Warhammer: I don’t want to be a can of worms! ! !

Chapter 253 244. The beginning of the banquet

Without contrast, there is no harm.

It turns out that it is not that the people of the Empire are too high-profile, but that the barbarians from Barbarus do not understand art.

The dome arched, and the flames hung down from the top with gold sheets, illuminating the hall. The ratio of darkness and light was just right, reflecting each other, and the walls against the candlelight emitted a shimmering glimmer.

Under the chandelier carved with pearls, gold and silver, there was a sea of ​​bright white silk, and the tables and chairs of different heights rose and fell, constructing the law called the Empire.

The tallest tables and chairs were naturally surrounded by light and jewels, and the tables and chairs below them were like the aftermath of the waves, surrounding the giants, bowing their heads and willing to serve as foils.

Human rulers are always mean. They cannot tolerate living in the same room with people of the same status as them, as if equality would kill them.

The cheapest joy is naturally produced in contrast. Looking down from a high place is a different kind of beauty. The echo of the crowd breeds happiness, and the conversation with the power holder will only be sharp.

So although this is a gathering of the Primarchs, there are still planetary governors from other planets and diplomats from the garden planets. If a banquet is compared to an outing, then these people are the existence of birdsong or frogs in nature.

Actors and dancers spin on the dance floor, and chords float out from the luxurious and low string music, graceful and chaotic. They stand out from millions of people and are just improvised toys of the imperial dignitaries.

But even if their skills and charm are so high that the king takes off the crown and the brave breaks the sword, they are still not the protagonists of this banquet.

Even most people's eyes and attention are not on the stage, looming, restrained and forbearing, focusing on the center-

The skinny giant is on the most remote throne. He is simple and desolate, with a plain color, which reminds people of the wasteland covered with dark clouds before the rainstorm, vast and depressing.

It's not like people haven't seen rulers who love the late night. Dark tones are accompanied by mysterious and serious tones, but even so, the gems and gold threads in the details of the "clothing" still satisfy their vanity.

But the Lord of Death's clothes do not have those accessories that show wealth or status, no gems, no pearls, no exquisite and delicate decorations.

The only accessory is a brass skull tied with a cloak, surrounded by six thorns of light, and the Roman numeral fourteen is engraved on it, and there seems to be traces of blood splashed on it.

Such an existence, even if it appears at the funeral of the dignitaries, will be considered too simple, and it will be followed by ignorance of etiquette and deliberate fault-finding for the host.

But he is the Primarch, a demigod, holding the lifeblood of the military of an entire empire, so people automatically find a reasonable explanation for his behavior.

After all, he is the Primarch.

The Lord of Death sat quietly on the seat, looking dissatisfied and indifferent to everything around him. The dishes were served, but he didn't even take off his breathing mask.

A low pressure of death spread automatically around Mortarion, and the most daring administrators did not dare to approach him to talk.

But the maids and waiters had to go over despite the low pressure, for no other reason. At the table behind the Lord of Death, a Space Marine kept asking for more food.

Strangely, most Space Marines would match the temperament of the Primarch, but obviously the Death Guard did not meet this rule.

Garro had no expression on his face. He should have realized that the commander of the Death Guard was not a normal person, but unfortunately he did not realize this when he chose this kid.

The other legions had not arrived yet, and only the Death Guard entered the main hall first, because they did not "come in normally".

Facing the cumbersome and long guard of honor of the mortals, Mortarion did only one thing, that is, to ignore them.

When facing the Emperor's Guards, Mortarion did the same thing. The Primarch despised all flashy actions, and complicated etiquette obviously included them.

So Garro watched Mortarion lead them to rush through the honor guard. The Primarch ignored the honor guard who came up to plead guilty and moved forward along the shortest straight line between two points.

Garro felt that the honor guard who was rejected by the legion commander was about to commit suicide with his sword, but fortunately Hades stopped this poor and confused person.

Garro silently breathed a sigh of relief in his heart. Hades's move at least didn't require him to do this.

But this didn't make the whole thing any better. Garro had participated in similar activities, and their behavior was not polite and honorable at all. Instead, it was like an intruder.

Garro felt a little uneasy, and this uneasiness reached its limit when they entered the hall. They were not dressed in the right clothes here, and they were out of place, like mourning.

Garro wore the clothes he had worn before for diplomatic affairs, but in order to match Mortarion's style, he had to remove the parts with exquisite patterns.

Hades's clothes were even more unusual. The Mechanicus of Graeae had given Hades a dress before, so Hades put it on.

Although Hades also removed the overly gorgeous parts, Garo thought that Hades simply thought it was ugly, not for other more obscure reasons.

On the dark background, the low dark red and the hoarse moss green intertwined, outlining the logos of the Mechanicus and the Death Guard. The buttons were black stone and dull.

If the Iron Hands did not appear here, Hades's clothes would obviously not be suitable - in most cases, the Mechanicus was not a popular object.

But... it doesn't matter, they are already here. Garro looked at Mortarion who was staring at the plate in a daze, and Hades who was asking the maid to add more food. Mortarion stared at the beans in the bowl of soup that were bobbing up and down, as if he was looking at a toad in a swamp. He didn't even take off his breathing mask. Garro felt for the first time that Vorx might be more suitable for this occasion, not him. He could only pray that the other participants in this banquet were not those tougher beings--Garro stood up and saluted, and pulled Hades up by the way. Hades, who was just destroying everything, instantly became serious. The loud sound of the horn sounded, and the crowd gathered, and wonderful hymns were sung from their mouths. The light shone, and the golden and red guests stepped onto the stage. It was Rogal Dorn and Sanguinius. Rogal Dorn was like a moving wall. He was wearing a bright saffron cloak, and his well-cut dress set off his powerful shoulders. A halo made of gold surrounds his resolute and tough face, making the Primarch's short hair as white as marble even brighter.

He is a true king, magnificent and indestructible.

Rogal Dorn should attract all attention, but the premise is that the angel Sanguinius is not beside him.

This is a real angel.

The huge white wings hang down, each with unparalleled perfection, fluffy and soft, and the thin chains of gold and red flow from the coverts under the straight feathers. The jewels on them are trembling slightly with the movements of the Primarch.

The soft halo burns around him, burning out a dazzling holiness, and the slightly curled golden hair hangs down. His face is slightly thin, but it makes the scarlet eyes stand out more.

The angel, Sanguinius, he seems to be glowing, and the long river of light flows quietly beside him.

Everything pales in comparison to him, those blazing candles, those jeweled lumen chandeliers, everything becomes dim. It becomes unbearable.

In the face of true perfection, the flaws of everything are exposed.

No one can resist Sanguinius, people involuntarily stop what they are doing and stare at the angel -

Except Mortarion, of course.

No one stands up to welcome him, the Lord of Death still sits on his throne, his movements are the same as before, except that he moves his eyes from the bean toad to the wings of the birdman, and is slightly confused.

When the two glittering Primarchs come in, they seem to be talking about something, which may not be a pleasant topic, because Garro sees Rogal Dorn's slightly frowned brow.

Next, the two Primarchs noticed the Lord of Death at the same time, they were startled at first, and then Rogal Dorn, the commander of the Seventh Legion, looked even more dissatisfied.

But compared to Dorn, who had been staring at Mortarion, Sanguinius's gaze moved to the seat behind Mortarion for a moment. No one noticed that the angel's expression changed for a moment, as if the angel had always had that sacred expression.

The Blood Angels following Sanguinius received a secret message from the angel asking them to be cautious.

Rogal Dorn strode towards Mortarion, and the angel smiled and motioned the people who were dazed by his appearance to return to work.

Hades and Garro also took this opportunity to sit down, and the Imperial Fists and the Blood Angels moved towards their position. Garro was busy identifying whether there were people he was familiar with, while Hades drank a mouthful of soup with relish.

With the angels around, there was no need to worry about what would happen, although Rogal Dorn might have some arguments with Mortarion.

Rogal Dorn, a true strong man, the simplest foul mouth, the most extreme enjoyment, this Primarch who compared himself to a rock likes to be straightforward and advocates the truth that "if everyone speaks out, there will be no misunderstanding."

Rogal Dorn stood opposite Mortarion's dining table, his shadow cast down, and the sense of oppression suddenly increased.

"You just caused a commotion in the mortal guard of honor outside."

Rogal Dorn's serious and earnest voice sounded,

"For an oversized banquet, this behavior will cause chaos."

"If you are not dissatisfied with some of them, then you should respect their work."

Mortarion's eyes rose and stared straight at Dorn. A ball of fire seemed to burn in his amber eyes, glaring at Dorn.

Respect? When they wasted his life with that cumbersome and useless etiquette?

He was about to spit out acerbic venom, but a hand suddenly stretched out and interrupted his thinking.

It was the mutant, his presence was too strong, and Mortarion subconsciously turned his gaze to the angel.

"Perhaps we should start with introducing ourselves."

Sanguinius smiled gently and restrainedly, opened his arms, and blocked the line of sight between the two.

Rogal Dorn glanced at the angel, but Sanguinius was right, they should introduce themselves.

"The commander of the Seventh Legion, the Imperial Fists, Rogal Dorn."

"I am the father of the Ninth Legion, the Blood Angels, and I am glad to meet you--"

The angel looked at Mortarion politely, but Mortarion only saw the cold alienation in it,

"The Fourteenth Legion, the Death Guard, Mortarion."

"Do you like a brief welcome, my brother? Is this the custom of your home planet?"

The angel continued to maintain his flawless smile, gentle and with just the right amount of curiosity, as he pulled Rogal Dorn to his seat.

The angel chose to sit between the two Primarchs, which was obviously the right decision.

Mortarion merely nodded in agreement.

Rogal Dorn spoke again,

"You should adapt to the Empire, Mortarion. Maybe your vision should not be limited to one home planet."

That's it again.

Mortarion realized that no matter what, his "brothers", who shone like dance floor lights, would mock his home world and mock his origins.

Just because he didn't grow up among gold and thrones? Is it just because he is struggling in the swamp of wilderness?

Ignorance, short-sightedness, arrogance, vanity.

Mortarion cursed his "brother" loudly, but it didn't matter. He had nothing in common with these people who didn't know the cruel truth. Only these people who didn't know what would happen were still wasting their time on jewelry and silk. time to throw away their lives.

Mortarion slowly but firmly gave Rogal Dorn a contemptuous look, then turned his gaze away and continued to stare at his bean soup.

A strange enough brother with a unique sharpness.

Sanguinius thought that Mortarion looked haggard, as if he were ill, and he was worried, but Rogal Dorn's words obviously sealed the possibility of continuing the conversation, and Mortarion had refused to talk.

The angel could realize that if he didn't say something, Rogal Dorn would speak. Although he didn't want to be such a presence, he also didn't want this banquet to turn into a disaster.

After all, he had promised Horus.

Even though the Empire blocked almost all information, some Primarchs were aware of the blood splattered on the battlefield of Randan.

The last thing the angel wanted to see happened.

If wolves and lions could lift a butcher's knife in the Emperor's name, then they would have reason to do it a second time.

The Incomplete should be eliminated, but Sanguinius and his legions are also in the corner closest to the Incomplete.

Under the surface of perfect indifference, there is a restless and frightened soul.

But the smile on his lips didn't change at all.

The angel smiled and chatted with Dorn. It was easy to talk to someone who was willing to take any matter seriously. In fact, Sanguinius admired Dorn's straightforwardness.

Dorn came here to give the ashes behind the flames a place to stay, but he didn't understand all this yet and was still communicating with the angel with a little worry.

Mortarion was still present, and Sanguinius could only offer cryptic comfort to him.

Horus went to see the Emperor and Malcador, and in order to allow communication between the Primarchs, Horus arranged this gathering.

The executioner was naturally not invited.

But what gave Sanguinius some comfort was that Mortarion was not curious. The Death Guard was a aftermath of this battle, and this new brother should not know too much.

The angels were able to detect Horus's overtures and concern for Mortarion, so Mortarion was here. Horus hoped that his dull brother would know more about the rules of the empire.

But Sanguinius' attention tilted slightly behind the primarch for a moment.

what is that?

Normal updates will resume tomorrow! Get ready for more updates! Make up for the debt!

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"Medieval Warhammer: Making the Tomb Kings Great Again"