Warhammer: In the Name of Nirvana

Chapter 681 Immortal people are like hemp (2/2)

"It's golden."

"It's a rare color out there."

"Really?"

Zefon asked instinctively, but he did not expect to get an answer. Silence and rejection were things he had long been accustomed to: The descendant of Sanguinius stretched out his hand and took the amber-like solid that was handed to his palm. , even this extremely simple action could only be completed after trembling the fingers three times.

Fortunately, the person opposite was very patient: because they had known each other for a long time.

Zefeng raised his head and smiled gratefully at the old knight opposite.

"Thank you, Lord Luther."

"It doesn't matter."

Jonson's adoptive father, Luther, who barely arrived with his Caliban fleet until the moment before Ullanor's military parade, nodded to the heirs of Sanguinius, and finally turned around to talk to the others: Luther and Zefeng had known each other thirty years ago and could barely be considered friends. He knew that what this [Mourning Herald] needed more was actually peace.

Behind him, Zefeng sighed as usual. He did not dare to look at those majestic fighting brothers on the parade ground, because he had not been with them decades ago: since he was in After losing his arms below the elbows and legs below the knees in a battle with aliens, although prosthetic limbs were promptly replaced at the wounds, the strong rejection eliminated the possibility of him becoming a warrior.

As an Astartes, he could only succeed once in five attempts to pull the trigger, and this time he succeeded, he also missed the target. Death may be a better consolation: he didn't even know that the original body deliberately put What's the point of calling him out from the nursing home in Terra's office?

Is it a chance for recovery?

Impossible: Even the best medical officer in Terra told him with regret that his injuries and strong rejection reaction would require at least technology from the Dark Age of Technology to be cured.

What else...

Forget it, he didn't want to think too much.

Zefeng shook his head and threw away all such distracting thoughts. He tried hard to hold the strange object in his hand tightly: it was a human eyeball sealed in amber. It was obviously a gift that had been carefully taken care of. The pupils The eyes are golden. In Luther's words, this is a very rare eye color in the area.

"Because in Cadia, the indigenous people there all have purple eyes."

The name Luthor discussed was no stranger to Zephon. He had reviewed documents related to Cadia many times, including Terra's allocation for the construction of the Cadia Fortress and its treatment of local indigenous people: Luthor Ser proposed killing all the indigenous people in this world because their religious beliefs and living habits made him uneasy, but Terra refused on the grounds that it would cause unnecessary panic.

Psychologically speaking, Zefeng actually agrees with Luther's view. Although he has never met the so-called natives of Cadia, he believes in the old knight's judgment: looking at the golden eyes in his palm that have long lost their vitality, The Blood Angels became more and more certain of his suspicions.

For some reason, these lifeless eyes gave him a very ominous feeling.

I heard that Cadia is near the great rift called the Eye of Terror.

Maybe Luther will know more.

Zefeng looked at Caliban, and around him were a circle of battle brothers: Bernard and Luther of Dawnbreaker were as close as friends who had forgotten their years. Sandwiched between them was Shen, who was busy dealing with Coming from the topic of double points, Typhon of the Death Guard came slowly and seemed to want to get involved. Ahriman next to him was his chosen entry point.

Farther away, Fabius from the Emperor's Children Legion was observing each of them so carefully with very uncomfortable eyes, especially when Fabius looked at Zefon. His gaze was like looking at some unusually rare experimental product: in comparison, Kor Phalun, who seemed out of place with everyone, was not so disgusting.

Zefon looked around, then staggered to Luther's side, and happened to hear how the old knight of Caliban told everyone about his past experiences.

"Yes, the natives of Cadia are very resistant to the arrival of the empire. They claim that we are not the people their gods are waiting for. If the gap in strength is not too great, I am afraid a battle will break out on the spot. But to this day, they all Resisting imperial rule."

"Hundreds of tribes are united under the umbrella of a priestess named Ingethel. I've seen that one, she wears a human skin cloak and is dedicated to leading her tribe members away from the fortress we have established: Qadi Asia is not a very livable world, so we temporarily tolerate them occupying those wilderness areas. If we only rely on stones and animal skins, they will not be able to threaten the fortress we established in ten thousand years."

"You know, there are a thousand Dark Angels stationed in that world."

When he spoke the number, Luther's face was filled with pride: Typhon of the Death Guard was the loudest of all present, and his voice immediately took over the next topic.

"You said they believe in strange gods?"

Typhon's voice was firm, and he had countless medals of merit hanging on his chest. He was the kind of person who could enter the small circle of legion champions anytime, anywhere, but strangely, among all the people present, he was also The only figure far removed from his primarch, who occupied almost both ends of the terrace.

"That's right."

Luther nodded.

"In fact, those primitive people in Cadia worship the Eye of Terror and the gods inside it."

"Not surprising."

Shen looked at Zefeng and nodded friendly while speaking.

"Just like the ancients would worship the sun."

"Yeah."

Luther was a little absent-minded.

"But if you ask me, there is indeed something strange about those primitive people: as a civilization that remains in the Stone Age, the religious system they have established is extremely complex and mature. Whether it is the description of the gods or the rituals and prayers during various blood sacrifices, hundreds of tribes that are far apart and even have blood feuds with each other can achieve unprecedented consistency."

"It's really unusual..."

"Just like the perfect city?"

In the crowd, I don't know who first proposed this metaphor. In an instant, everyone was silent, and then involuntarily glanced in one direction.

Lorgar, the Great Speaker, was standing next to his Imperial Fist brother. He and Dorn were not a common combination. The two seemed to be discussing some very serious topics, arguing a little, but not fiercely: Lorgar seemed to be the one with a milder temper but a more determined attitude. He talked a lot until some inaudible assurances made Dorn nod heavily.

Just behind them, the two primarchs' attendants did not join their colleagues' discussion, but stood behind their primarchs. Dorn's heir was fully armed as usual, and no one knew who he was. He stood like a stone, and his tough posture made Kor Phaeron, who was standing on the other side of him, look weak: This old bone did not join the conversation either. He followed Lorgar like a servant, occasionally passing a look to Luther and others, but there was nothing else except contempt and disdain.

However, I don't know if it's an illusion.

Zefeng tilted his head.

He always felt that in Kor Phaeron's eyes looking at Lorgar...

Why is it all fear?

It's really strange.

Zefeng muttered in his heart.

Of course, he was not surprised by Kor Phaeron's attitude towards Lorgar. It was not uncommon for the Astartes to respect their Primarchs. Haven't you seen the Iron Warriors of the past? But the question that really concerned him was: even if Kor Phaeron was only a half-baked man after all, he was still a recognized Astartes warrior.

The Astartes warriors were fearless. This was not just a nice word, but a fact that had been established deep in their genes long before they underwent surgical transformation: every Astartes warrior did not know what fear was. This was also the reason why the Night Lords Legion was despised in various legions in the past, because the fear tactics they were proud of were nothing but a joke to other legions.

So: Why can an Astartes' pupils be filled with fear?

——————

It was the Emperor.

No, it was the God-Emperor.

Angertai breathed impatiently, he felt the sweat slowly flowing down his broad back, and then was cleaned up one by one by the internal circulation system inside the power armor: the workload was even greater than that of an ordinary battle, emitting a low roar.

Angertai did not think that this was due to his inner tension, it must be because of the damn hot wind in Ullanor: today was not a suitable weather for a military parade, the sun was too thin, the air was hot, and the Word Bearers Legion was not ranked at the top of the various queues being reviewed. It was undoubtedly a shame to witness others accept the honor first.

Especially the White Scars: Why can they rank first? Is it because their fleet was the first to actually declare war on the entire Ullanor Orc Empire? Besides this, what else can they show? Is it a meager record or a pathetic sense of responsibility?

Lorgar's son closed his eyes. He knew he had to stay rational: the Emperor and the Primarch were on the high platform in the distance. Their eyes would bring supreme glory, but their words could not help him now. At the moment, he was the actual person in charge of the entire Word Bearers phalanx, and he needed to shoulder the responsibility of the entire legion.

This was not easy.

Angertai looked around. On his left was the Dark Angels' queue. At the front of the queue, he saw Koswein standing with his sword. The World Eaters farther away were led by Kahn, and on the right, the chief officer of the Raven Guards' phalanx was a warrior that Angertai had no impression of. Then again, every face in the 19th Legion's queue was completely unremembered by Angertai.

Unlike the Night Lords farther away: Everyone on Ullanor knew Sevatar. With the legend of the Prince of Crows, it was strongly implemented again and again in countless real sword duels beside the bonfire. Sevatar had used his power halberd to change the warriors' views on the Eighth Legion forever.

Now, there are many opinions about the candidates of the three heroes of the Great Crusade.

But that has nothing to do with him.

Angertai retracted his gaze and focused on the tens of thousands of battle brothers in front of him. The iron-gray power armor was still engraved with dense prayers and scriptures, but compared with the simplicity in front of the Perfect City, the descendants of Lorgar had learned to use various trophies and honor symbols to prove that their piety to the God-Emperor was not just verbal.

The smell of blood between the power armor can never be washed away, but it does not need to be washed away: it is a symbol of glory and a symbol of piety.

Let the whole empire realize this.

Angeltai was surprised that it didn't take long for him to get the father of genes, Luo Jia, to accept his point of view: rather than faith, they needed to show their powerful side in front of everyone.

Angeltai still remembered the expression on the face of the Great Word Bearer when he took the initiative to propose this suggestion to Luo Jia: it was surprise, but also joy.

Luojia was curious as to why he expressed his thoughts so actively, but Angeltai did not tell the original body the truth.

This is not his idea.

It was from those voices... in his heart.

The Word Bearer lowered his head slightly: all kinds of colors rippled in the center of his soul.

They whisper, they call, they laugh and cry, sigh and whisper.

They did not always appear, but everything they said to him was so irresistible and visionary: Angeltai did not want to trust them completely, because in giving all kinds of advice, At the same time, their occasional whispers of persuasion can send shivers down the Word Bearers' spines.

They were promising him.

They were congratulating him.

They called him... Prince.

Prince of Chaos.

The Prince of Chaos who bears the fate of everyone and the eternal war.

"..."

Angeltai touched his forehead, and the distant sound of military music awakened him. He noticed the concerned eyes of the brothers at the front of the queue, and then signaled that he was fine: but his soul could hear it clearly, because the voice in his heart was Count the names of everyone in front of you.

They all need him to carry them?

Carrying their...fate?

"..."

Angeltay said nothing.

I didn’t continue to think about it.

He resisted these voices: he just wanted to stand at his next post.

——————

Explain why it is divided into two chapters.

Because according to the background data, I noticed that once the number of words exceeds certain limits, such as eight, nine thousand or ten thousand words, then the subscriptions for that chapter will decrease, although I am not sure what the internal logical relationship is (it may be Some young readers have wallet problems. I understand this very well. I came here the same way. I am very happy that you can support the original version.) Therefore, I will split the 10,000-word chapters into two chapters as much as possible.

By the way, ask for a monthly ticket here.