Serious People, Who is Learning Magic at Marvel?

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Saul Tarvitz looked at the information in front of him, his hands trembling—among the Legion, he was a role model. In terms of combat skills, he has reached the pinnacle, and after so much experience, after being resurrected from the dead, he thought that he would not be rude to anything again.

He miscalculated.

Everything that has happened since Instefan 3, the Array has presented it to him. Black and white, innocence - Nathaniel Garro's news, rebellion, the fall of the Legion, division, war...

Then, there were the five big characters that made him unable to look away.

Battle of Terra.

With his superhuman brain, Saul Tarvitz spent a precious hour digesting the shocking news. In his worst scenario, Thor never imagined that Terra would be surrounded...even on the verge of destruction.

It was worse than what they were in at the time.

After taking a few deep breaths and calming down, he continued to look back. As a result, the title of the next chapter nearly made him fall out of his chair.

...the Emperor is above.

Sol Tarvitz's eyes were fixed on the top-secret information, and the lines of words were brought into his eyes - the collapse of the Netway plan, the emperor's almost death, the sacrifice of Prime Minister Malcador... .

He couldn't watch it anymore.

Tarvitz stood up, he didn't know yet, he was called the "hero who honored his legion", but even if he knew, he probably wouldn't care much about his image at the moment.

In the popular perception, the Astartes are the Emperor's angels of death. They're emotionless superhumans, dedicated to killing—in a way, that's true. However, the Astartes are not without feelings.

They just repressed it in the bottom of their hearts, and the repressed emotions will burst out one day. The emotional backlash can be intense, enough to bring even someone like Saul Tarvitz to tears.

He was weeping for the Empire and for mankind, full of grief.

Just at this moment, a man pushed open his door and walked in. The footsteps were light, but the presence was so strong that it was incomprehensible.

Sol turned his head,

The expression immediately turned to embarrassment - the father of genes with a scar on his face, the Phoenix Fulgrim of Chemos was looking at him with a smile at this time.

"How do you feel, Thor?" Fulgrim asked softly without asking why Thor was crying.

"...Not bad, Primarch."

"Is that all?" Fulgrim looked disappointed. "I thought you were crying with joy—wait, you didn't miss the back, did you?"

"Huh?" Saul Tarvitz looked at him blankly. "I, I don't understand, my father, back, back?"

Fulgrim sighed and beckoned to him: "Come, come here."

Phoenix led his son to the table, picked up the information on the table and quickly flipped through it, and soon picked up a document titled "The Second Siege of Terra" and handed it to Sol Tarvitz.

"Take a good look, Sol, and you'll know how it all started."

After speaking, Fenghuang raised his hand and touched the long and narrow scar on his cheek, then smiled: "...including how I got back, it's all in it. Ah, yes."

As if he remembered something, he raised his hand, drew a power sword from the void, and handed it to Sol Tavitz.

"Your sword, Thor."

Tarvitz stared blankly at the power sword lying quietly in the hands of his genetic father. Fulgrim's voice was rapidly moving away from him, becoming ethereal and ethereal, yet heavier.

"...I want you to know that I am proud of you."

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A man in a black robe is walking on a chaotic planet with a black face. He is in a bad mood. It doesn't even need to be said, just look at it to see it.

And this planet is no longer saved - the pollution of the devil is everywhere, and the believers of Slaanesh have built strange buildings here with the flesh and blood of innocent people.

If you look closely, you can even find a very high sense of beauty and art. These things are unquestionable masterpieces of art—if you think so, you're probably not far from depravity.

Needless to say, the man in black robe, who else could it be if it wasn't He Shenyan? Not everyone's aesthetics are so monotonous that they only wear black robes every day for more than ten years.

But there are many reasons for his bad mood, not just because of the irreversible pollution of Slaanesh, but also because of the reasons on the White Tower Council forum.

The mage stopped, a still-dead civilian on his knees panting hard, unaware that the mage was coming, even though he was standing in front of him.

The civilian's back was hollowed out, and blasphemous words were carved into the pale crest. His face was so pale that it was strange, and an ambiguous pink-purple color gradually appeared in his eyes.

He Shenyan lowered his head, bent over, leaned close to his ear, and quietly listened to his murmur.

"The Emperor... Bless..."

An almost imperceptible sigh sounded, He Shenyan raised his right hand and threw a punch gently, seemingly soft and powerless, but the world suddenly changed color at this moment.

The thick dark cloud that had turned sickly colored was blown away by the violent wind, and the art carved with flesh and blood as the basis was completely shattered at this moment - the wind howled, venting on this suffering earth own anger.

A wisp of flying ashes fell into the outstretched palm of the mage, and he stared at the ashes without saying a word. The heavy pressure came in an instant, the earth cracked, and the fallen who were enjoying the pleasure felt a sudden thorn in the back at this moment.

——Then, a voice sounded in their hearts. Whether it's cultists, Chaos Warbands, or Slaanesh demons, or even civilians who haven't died... at this moment, they all heard it.

It was not a word spoken in a language they knew, but the heavy will contained in it did not require any translation or explanation, as long as a creature with intelligence could hear it.

The demons changed color suddenly, and many of them even left their corpses that had not been completely desecrated in their hands, planning to escape back into the warp, but it was too late.

The golden flames descended from the sky, turning the ground into boiling magma. The extreme hatred made the demons scream extremely. Their chaotic nature could not resist this kind of spiritual energy, and they could only gradually die in pain and fear.

The cultists and the Chaos Warband soon followed in their footsteps, undiminished in their suffering—the human essence that remained within them would allow them to endure longer torment and pain.

He Shenyan floated in the vacuum, staring at the planet that was gradually being ignited into golden color, and said nothing until it completely became an artificial golden sun before leaving.

He didn't forget the promise he made - the hunt, and it started.