Warhammer: In the Name of Nirvana

"eternal?"

"What a terrible word: especially for someone like me."

A scar that cut his lip makes any words spoken by the Crow Prince look like a contemptuous sneer and ridicule, and he often does this: when those dark eyes turn, the entire eighth The style, will and soul of the Legion are vividly reflected in one person.

This person is not the original body of the Legion, but his qualifications are sufficient.

"I can even say this here on behalf of my battle brothers, all my brothers who serve the same genetic father as me: We do not want eternity, it is a curse, if this galaxy really has mercy on us, Then it should let us die at the right time."

"When do you think the time is right?"

"Before I want to confess."

Sevatar laughed, and his genuine smile looked so terrifying. The pale skin and dark eyes that were standard features of the Night Lord made him look so eye-catching even in the darkness where light could not shine, wandering around like a ghost: In the dim light reflected by the power halberd, the unique adamantine neck guard unique to the Nostramo warriors was inlaid on the broad lower jaw.

This faint golden light was Ahriman's only accurate tool for finding enemies: when he and the heirs of the Midnight Ghost were fighting each other in the blinding night, even the visual control ability granted by the Astartes surgery, It doesn't seem so efficient anymore.

When he was not wearing a helmet or using his psychic powers, Ahriman could only rely on his weak vision and instinctive senses to search for Sevatar's power halberd in the shadows: he actually didn't like this kind of large power halberd. It felt like this, but the Dawnbreaker veterans, led by Bayar, insisted on him doing this many years ago.

"This will give you a higher chance of survival."

They all say so.

(The visual control in the Astartes surgery will give them the ability to see normally in a low-light radiation environment, but this is not true night vision and requires light dispersion, so their helmets have optoelectronic imaging systems , providing vision in low-light environments).

(But as we all know, true Astartes warriors do not need helmets.)

At the beginning, Ahriman felt deeply disgusted by this meaningless torture, but over time he got used to it: whenever he could exert his original fighting power without wearing a helmet, led by Bayar, The veterans of Dawnbreaker promptly made new demands to him.

He doesn’t use psychic powers when fighting with swords, doesn’t wear power armor when fighting with swords, and doesn’t use his usual blades when fighting with swords. In the end, he only wears a simple cloth and holds a randomly picked blade. He must also display his combat effectiveness when fully armed: use agility, experience and skill to defeat his opponent, or at least successfully escape.

By the way, throughout the entire special training process, Ahriman’s [opponents] have always been the veterans of Terra headed by Bayar. Even if he is fully armed and uses psychic powers, he cannot guarantee victory. .

And such painful training continued uninterrupted for more than ten years.

Specifically, since Ahriman declined the opportunity to return to the Thousand Sons Legion and pinned his identity on the Dawnbreaker Legion and Avalon, thereby receiving a private banquet and toast from veterans such as Bayar, Morgan's subordinates The most elite Terran warriors have just begun to tailor a training plan for their new member.

Ahriman never knew exactly how many people there were in this small group. He only remembered that during every training, there would be at least two veterans who had served for more than 200 years, serving as his instructors and training partners throughout the process: the personnel were rarely repeated. It would be months before each face was seen again.

Under such treatment, his current strength seems to be a matter of course.

Ahriman sometimes wondered if he was the only one who received such preferential treatment: until he accidentally found out that he still had several brothers from the same school, and Savita was one of them, but he was not the same as Ahriman. Unlike [Self-reliance], Prince of Crows was shamelessly forced in by Conrad.

The Midnight Ghost may not be able to bend veterans like Bayar to his will, but he can nag their mothers beside them.

Unlike Ahriman, Sevatar's personal training seemed hurried and haphazard. He did not always come for training, and often left to participate in expeditions to the ghoul stars, but his progress never fell behind. , easily surpassed Ahriman's diligence, and successfully graduated a few years later.

Typical Night Lord style: talented but cynical.

Frankly speaking, Ahriman did not think highly of this irresponsible attitude, but he could not help but marvel at Sevatar's talent: after catching and fighting for about four or five minutes in the shadows where he could not see, the pair from The battle brothers who had been silent at the beginning finally put the sharp blade in their hands against each other's neck at the same moment, but their expressions were completely different.

Ahriman's face was livid, and he felt that the neck of his Chanabal saber and Sevita's neck seemed to be at an insignificant distance, but his cheeks could already feel the trembling of the power halberd: the breathing of both sides. The sound hit the opponent's earlobe, and the Crow Prince's smile was so dazzling.

"Why are you so strong?"

Ahriman couldn't help but wonder.

Yes, he admitted that he was not facing the duel with a life-or-death attitude, that he was strolling leisurely in the darkness, swinging the sword with an attitude of negotiation rather than hatred: but when he struck the final blow, he was Seriously, and his speed has always been an advantage that Bayar and others boast about.

But Sevatar was faster than he was: so fast that Ahriman would have envied him.

"I don't know either."

In the darkness, Sevatar's voice sounded so sincere.

"I seem to be born like this. Ever since I became conscious, I have always been stronger and faster than others, and can better endure the cold and pain on Nostramo. The same is true even in the Legion: you His fighting skills are indeed better than mine, Ahriman, but I think the difference between us is..."

"talent."

Thousand Sons spat out this unfair word with a slightly bitter tone: before this, this word had been used to describe him, describing his unparalleled ability in psychic abilities, which was recognized by both Morgan and Magnus. fact.

And obviously, Sevatar also feels the same when it comes to swords.

They each took a step back and submerged themselves into the shadows again, concentrating their breathing. Only the sound of burning firewood and the cheers of the crowd in the distance could temporarily disturb their thinking: the duel between swords and halberds continued, but no one cared about the outcome. , just simply experiencing the inspiration that the other party's martial arts can give you.

Ahriman's skills are obviously better, and Sevatar feels that his understanding of swordsmanship may exceed that of most Primarchs. He is a master who has already walked his own path: the Prince of Crows is able to evaluate every attack he has avoided before. After an attack, it was discovered that except for him, no one in the entire Eighth Army seemed to be able to block this offensive.

In other words, if Conrad and Sevatar are taken out, then Ahriman alone can humiliate the entire Night Lords Army: just like what Akudona did to the Iron Hands Army back then. By doing that, they are already on the same level.

The Prince of Crows was amazed by this, and Ahriman on the opposite side was doing the same thing: as he waved his sword more and more seriously, while Sevatar remained unscathed, the Thousand Sons secretly said to themselves in their hearts He muttered, without the guarantee of psychic power, could he defeat such an opponent with only the blade in his hand?

The answer is no.

Once again, he devoted all his attention and skills and swung his sword from an angle that he thought was impossible to avoid, only to see Sevatar with impossible agility and beast-like reflexes. After tilting his head slightly, leaving only a few broken strands of hair, Ahriman had already determined the answer.

Without psychic powers, there is a high probability that he would not be Seveta's opponent. Although there is not much difference in strength between the two, it is possible that two corpses fell at the same time, or one was submerged in a pool of blood. A body lingering for the last few seconds before death.

"..."

Really: why do you suddenly think of these dramas about brothers killing each other?

Ahriman shook his head, and Sevatar's power halberd passed by his ear, but Thousand Sons' heart did not waver at all. He calmly dodged the attack, distanced himself, stopped, and The sword blade was stuck on the ground, and the Crow Prince on the opposite side made the same movement. The two of them stopped the sparring in tacit agreement.

"It seems like we are from the same school."

Ahriman shook his head, lamenting that he was unscathed.

"The same moves, the same techniques, in the end no one can hurt anyone."

"A trick taught by a master cannot be broken."

Sevita laughed out loud a few meters away, his spirit of laughter brimming with emotion.

"But compared to this: there is one thing I care about, Ahriman."

The next second, Sevatar's tone became more serious than ever before. Ahriman couldn't help but think of Conrad: Are all these Nostramos proficient in face-changing?

"What's up?"

"Have you noticed..."

Before he finished speaking, something strange happened.

It was a piercing sound that broke through the air. It was Sevatar's power halberd, which was projected out of the darkness, as fast as lightning: But Ahriman's reaction speed was even faster than lightning. He turned sideways lightly, Seeing the power halberd grazing his cheek and being nailed to the wall not far behind him, Sevatar's voice had not yet dissipated in the night, and Ahriman just frowned in displeasure. He raised his eyebrows.

"What are you doing?"

"Look, that's it."

Only then did Sevatar slowly walk out of the darkness, until Ahriman could see his dark pupils clearly.

"You have changed, Ahriman."

"How to say?"

Ahriman's hand rested on the hilt of his sword.

"Didn't you notice?"

Sevatar pointed at the hair that was messed up by him and Ahrimana due to the fight.

"Whether you push me into a desperate situation or I ask you to push into a desperate situation, whether you are about to win or about to swallow defeat, or even when my power halberd is treacherous and flies past your head without any morality. Time: The emotions in your heart don’t even have the slightest ups and downs, they are as motionless as stagnant water.”

"Probably because you don't know that there is a word called peace of mind, Sevita."

"This is different!"

Sevatar pointed at herself.

"Look, I wouldn't be like this."

"indeed."

Ahriman nodded.

"During our duel, you guy kept cursing in your mind, I could hear it."

"That's because it's hard for me to understand the other emotions you guys talk about. Anger and contempt are already the limit for me: nothing in the world can make me fluctuate, but I'm still trying to adapt to my shortcomings and let My heart is different from yours, Ahriman.”

"It's not like you... lifeless."

The Crow Prince shook his head repeatedly, seeming quite proud of his mistake.

"Maybe you should discuss this matter with those guys in Bayar."

"Do you think this is serious?"

Ahriman instinctively touched his crimson armor and felt the same heartbeat as when he was just born. He recalled it carefully and found that what Sevatar said was indeed true: when did he become So calm?

It seems to be: the first time his swordsmanship was praised as amazing?

At that time, he didn't have much joy, and was more obsessed with skills and fighting.

"Isn't this serious?"

Sevatar asked rhetorically.

"It's not just you, Ahriman, many people are starting to look like this: Look at Sigismund over there. When he was fighting, he was as cold as an iron man. This is what a human should show. What does it look like?”

"I never thought you would care about such a thing, Sevita?"

"Of course I don't want to care, but there are too many people as cold as you, and they are becoming more and more."

Sevatar took a step forward, and Ahriman felt an indescribable sense of oppression.

"And, so do I."

said the Prince of Crows, his words causing Ahriman to raise a brow.

"I have had experiences that are almost similar to those of you, Ahriman. I have also been in a state of calm. When I was fighting, I didn't think about anything. When I wasn't fighting, all I could think about was taking out my sword and fighting. : During that time, I felt that I was gradually turning into a weapon, without any emotions or feelings. I would block and strike expressionlessly, until any of the battle brothers I was sparring with looked horrified. Arms, surrender.”

"They said I was scary cold."

Sevatar lowered his eyes.

"I admit, that was the stage where my martial arts progressed the fastest in my life. I vaguely seemed to touch a new palace, where there was a calmness and concentration that was beyond my reach. It seemed that as long as I stepped into it, everything in the world would disappear. Troubles and chaos will have nothing to do with me, and I will exist as a pure weapon, focused on my mission and responsibility until the end of the world.”

"For a warrior, maybe this is a good ending."

"But alas: I was never a warrior."

The Prince of Crows told his experience in a strange, indescribable tone. He was not calm. It was obvious that this memory was unforgettable, but he was not excited either, as if he was just a bystander standing in a third party. : When his eyes turned to Ahriman, he found that the expression on the Thousand Sons' face was equally intriguing.

"How about it, Ahriman? Have you ever had the same experience as me?"

Ahriman nodded in silence.

"I have touched that palace, but I still seem to be some way away from it."

"It's really... calming."

"You haven't been in yet?"

"No."

Ahriman shook his head: he remembered that it was the voice within him that stopped him.

"That's a good thing."

Sevatar laughed.

"You don't know how hard it took my genetic father and I to restrain my desire to push open the palace door: its temptation is fatal to us, that kind of state where we don't need to care about anything in the world. , that kind of perfection that becomes one with your own weapon, for a natural-born killer like us, what could be more worth pursuing? "

"For any loyalist: that's the end."

Ahriman responded with silence.

"But you don't like it?"

“It’s not dislike: it’s fear.”

"I'm afraid of it."

The expression in Prince of Crows was as serious as Ahriman had ever seen.

"In that hall, our essence as Astartes warriors is buried, but this essence seems to be stripping away the last remaining elements of us as humans, and it is trying to build us up. It becomes a bloodless and tearless war machine, even more terrifying than the group of gear guys on Mars."

"But what's really scary is: it lies in front of each of us. So far, every amazing swordsman I have seen, they have all felt the same as the two of us at some time. Palace.”

"Have you not noticed? The most outstanding Astartes are often terrifyingly dead. This tendency has been particularly obvious in recent years: the best among us are gradually being turned into weapons. Is this what the Emperor wants? ”

Sevatar took another step forward, ensuring that Ahriman could not escape his gaze.

"Or we can imagine: The Emperor has made promises countless times. He promised that after the end of the Great Crusade, humanity and the Empire will usher in a great peace forever, but if the position he gave us is a weapon, then What does peace have to do with us?”

"The prosperous times also need weapons to protect them."

Ahriman retorted.

"yes."

Sevatar smiled.

"But aren't these too many weapons? He also acquiesced to all military expansion."

Ahriman was silent.

"Sevatar, no matter what: you can't slander our supreme lord without reason."

"I think so too. I told you it's just speculation."

The eyes of the Prince of Crows were a little dim.

"I don't believe that the Lord of Mankind would be such a ruthless person. After all, it was he who personally started this great expedition and shouldered the fate of the entire human race on him alone: ​​how could a ruthless person do these things? He is not only affectionate, but also the kind of boundless affection willing to embrace the world."

"The Emperor is affectionate."

"Then the question is: how could such an affectionate person guide us to embark on such a ruthless path? Isn't this completely contrary to his concept? Which king would shape a warrior who goes against him? This doesn't make sense."

"Maybe..."

Ahriman found himself a little shaken.

"Maybe it's because this kind of calm state of mind is not a bad thing fundamentally?"

"Isn't it?"

Sevatar asked back, he turned his head and looked at the distant fire.

"To be fair, Ahriman: you know more about the things in the warp than I do. You should know that in that chaotic and disordered ocean, any extreme things are harmful: whether it is extreme courage or extreme wisdom, whether it is extreme kindness or extreme perfection, when they break the balance of human nature and begin to manipulate the soul itself, the most beautiful emotions will become a deadly nightmare."

"Extreme calmness, ruthlessness, numbness, and even dead silence: Is this really a good thing?"

"When we become weapons, who can ensure that we will not be used to do evil?"

"This is groundless worry."

Ahriman frowned.

"Even if we become weapons, it will be the Emperor who uses us..."

The Thousand Son found himself suddenly stuck. He looked up in surprise and realized what Sevatar wanted to say. The smile of the Prince of Crows was reflected in his pupils. Ahriman was silent until Konrad's heir came up and patted him on the shoulder.

"You thought of it, too?"

"When someone designed us, they set the end of our path to ascension to a palace destined to be ruthless. The best among us will become silent weapons, wielding until the end of time."

"This person not only stands in the position of the Emperor, has the power of the Emperor, and has intervened in the Emperor's plan, but can now influence us like the Emperor: even the Emperor himself did not notice his existence, or he could do nothing about him."

"But he is not the Emperor, because the Emperor is affectionate, and he wants us to become ruthless."

"So: who will he be?"

"Who is it, not the Emperor, but can control everything like the Emperor?"

"Or, everything is actually done by the Emperor: this seems even more terrifying."

In the quiet night, Sevatar's voice made Ahriman tremble all over.

"Don't forget, brother."

"Whether he is the Emperor or not."

"He is gradually influencing the best of us: including you and me."

——————

[Also includes every warrior who has joined the Great Crusade as far as I can see. ]

[They have all been handed over to you by our Gene Father, and one day they will fight under your banner: any order you give can determine the survival of hundreds of millions of people, the life and death, honor and disgrace of thousands of worlds, and whether they are glorious or fallen? ]

[What mortals call power is just like this: how does it feel? ]

In the Spider Queen's goblet, the light red liquid reflects the air in the distance that is distorted by the burning of torches. The singing of mortals shakes layers of ripples, making Morgan's pupils in the goblet confused, mottled with countless colors, like the night of Ullanor, slightly glowing with blue light, and blending with the already reddish wine, and finally staying in a touch of purple that makes people's backs cold.

Morgan frowned. She certainly didn't like this color, but it was indeed permeating her life with an unstoppable momentum: whether it was Virgo's slightly changed hair color or the paintings painted by the mortals and children on the Aurora, they were all filled with a subtle purple atmosphere.

In comparison, the bright blue in the corner was always ignored: just like the other dozen or so Primarchs around the fire besides Horus, Sanguinius and Fulgrim, the gap was really painful.

But Horus didn't think so. He listened to Morgan's words and then tried his best to put on a flattered attitude: since he confirmed in front of the Emperor that he was the warmaster chosen by the Lord of Mankind, the wolf god's temper seemed to be much milder, and he was sincere to his relatives and friends at this moment, even Morgan and Corax couldn't find any fault.

"If I really want to say it..."

When Horus raised his glass, nodded, and shook his head with a smile, every word he said sounded from the heart.

"Nervous, right? And a little scared."

[Nervous? Scared?]

Morgan laughed.

[This doesn't seem like the emotion that the heir of the Great Crusade should have.]

"I know."

Horus swallowed absentmindedly.

"But there's nothing I can do about it: I'll tell you the truth, Morgan, when my father promised me the title of Warmaster, I realized that I was actually not prepared for anything. I had no idea what to do. Sitting in this position and performing its functions, I feel like a child who has just stepped out of the White Jade Tower, but my father has already let go of my hand."

"Before this, I acted as a Primarch. All my decisions could be bold or even reckless, because our father would be my backer. When there was something I didn't understand or couldn't solve, When I have a question, I know who to look for.”

"The past was a happy time for all of us, wasn't it?"

【……】

Morgan smiled back, but she said nothing.

She listened to Horus sigh.

"But it's different now. I've become the backer. I've become the person who needs to solve problems for everyone that they don't understand or can't solve. I can't be bold or reckless anymore. I have to be cautious and cautious. I have to be indispensable. I can’t help them all, but I know clearly that I am not omnipotent.”

"I will still make mistakes, but in the future, I will even know who to go to if I make a mistake."

"I don't know what I should do anymore."

Horus lowered his head, and the loneliness in his brows seemed more sad than crying.

"What should I do? How should I stand up after leaving him? How should I respond to his and everyone's expectations of me? How should I do the work that originally belonged to him? How should I figure out the ideas that originally belonged to him? This Everything is blank to me, but the great burden of the Great Expedition has fallen into my hands, and I don’t even have time to hesitate.”

[This is indeed a problem. 】

Morgan nodded: She agreed with Horus's concerns in her heart.

I had never thought about it before, but now after thinking about it following Horus's words, I realized that the Wolf God's concerns were correct. This was indeed the Emperor's negligence: no matter who he wanted to choose as Warmaster, after leaving the Great Before the expedition and return to Terra, the Lord of Mankind should set aside some time to teach the new Warmaster how to take over and use the position and power that originally belonged to the Emperor.

Instead of letting Horus, the Warmaster, take this position without any experience or training like now: The Great Crusade is related to the life and death of countless people. For such a grand undertaking, any Primarch They are all as immature as children and need education and guidance, even the Wolf Shepherd God is no exception. He should never work without training like he does now.

In other words: How can a prince start supervising the country and the army without any experience in political participation?

Yes, the Wolf Shepherd's performance before this can indeed be said to be unique, but he was acting as a Primarch, and as a Primarch and as the incarnation of the Emperor himself, they are completely different. Different: The Wolf Shepherd knew this very well.

The Emperor had apparently missed this point: and he had no time to remedy it.

Morgan rubbed the corner of her eyebrows in distress. She really wanted to relax tonight and relieve the pressure brought by her official duties, but she didn't expect that she just picked a brother to chat with for a few words. The high blood pressure caused by the emperor was still there. Being able to slap him in front of him from half a distance away from Ullanor.

This old bastard...

The Spider Queen tried her best to maintain a smile and listened quietly to Horus's complaints, but never gave any solution: she was sure that even if she gave a solution, Horus might not adopt it. The trust is not deep enough yet, the Wolf Shepherd just needs a quiet listener.

Among the rumors he collected, Morgan happened to be one such person: she knew when to start a new topic.

[But you still accepted it? 】

After Horus fell silent, Morgan restored his smile with just one sentence.

"certainly."

The Wolf Shepherd is blowing out white steam.

"Because I have no reason to refuse: just like my father never refused me."

The corner of Morgan's mouth twitched: Why does this sentence sound so weird?

【You can see it. 】

The Spider Queen's laughter was a little dry.

[You are my honored guest, brother. When the party began, I have been standing beside you, watching all kinds of people come to you, bowing and saluting you, calling you Warmaster or Emperor. Incarnate, and you have never refused any title from their mouths. 】

"yes."

The Shepherd God nodded, and he turned his attention to Morgan.

Horus's smile was a little playful.

"Just as you never seem to call me Warmaster, my sister."

"You either call me [Heir of the Great Crusade], or you call me [Avatar of the Emperor]. I admit that both titles are equally attractive, but you have never called me [Warmaster]. : This is a bit strange for the Spider Queen who always pursues a minimalist style. "

Neither of them spoke: an unspeakable low pressure quietly spread.

【It’s a little strange. 】

Morgan raised her head. Although the bridge of her nose could only touch the chest of the Wolf Shepherd, she still looked at Horus without any scruples: when the invisible auras collided, it was the Wolf Shepherd who felt something about himself. He was powerless, and a throbbing look flashed across his eyes.

[But you know. 】

Morgan turned her head, and both she and Horus could see the golden trace: the lion of Caliban was standing there, chatting with Guilliman and Corax, Conrad and Leman Russ were entangled around his shoulders, the brothers were a little bit tense, but they still got along smoothly for several hours.

[My warmaster is someone else. ]

Morgan laughed.

[I once found the oath, and I don't intend to break it. ]

"Loyalty is a good thing."

The wolf god looked in the direction of Jonson: but his eyes were more entangled with Guilliman, and he only gave Jonson a trace of fear, but he gave Guilliman the same as Morgan, which was the silence after careful consideration, the serious look of a beast looking at another beast.

As for Conrad, Corax and Leman Russ: Horus looked at them with a much gentler look.

[You think so too? 】

"Of course."

The wolf god's hearty laughter dispelled the temporarily accumulated haze.

Morgan did not ignore the steel-like determination hidden behind his smile.

"Loyalty is a noble word."

——————

"And what I like most is to hold on to every kind of nobility I can see."

——————

I had a fever a few days ago, so my condition was not very good and the progress was a bit slow. Today, my condition has improved and I have to speed up the progress. Horus's warmaster crown will probably be worn the day after tomorrow, and then I will start to deal with Nikea's affairs.