Warhammer: In the Name of Nirvana

"The Maelstrom Turrets?"

"I bet this is not something our Gene Father could have come up with."

Midnight Haunter grinned, revealing a mouthful of white fangs and sharp teeth. His bright red tongue swam around like a hungry eel, licking the darkened skin under his hot breath: this gloom spread all the way to his sea green short-sleeved floral shirt, and was only covered by two dried toad corpses.

The air exuded a faint smell of poison.

Next to them, about the position of the heart, there was an embroidered skull with a fierce and laughing face. A bright red scarf was wrapped around the snow-white skull, and a sharp short blade was bitten between neat teeth. It looked like a pirate's product: even if you look at the entire human empire, there is probably only one place that would use this thing as their tourism symbol.

Catachan.

And perhaps only Conrad would choose this notorious death world as his summer resort in the hot summer: Midnight Haunter happily spent two months in this emerald green planet hell, until Morgan pulled him back to the fleet with a slightly impatient call, and the Primarch walked into his second sister's throne room with a sublimated body and spirit, as well as huge sunglasses that were enough to blind everyone.

Walked into the vigilant sight.

Standing aside, Virgo stared at her biological uncle who was dressed and behaved in the same lazy manner, and put on a vigilant look for the first time in a long time: what the Star Maid was vigilant about was certainly not Conrad's wheat-colored skin and exposed chest muscles, but the [travel souvenirs] that the Primarch casually threw aside.

As luck would have it, in the highest level memory array of Virgo, these souvenirs often appear in the records of non-combat casualties of the Dawnbreakers: they appear in various forms as weapons, food ingredients, tableware, daytime training supplies, nighttime decompression supplies, gambling props, and general equivalents.

And Conrad brought back a trainload of such treasures.

When the Midnight Ghost, wearing a spiked straw hat and a barking toad necklace around his neck, entered the room and began to distribute the bluish-brown Catachan devil meat burgers in his hand, not to mention Morgan, who was already looking uneasy, even Guilliman, who had just arrived, and Vulcan, who was playing with the collection of the Spider Queen's dark Eldar bone sculptures, became a little nervous.

"Eat as much as you want."

Conrad enthusiastically picked the largest demon meat burger and happily stuffed it into the hands of the Macragge man: Guilliman looked at the gleaming poison hook in the burger meat and fell into a rare silence. His Nostramo brother was still standing beside him, not forgetting to pat his shoulder generously.

"This thing tastes good."

"Feel free to eat, if you think it's not enough, I can kill and cook it here."

"What?"

"Don't worry, I caught a nest of Catachan demons next to my holiday villa. The largest one is about the size of a train: I keep them on the Nightfall, so the meat of these burgers is absolutely fresh. If you think it's not enough, I'll go back and kill two more, just in time to choose a few lucky breeders for them."

"I tell you, Guilliman."

"Let them be breeders of these little guys, which is much more useful than the red gloves. . "

"...Conrad?"

"What's wrong?"

"Have your offspring and crew done anything to disappoint you recently?"

"Not really: but one day in the future they will disappoint me terribly."

"Why... do you think so?"

Guilliman frowned, he was somewhat unable to understand his brother's words: although, this was not the first time he could not understand some of Conrad's weird words, and this disagreement did not affect his friendship with the Night Haunter, but this time, the Macragge man felt that he still needed to dig deeper.

The Primarch is disappointed in his offspring?

Please: this is serious.

The worry that shot out of the Macragge man's stupid pupils was so strong that even Conrad, who had sunbathed on the cliffs of Catachan, felt a little overwhelmed: Fortunately, before that, the frowning Spider Queen rescued her brother with a short cough.

[Enough!]

[Conrad, stop fooling around! 】

Morgan rubbed her temple, her eyebrows and eyes were slightly dark, holding a contact letter engraved with the World Eaters Legion logo in her hand. The slightly rubbed edges proved that it would definitely not be good news: when all these elements surrounded the Spider Queen who had been working for a few days, even Guilliman, who wanted to get to the bottom of it, shut his mouth obediently.

After all, Morgan's dark circles also belonged to him.

The Macragge people blinked.

＃Innocent＃

"Glad to serve, my dear sister!"

The gene father of the Eighth Legion jumped to his position like a happy fruit bat, and the wooden slippers made a clacking sound on the stone slabs, mixed with the sound of ordering food.

Opposite Conrad, Vulkan, who had remained silent all the time, reluctantly put down the Eldar bone sculpture in his hand. His huge body still maintained a restrained silence: the Lord of Fire Dragons has never been good at or liked to talk in such brotherly gatherings. The only action he made was a gentle smile.

But as luck would have it, the other three people present seemed to need this kind of thing.

Guilliman responded to the Fire Dragon Lord's nod with a proper formal smile, then glanced past Conrad and focused on the letter in Morgan's hand: from his position, he could only see a few words, but the Macragge people deduced the full text from this.

"Angron still can't come back?"

[He is tracking a powerful group of roving pirates, whose leader is an alien wizard that only Angron can deal with. If he withdraws at this time, all his efforts will be wasted, and several star regions will be threatened again: he told us that if it is too late, we don't need to wait for him, he will go to Ullanor on his own. ]

"Isn't this a bad idea?"

Guilliman's fingers brushed the soft light beard at the corner of his lips.

"But there's nothing we can do about it."

Halfway through his words, the Lord of Five Hundred Worlds suddenly shook his head and smiled helplessly. He realized that he actually had no reason to blame Angron: in these two months, each Primarch was doing his own thing, like a pile of loose sand.

Angron went to hunt down a group of pirates who believed in slavery, Conrad literally took a vacation on Catachan, Guilliman spent time in his enclave, and Vulkan and his legion were engaged in a planet that had just suffered a serious geological disaster.

As for Morgan?

Morgan was responsible for gathering these street urchins who were doing their own things together again.

"Like a slave of darkness."

The Midnight Ghost sitting next to the Macragge seemed to be able to read his thoughts and interrupted him for no reason. A gloomy smile appeared on his narrow face: Guilliman instinctively realized that this sentence was meaningful, but he really didn't understand what a slave of darkness was.

"It's nothing important, brother."

Conrad continued to smile, but his wheat-colored face was not as creepy as before.

"You are a little paranoid: maybe you should take a vacation like me."

"I'm afraid not, Conrad."

Guilliman shook his head immediately.

"Two months is enough for me to plan the future of three sectors, or complete a small-scale expedition: I don't mean to blame your outlook on life, but if you are frank, I really don't understand why you would go on a vacation that is basically useless at this time of the Great Crusade?"

Halfway through, the Macragge paused for a moment, and then simply vomited out the doubts in his heart: this somewhat straightforward, even condemning inquiry, made Vulkan, who was sitting next to him, frown. He first glanced at Morgan, who was still reviewing the documents, and then looked at See.

Midnight Haunter was not angry at all. He had long been accustomed to Guilliman's condemnation, just as he would occasionally grab Guilliman's pigtails to sneer: this is the way the two get along, and their friendship has not faded because of this quarrel.

Therefore, Midnight Haunter answered his brother in a fairly serious manner.

"Guilliman, what makes you think my vacation life is meaningless: whether it is in the Far Eastern Frontier or in the Five Hundred Worlds, whether it is the Astartes under our command or the mortals, don't they all have their own rest time? Even my legion is the same."

"I will let them take turns to rest and go to the resort world in the Far Eastern Frontier to recuperate their bodies and minds. This is what I learned from Morgan, and didn't you follow Morgan's footsteps decades ago and promote this reform in the Five Hundred Worlds: Why are you condemning me now? Don't we, the Primarchs, need to rest?"

In the face of Conrad's words, Guilliman's reaction is not mentioned, but Vulkan, who was sitting in the corner, pricked up his ears, his pupils slightly shining: the two words "take turns" and "vacation world" made the Lord of Fire Dragon feel a little unfamiliar, but judging from the tone of Conrad and Guilliman, the implementation of this system should be beneficial, right?

The Fire Dragon Lord secretly thought about whether he should give it a try in the future, but he did not plan to create a vacation world: the Salamanders would return to the rural communes on Nocturne in their spare time to help. It was enough for the Primarch to formally establish this public habit in the Legion, and it could even be gradually extended to every world he would protect in the future.

The Fire Dragon Lord nodded secretly, while Guilliman beside him shook his head in annoyance, tapping the table lightly with his bent fingers to avoid affecting Morgan who was still reviewing documents: his voice was low and fast, and unwavering.

"It's different, brother."

"Our soldiers need a long rest time to relieve the pain caused by war or long hours of work, but we don't need it: I have personally tested that only five minutes of deep sleep can support seven days of continuous high-intensity work, and the current environment does not allow us, the Primarchs, to be so lazy."

"It's not time for us to rest yet. We are in our prime, and we are in the long stage of life when we need to work hard: my dear brother Conrad, when we are old, when we have completed our work, we can find a place to enjoy our rest time, not now."

This speech made the ghost frown.

"Guilliman? Why do you think we need to work now?"

"You need to work when you are young, and you need to rest when you are old, isn't it?"

Guilliman was very surprised, as if the truth of the world was being questioned.

"How can you be sure that we are not in the last days of our lives now?"

Conrad tilted his head, his snake-like black hair coiled on his broad shoulders: the words easily uttered by the Midnight Haunter startled the already sensitive and thoughtful Guilliman. When the Macragge reacted, he found that cold sweat had already seeped out of the back of his neck.

"What do you mean, Conrad!"

"Nothing, brother: don't be nervous."

The Primarch squinted his eyes.

"I just want to remind you, don't think that if you finish all the hard work now, you can enjoy peace and happiness in the future. The bitter and sweet only appear in storybooks. No one can accurately plan your life: sometimes, you have to learn to be short-sighted."

"Life is short, Guilliman: do whatever you want now."

"Maybe there will be no chance in the future."

"You..."

The Macragge opened his mouth.

"What kind of prophecy is this?"

"Prophecy? Of course not."

"I'm just reminding you."

Conrad blinked again, making Guilliman unable to figure out his thoughts.

"My ability to predict has fallen into a collapse-like decline more than ten years ago: sometimes I even wonder if this ability of prediction is born to torture me. When I can't get pain from it, there is no need for my ability to exist?"

"So, don't worry, Guilliman: I just want you to be more open-minded."

"Who knows what will happen in the future?"

"Don't you think so? Morgan?"

When saying this, Midnight Ghost looked at his sister: Morgan had already reviewed the last document. She glanced at everyone present and stopped Guilliman and Conrad from continuing to talk with her eyes: The three kings of the Far East have cultivated a deep friendship during the long period of cooperation, which is inseparable from the various tacit understandings and treaties they have already reached with each other.

The most important point is that although there is no distinction between the three, there are leaders in each specific field: Generally speaking, whoever is on whose territory will be respected by the other two, and when facing the issue of Terra, Guilliman and Conrad will tend to Morgan's ideas.

As for the conflict of interests between each other?

Even brothers have to settle accounts.

[And now, it is time for us brothers to settle accounts. ]

The Primarch waved his hand, which ended the quarrel between Guilliman and Conrad. She invited Vulkan to join with a smile, and then waved to her Virgo, and the star map of the Maelstrom region was spread out on the table.

[Give the order, everyone, we will set off in the direction of Ullanor immediately. ]

[When sailing in the subspace, we will finalize our agreement with each other. 】

——————

This one was originally 6,000 words, but my phone had some problems today, so I couldn't finish the remaining 2,000 words in time (I should have said before that I typed on my phone). I'll see how to deal with these 2,000 words.

But no update tonight: I've been so sleepy these past two days because of the scraping to remove heat and toxins.