't like to comment on other people's private lives, I have to tell you one thing, Elf We're all... well..."

The mage frowned.

"It's not easy to get along with anyway." He said dryly.

This time it was the Emperor's turn to frown. "I'm allergic to elves."

"Why? Are you racist?"

"Standing before you is the greatest racist in human history," said the Emperor calmly. "I discriminate equally against every race except humans."

"But your son is allied with the Eldar."

"...it's very common for sons to be different from their fathers."

"But that man is Robert Guilliman—some say he's almost your reincarnation."

"...using them as a tool and discriminating against them are two different things."

"Ha." The mage smiled happily. "I'll just pretend that you really don't care about this matter, but I don't really like the conversation between you and Horus."

"Which paragraph?"

"A description of me, and your own confession." The mage shook his head. "Please, old man, don't make it so serious when you talk to your son. What wrong have you done to all mankind?"

The Emperor was silent.

"Is it wrong to save them from civil strife? Even if there is, it will be more meritorious than demerit. Besides, even if you go out and broadcast to all human beings now, telling them that you think you are at fault, how many do you think?" Personally willing to listen? I’m afraid they would all start yelling for the Emperor to appear the moment you opened your mouth.”

"Religion..." the Emperor whispered. "Create me into such an image."

"Don't tell me you don't seem worthy." The mage looked at him fixedly.

For a moment, neither of the two spoke again. Until the mage spoke again.

"I noticed you're still a bit stubborn, ok. Only a morally virtuous person would have this kind of guilt and guilt like 'I didn't do better', 'I could have made things the way I envisioned' What kind of impression do you think you are?"

Facing his words, the emperor rubbed the center of his brows: "...I'm starting to regret asking you out to chat."

People are not sages, no one can do anything wrong, he is naturally aware of this truth. However, he is the lord of mankind and the emperor, so he must treat himself with the strictest attitude. The confession to Horus was genuine, but he knew something else better.

Nobody cares about his mistakes except him.

Man doesn't care because man knows what he's paid for. But in his opinion, these are not enough.

Far from enough.

I still have life to give.

"It's too late to regret!"

The mage laughed, grabbed the letter opener behind his hand, and began to hack away at the metal armrest of his chair. "But... there is no way, you know?"

Amid the unbearable noise, the Emperor nodded slowly.

"The answer is to stop imagining," said the mage softly. "I'm just a phantom, old man. Stop imagining, and I'll disappear."

"But it makes no difference."

The Emperor sighed.

"Yes, because in essence, you are talking to yourself." The mage smiled slightly. "What a lonely man, talking to his dead friend in his own memory—you are too pathetic, friend."

"But I'm used to it."

"Habits don't mean it's a good thing...bad habits should be corrected, don't you think?"

"I think I should seek more advice from you. After all, you know more than I do about the two matters of the White Tower and the crossover."

"Stop doing this." The mage said mercilessly. "You know what I know. To some extent, I am just a machine, based on what you know, and then using my way of thinking to give answers, nothing more. Your statement does not stand at all. Can't stand."

The Emperor fell silent again, then nodded slowly. He knew that what Phantom said was true. Like a mage, he will always point the right path, no matter how dire, when it doesn't involve some stubborn code of his own.

And therein lies the problem.

How do you dispel a phantom, a personality illusion? The answer is more than just stopping to imagine. Masters always like to leave half of their speech.

The mage smiled meaningfully.

He stood up, for the first time. Then he walked up to the Emperor, wandering through all that the Lord of Men remembered - and he handed the Emperor the letter opener.

"Get rid of distracting thoughts," said the mage. "What you're going to do is hard, very hard. You're going to cut out all the cancer in this world, and you even have another world that needs to be saved. So you've got to throw away anything unnecessary."

The Emperor looked at the hand hovering in mid-air, and slowly took it.

A few seconds later, it was stabbed into a certain chest, no blood flowed out, only dissipated blue light spots.

"Good luck, friend," said Phantom.

"Yeah, wish me luck," the Emperor murmured, walking slowly to the deepest part of the room. He looked at the velvet chair, then sat down little by little, very slowly.

He sat in the deepest part of his memory, alone, talking to himself.

He said.

"This time, it will be different."

He also said.

"I will save everyone."

As for the reason?

Come on, he's the Emperor.

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