Warhammer: In the Name of Nirvana

Chapter 689 The Days of Horus (33)

Chapter 689 The Day of Horus (3/3)

"So, you secretly tampered with the crown, right?"

"Don't try to deceive me, I can feel the psychic energy inside the real gold: you know, the psychic energy of each of us psychics is unique, and now, only your psychic energy is entangled in it."

"What do you want to do, Morgan?"

[Nothing: just release a little love for brothers. 】

When the Lord of Mankind loudly announced to everyone present that his most beloved offspring would become the warmaster of the entire Great Crusade, this hall that accommodated countless imperial elites, the steel platform that supported it, and the parade square surrounding it, fell into a carnival of cheers and applause.

The lofty tributes to the Emperor and the new Warmaster rose from all directions, and then could not wait to resound throughout the universe. The military music selected by the Lord of Mankind for his descendants filled the air just right, the salutes sounded, and the flags were raised high: it seemed that the glory and joy of the entire Great Crusade must be completely released at this moment.

The cheers of millions of people made the crust of Ullanor begin to tremble: among them were the descendants and followers of Horus, who were proud from the bottom of their hearts that their Primarch had reached the top of the gods; there were also loyal servants of the Emperor, who used this simplest means to agree with the order just issued by the Lord of Mankind; and there were also flatterers who had been ready for a long time, accurately calculating the time they needed to pay tribute, and they were even more punctual than the Astartes warriors.

But apart from that, most of the applause belonged to more bystanders, who were loyal to the Emperor and had no ill will towards Horus. They simply cheered to celebrate that they could witness the landmark historical event of the Human Empire with their own eyes: the number of bystanders was unexpectedly large, perhaps most of the Primarchs and Astartes were among them.

Morgan was no exception, and she also knew that the Sigillite, who was sitting behind her, shrinking in the shadow of the Emperor and the Guards, and motionless like an old monk in meditation, certainly belonged to this group: but the rich psychological activities deep in their hearts at this time were still far beyond the imagination of others.

Almost at the moment when the Emperor put the crown on Horus' head, the Sigillite's questioning voice also came to Morgan's mind, which undoubtedly disturbed her: this made the Spider Queen seem a little irritable, and she could not concentrate on witnessing this historic moment.

For this reason, Morgan's answer can be said to be quite insincere.

When she pursed her lips, two dimples appeared on her snow-white face, pretending to be happy for her brother Horus, and then glanced at Malcador casually: the moment when the Sigillite could hardly control her expression, the Primarch happily took it into his pocket.

The next warning was even more fierce.

"I'm asking you, Morgan."

The Sigillite's voice was very calm: a calmness that made people sweat.

[What's wrong? ]

The Primarch's eyebrows jumped: she admitted that she had many reasons, mainly to vent her dissatisfaction with being forced to perform corvée, so she did make a little move on Horus's beloved crown, but this was not enough to make the Sigillite so serious.

Is this old man in menopause?

Yes, she admitted that this symptom appeared more often in physiological women: just like she used to be, but on second thought, anyone who stayed with her great gene father for many years should be able to more or less dig out the [female] in their hearts.

So...

"Put away your crooked thoughts."

Feeling the increasingly rude gaze from Morgan, Malcador's face was as ugly as Fulgrim finding Ferrus sneaking into Horus' bedroom: he maintained the stiffness of a sculpture, but kept waving the whip of psychic energy, pressing the edge of the Primarch's soul bit by bit.

"For the last time, I am serious about this issue, Morgan: What did you do to that crown?"

[I know, I know: I will tell you now. ]

The Primarch was a little impatient. She casually glanced in the direction of Jonson and Conrad, and saw that the Caliban man was expressionlessly letting his two giant palms fight each other there, and his applause sounded like a pair of old leather boots clacking on the floor that had just been wiped.

Thankfully, Horus was able to smile back at him in this situation, worthy of being a top housekeeper seedling who could become a warmaster.

Compared to Jonson, the Night Haunter next to him seemed much more enthusiastic: if Morgan hadn't seen Conrad quietly put a few of his fingers into his mouth, and then drove a sharp whistle, blending into the solemn military music.

[……]

The Emperor's silent comment came faintly from the side of his head.

# Conrad's mother, how do you usually teach your children to be polite? #

This kid deserves a beating.

I'll deal with him when I get home.

Morgan spat in his heart, and then explained it in a few words.

[Listen carefully, Malcador: In short, I had a long discussion with Conrad a long time ago, when I was dealing with Angron. He told me some literary classics on ancient Terra about the Butcher's Nail. ]

[He said that in a Terra ancient book he accidentally read, there was a way of admonishment and punishment: the superior would wear a precious golden hoop on the head of the subordinate. If the subordinate offended the superior, the superior could use words or other means to make the golden hoop shrink tighter and tighter as a punishment. ]

[This kind of punishment...]

"That's called the tight hoop curse, little guy."

Although the seal holder had covered his entire face under the hood, Morgan could still clearly feel that Malcador had indeed rolled his eyes at him just now: the seal holder's expression was like looking at an ignorant elementary school student.

This old bastard...

Morgan muttered, and Malcador's questions followed.

"So you're saying: you put a tight ring on Horus's warmaster's crown?"

[That's about right. Whenever our warmaster Horus gets angry, the crown will tighten a little, but it won't affect his physiology or spirit at all, and it will return to its original state in a short time. Besides, he wouldn't be so childish as to wear this useless olive leaf all day long, right? ]

The seal holder was silent suspiciously.

"Are you sure you didn't use other means?"

[What are you thinking? ]

Morgan choked unhappily.

[Don't you see which biased father I'm standing next to now: if I dare to think a little bit about Horus's things, my dear gene father will dare to kick my size L ass with his size 200 shoes. 】

+……+

Amid the continuous applause, the Lord of Humanity's gaze drifted silently again, but this time it quickly drifted back: the Emperor first nodded in the direction of Malcador, reluctantly made a promise for Morgan, and then turned around and left impatiently, walking towards Horus.

The newly appointed warmaster needed to accept the cheers of all the soldiers in the square.

Morgan certainly knew this: after all, all the procedures of this ceremony so far were handled by her and Malcador, and all the honors and touches that the Wolf God received today were within their plan.

But even so, there were still two things beyond Morgan's control.

The first was: when she witnessed Horus accepting such honor, enjoying the Emperor's comforting preference, and enjoying the cheers that everyone deserved, in the depths of Morgan's heart, which she herself did not notice, on the solid soil in her soul, acid rain quietly fell.

This piece of pure land that she had finally won was no longer pure.

It's not just her: most of the Primarchs present must have felt the same way. Although they had expected everything Horus could enjoy, when things really happened in front of them, when they truly realized how unfair the originally fair things were to them, even the most open-minded Primarchs would probably grumble in their hearts.

Morgan felt even heavier than her brothers who were unaware of it: after all, she designed these rituals herself, and had warned the Emperor again and again that showing such partiality in front of all the heirs was definitely not a good thing for the relationship between him and the Primarch.

But the Lord of Mankind insisted on doing so. He chose to retreat on any other issues, those issues that Morgan thought were more important, but only for Horus's love, the Emperor used his power forcefully to veto his daughter and his Prime Minister: compared with this insistence, these things in front of him are nothing.

Morgan shook her head secretly. The bitterness in her heart only lasted for a moment, but the distortion in the hearts of some people present may not be eliminated in just a few dozen or a hundred years: Look at Mortarion over there. Even if he is Horus's true best friend, the sharp eyes of the Lord of Death when he looks at the Wolf God and the Emperor walking side by side are still very wrong.

"!"

In addition to being angry, Mortarion also found Morgan who was looking at him. After all, the Spider Queen did not hide: At the beginning, the Lord of Death was stunned for a moment. He seemed to have never thought that his fleeting anger could be caught by others. After all, he was a marginal figure among the brothers. In the past, no one had ever supervised him specially. After a silence, even greater anger rose because of this rudeness.

But Morgan did not give him a chance: the Spider Queen just smiled and nodded, and then whispered a word to the Lord of Death with her lips across the noisy crowd and air.

[I can understand. 】

Then, without waiting for Mortarion to respond, Morgan retracted her gaze: However, she clearly saw that the Lord of Death's anger stagnated because of this inexplicable understanding, but it would not stagnate for too long, but Morgan's departure meant that he was destined to have no one to vent his anger on.

I don't know how angry he will be: What a poor little guy.

The Primarch chuckled in his heart: She found that the longer she accompanied the other Primarchs, the harder it was for her to hate these brothers. Even Mortarion, who she used to regard as an enemy, would involuntarily discover his lovely side, respectable advantages and pitiful fatal injuries after just three or four contacts.

Compared with the things that are really worth feeling bad about in this galaxy, even the Lord of Death is actually not bad, isn't it?

Morgan snorted softly, cursing her increasingly fragile defense, but the moment she looked back at the palmer, her smile froze as quickly as possible: because Malcador had pulled him down at some point. ’s hood was staring at Morgan’s face with a serious face at this time.

This is the second thing that puzzles the Spider Queen about this ritual.

【Why are you so serious? 】

Unknowingly, Morgan's voice also became serious.

[That was a joke, Malcador. 】

"I know."

The Seal Holder nodded, staring at Morgan at a strange angle.

Specifically: staring at the empty space behind Morgan.

"I know you, Morgan: that's why I'm so concerned."

The person holding the seal stopped talking: this question made him a little confused.

"So, I mean..."

"Don't you really feel that there is another kind of breath on that laurel wreath?"

【What? 】

Morgan raised an eyebrow. She turned to look at the Wolf Shepherd who was walking side by side with the Emperor. She stared at his smooth forehead. The olive laurel wreath was carefully carved with pure gold. It was so beautiful that even on a human There are also works of art that can be obtained in the treasure house of the Lord: and there is indeed only her spiritual breath on it?

Being cautious, the Spider Queen checked it two or three times as a habit. She even raised her hand, stretched out her strength, touched it again and even picked up the psychic aura on the laurel wreath. No problems arose during this period.

【I don’t think there is any problem. 】

After repeated inspections, Morgan turned to look at the palmer: Malcador had already walked to her side, his brows almost knitted together without any trace of banter, and he stared closely at the emperor and the Wolf Shepherd as they walked away. figure.

"Actually, so am I."

He nodded, reluctantly admitting this failure.

"Looking at it now, I don't feel there is anything wrong with that crown."

"but……"

The palm bearer hesitated.

"Just now, when the emperor took the laurel crown from your hands, neither of you paid attention to the laurel crown, but I inadvertently glanced at the laurel crown with my soul: Originally This was just a routine inspection just to be on the safe side, so I didn’t look at the laurel crown too seriously.”

"But just that sweep..."

Malcador took a deep breath and whispered out that even he himself had to be careful before bringing up this topic.

"I always feel like I see something else wrapped around that laurel crown."

[Is it the emperor’s? 】

Morgan posited a hypothesis.

"No."

The palm-printer shook his head.

Then, with a livid expression on his face, he gave Morgan an answer with his eyes.

He looked behind Morgan.

Looking at the emptiness where no one exists: only the greatest and craziest psykers can barely perceive the sounds coming from the depths of subspace.

"It's [His]."

【……】

Spider Queen's goosebumps appeared in an instant.

【Are you...sure? 】

Impossible: She had obviously checked that thing over and over again?

"More than confirmation."

Malcador sighed. He looked very tired, and the next words were almost forced out.

"It's [His], yes."

"But I also feel..."

"That's like yours, Morgan."

【……】

These few words made Spider-Woman feel her mouth go dry.