How can a retired savior be considered retired if he drops to 40,000?

“I swear here: I wish to achieve the greatest good in the world, and I wish to relieve all suffering in the world.”

Something was happening in the distance.

Guilliman turned around, and everyone on the battlefield turned around as well. They realized at this moment that there was only one person on the entire battlefield, an Astartes, who was not affected by the space change just now and was still standing at the forefront of the battlefield, in front of the Daemon Primarch.

"Ortenaus component, restrictions lifted. Spirit base portrait·Loading, Spirit base embedding·Start."

A golden aura suddenly ignited on Sigismund's body.

"Hypothesis proved to be true. Spiritual base information loaded: No. 24 - Georgos."

Meow (six o'clock)

Before I played, I guessed all the people in the West Sword Saint's work transfer unit in the paragraph comment! ! !

Don't peek into my brain!!!

(It’s easy to guess that the little seal got into the ice hole)

(End of this chapter)

Chapter 121: Old Man Huang Does Not Observe Martial Ethics

When the shadow of a golden giant rose from the ground, everyone present realized why something that seemed to go against any tactical theory, such as "taking everyone away from the front line while protecting the military formation", happened.

In this scenario, they need a means of preventing friendly fire.

The phantom obviously did not exist in reality, but that did not mean it would not have an impact on reality. It seemed translucent and insubstantial, as harmless as a holographic image projected in the air, but in fact, the magnificent power from the warp space had crossed the barrier of the veil because of those few chants and landed on the appropriate catalyst, imposing a reality that should not exist but existed here on the physical universe.

It was a golden giant wearing a simple armor—probably only one or two layers of iron plates, with almost no protection and no additional functions—riding a tall horse also covered with a little armor, holding a knight's lance that could only be regarded as a wooden stick. In the eyes of people of this era, this image was undoubtedly weird and ridiculous.

Although this image did not exist in any of the records widely circulated in the empire, and everyone present could hardly tell when this ancient image originated, an intuition from the bottom of their hearts told them all:

That is the Emperor.

Giorgios - Saint George, in this universe, is an identity used at a certain time and place by the Immortal Emperor whose life course runs through the entire history of human civilization. As the same existence in different universes, after a brief discussion and request, Giorgios, whom Fujimaru Ritsuka knew, generously agreed to lend his spiritual base data as a suitable way for the Emperor to project his own power in this universe.

And this path was given by the Emperor to his first champion.

Even if it was just a tiny fragment of the Emperor at a certain point in time, when its projection was imposed on reality, it caused the earth to shake, the wind to howl, and the impact of flying sand and rocks could easily break the targets set up to mark the distance on the battlefield, and then fly all the way back and hit the defense of the True Circle Gathering Oath Star brought by it, so as not to cause casualties to the soldiers of the Empire - this is just the power that can be "seen".

As for those that are invisible, perhaps the remaining demons who did not have time to escape and screamed and turned into ashes in the blink of an eye when the golden light appeared, can explain this with their tragic end.

This was not an energy that anyone, not even a Cursed Astartes, could withstand. The combination of Sigismund's status as the Emperor's Champion and Georgos's spiritual base data made the process safer and easier, but it was only relative. The aftermath of the Titan's appearance had already reached a terrifying scale and influence. For someone who directly carried this power in reality, the pressure Sigismund was under was still unimaginable to ordinary people.

This is why, although the spiritual base data is also loaded by Ortenaus, other people can access the power they bring anytime and anywhere. Only in the case of the Emperor Champion, it requires the simultaneous approval of himself, Fujimaru Ritsuka and the Emperor, and is combined with a simplified summoning ceremony to be established.

...Although most of the time, the "simultaneous approval of the three parties" in this procedure is nothing more than the emperor's one-sided decision.

While Fujimaru Ritsuka does have her own ideas, she and the Emperor tend to agree when it comes to matters of life and death; and Sigismund...

The Emperor's Champion's self-image remains clear to this day: he is a tool shaped by the Emperor's will.

The tool itself uncomplainingly bore the unconscious erosion of the Emperor's violent psychic energy, and endured the pain that could be described as bone-eating and heart-breaking. This power could have burned him to ashes in an instant, but with the various conditions added later and the support of Fujimaru Ritsuka, it only became extreme torture - not unbearable, so not unacceptable. This is what Sigismund thought.

He stood there quietly in pain, looking forward with an almost indifferent feeling. Mortarion, who was originally huge and majestic, was dwarfed by the golden giant, and the corruption and pollution on his body also burned automatically under the brilliance. The demon primarch endured the severe pain and flapped his wings hurriedly to escape. In the next moment, he was grabbed by a golden big hand and picked up from the ground like a child picking up a soldier statue.

“You cannot catch me!” Mortarion shouted at the wind. “You can only destroy my form! Even if you burn my body with your blasphemous fire, my essence will still be——”

A loud rumbling sound that penetrated the heavens and the earth interrupted his wailing.

"Mortarion," the golden giant said. "My son."

The Emperor cast a look of compassion in his tangible golden eyes, and his rebellious son seemed to sense it. He instinctively raised his head, and fear was clearly revealed in his cloudy eyes:

"…No, you can't! You can't do that!"

The Emperor remained silent, and the screams of the demon primarch filled with pain and fear resounded across the plain. However, everything that happened next happened very quickly - a brilliant golden light burst out from the shadow of "Saint George", and regardless of whether the spectators avoided it or not, it did take away the sight and hearing of everyone present. And after an unknown amount of time, when the light gradually faded, only Sigismund's lonely figure remained.

The armies of Nurgle, the taint of Chaos, the image of the Emperor and the Daemon Primarch himself, all vanished from the plains north of Tyros. For a moment, all was silent, save for the faint sound of the wind, a silence too unreal to be real.

It was as if the fierce battle before was just a nightmare.

-

"He shouldn't have been able to do that! How could a cursed person do that! No one can do that—He broke the rules of the game!"

The huge, dilapidated and filthy palace trembled with the mighty anger of its master, and the living, rotting and flexible branches wailed and played appropriate music, trying to appease the Plague God who was rarely furious. But the "music" that always worked in the past, which would cause the spirits of mortals who heard such sounds to decay in an instant, failed to soothe Nurgle's panicked heart this time.

The soul and essence of Mortarion, the beloved one he had carefully snatched from the cursed, who should have been firmly controlled in his hands, was slowly burning under the golden flames.

——The Emperor, who had been lending psychic energy to Fujimaru Ritsuka through a power similar to a contract for a long time, did not gain nothing in the process. Just like the former could directly establish a connection with the devil by simply calling his name, although it was not so exaggerated, the Emperor had indeed learned how to use the "fate" between himself as the creator and the descendants of the original body.

Mortarion's soul and essence cried out in agony in his palm, while Nurgle, in anger and panic, tried to extinguish the flames. He swelled his huge body, and the living walls and rotten roofs screamed to make way for their creator and ruler. In this palace complex that was larger than the size of a planet, Nurgle himself had expanded to one-third of its size in an instant.

He held that part of Mortarion in his stinking palm, and vomited a waterfall of corrupt pus from the structure that could be roughly called a "mouth", trying to extinguish the Emperor's flame. This seemed to be effective at first, but then, those golden spots emerged from the essence of the Primarch again like a cancer.

Nurgle was painfully aware that as long as the "other part" of Mortarion remained under the control of the Emperor's psychic power, the erosion of "this part" would not stop.

He has already suffered too many setbacks in this battle, and he cannot accept a greater loss, let alone a Primarch. Nurgle is therefore preparing to start wrestling with the Damned - if there is no other way, he would never want to do this, but he has already lost his pioneer in the mortal world, and if he loses another Primarch, he will fall far behind in the great game among the gods.

Mortarion's essence slowly melted in his palm. He knew that if these things were burned, the warp energy that made them up might be reborn under the will of the damned, just as he allowed the lifeless ones who were scattered and exiled in the real universe to be reborn under his wings. Although the power of the damned was strong, they had not officially ascended to the throne of God after all. If a tug-of-war was to be waged here, then Nurgle believed that he still had the advantage.

However, a subtle touch was transmitted from his garden to his palace. As the master of the entire domain, Nurgle knew all the territories under his rule and could come and go freely. He knew the source of this strange touch with a thought, and the source itself made him terrified:

A huge golden warship was hovering over his vast garden. Its bow was decorated with a golden eagle, and the towers and gun ports at the rear were also extremely carved, which was very luxurious. The entire ship was undoubtedly a giant among warships, but it still seemed dwarfed in the sky above the Plague God's territory, which was larger than a planet. What frightened Nurgle was not its size or firepower, but the fact that it was almost entirely forged by the Emperor's psychic energy.

He realized that he had to make a difficult choice between the Primarch's soul and essence, and his own territory.

Meow (leopard death).

Woohoo…Hiroshi Nagano… (Crawling around in the ice cave)

(End of this chapter)

Chapter 122 Day of Wrath

Mortarion felt himself being torn apart.

This description may not be quite correct, because time in the subspace runs ambiguously. Even things that happen in the past or future may be reflected in the perception of the "present" in the cognition of the person involved.

A more correct statement might be this: Mortarion was torn apart at some point in the past, present, or future, and he is now being forced to experience that pain.

He was indeed still being roasted by the Emperor's psychic energy. The golden flames burned away the filth and disease on his body, causing more damage to his already rotten shell.

Mortarion's biological father was undoubtedly a highly skilled and ruthless bioengineer. The damage was inflicted at a very appropriate rate, and there was still time for the extraordinary recovery ability that he naturally possessed as a Primarch to be activated. New, normal body tissues ignored his own will and quickly filled in the burn scars, prolonging the torture endlessly.

The pain of the flames, and the pain of the regeneration of his flesh, combined would have been enough to drive any mortal to such agony that he could no longer think - but now Mortarion was almost insensitive to it.

The feeling of being torn apart is a million times more intense and terrifying than this.

"You damn warlord, what have you done to me!" He struggled in the ocean of pain, and seized the opportunity to surface by chance to question the culprit in his eyes.

He only saw a hazy, shapeless golden light. The huge and majestic figure of St. George had disappeared soon after they passed through the curtain, and now the only thing that answered him rumblingly was a vague, unrecognizable human figure.

"I did nothing to you." This sentence seemed to be spoken by many different people at the same time, but it was indeed the voice of the "Emperor" that Mortarion had heard before. "What you should ask is what you did to yourself."

In that moment, or that eternity, countless fragments flooded into Mortarion's mind. The truth that he had convinced himself not to see, the cognition that he had been blinded by Chaos, the memories that he had deliberately forgotten or deliberately stripped away, all appeared in his consciousness at the same time. Too much information overwhelmed the Primarch's brain, and Mortarion screamed in the uncontrolled torrent.

The Emperor seemed to say something else, but Mortarion was unclear. His senses faithfully transmitted everything that happened around him as usual, but his overloaded brain could not process the content. In the midst of so much torture and ravage, out of the self-protection mechanism that any living creature should have, Mortarion's consciousness was forced to shut down at this moment.

But everything that was happening was still continuing beyond the Primarch's perception.

-

There was no doubt that this was the wrath of another god. Even those Great Unclean Ones, who had served Nurgle for so long and were thus closely connected to him, were convinced of this.

This rage was surging out from the Emperor's Dream in an almost physical way.

He was one of the most outstanding creations on Terra ten thousand years ago, a ship designed and built by the Emperor at all costs using the technology handed down from the Dark Age of Technology. His combat effectiveness has never been comparable to those later assembly line products, and even compared with the Glorious Queen-class battleship assigned to the Primarch as the flagship, he has surpassed it in various parameters.

The black muzzles on the keel of the huge battleship lit up one by one, and within a heartbeat, ten nova shells were already whistling out of the barrel. On ordinary Imperial battleships, their plasma reactors could only support it to carry one such macro cannon, and fire at an extremely irregular frequency, but on the Emperor's Dream, a salvo of ten shells was only an appetizer.

These shells, which were almost the same size as the Titans, had been accelerated to near the speed of light before leaving the barrels, and each one was also equipped with a delayed fusion reactor, a deflagration storm accelerator, and an extreme fusion warhead. If it were a battle in the void, such a salvo could undoubtedly destroy an entire fleet in the firing range, and such a terrifying attack force was being projected towards Nurgle's gardens and palaces.

The time and space of the Warp are uncertain, and as a Chaos God, Nurgle can certainly control them to a certain extent - especially, this is still within his own domain. Although his garden is now, in the past, and forever, he believes that he can still throw these attacks elsewhere through the turbulence of time and space.

He first lengthened the distance between the Emperor's Dream, which was like a dark cloud pressing down on him, and his garden. This was a scene that could never happen in a world that followed the laws of physics: if any mortal in the garden could keep his sanity and look up, he or she would still be able to see the majestic figure of the Emperor's flagship. However, the ten shells fired by the ship, which were extremely close to the speed of light, did not land until three full seconds later.

Nurgle should have used the extra three seconds to divert the shells to the desolate, unimportant, or unloved worlds in his domain, but when he tried to do so, he found that the psychic energy of the damned was like a stubborn glue that stuck the shells to his garden.

He tried to stretch, freeze, and lock those three seconds, trying to find a possibility that could save his garden. He spent an unknown amount of time in those three seconds, trying countless possible solutions, and even wanted to throw the ship itself out of his garden - but none of his attempts worked. In the end, he had to admit that he had failed.

Perhaps his old rival could have done more in this desperate situation, but he could not. Besides, the constant wailing of Mortarion's essence was too distracting for him.

So in the end, the attack that was enough to destroy an entire fleet still fell on the corrupt yet vibrant garden. The thunder and fire rain from the sky completely burned the wet and smelly ground, ruthlessly devouring any life growing on it in eternal destruction.

The scale of the God of Plague's Garden was almost boundless. The palace standing in the center of the garden alone was larger than an ordinary planet. Even if an attack that could destroy a fleet fell, destroying billions of lives and the soil they depended on for survival, it would only be a drop in the ocean from the overall perspective - but things didn't work that way.

For Nurgle, he loves all the lives under his command equally. A tree, a human, a Great Unclean One, an ant, and even an insignificant microorganism are all the same to him.

The huge number overwhelmed the quality at this time, tilting the scale in Nurgle's heart - moreover, if He did not make a statement on this, things would obviously continue. He could of course start a war with the creations of the cursed, but in this process, how many of His children would be turned into ashes and forever separated from the perfect and elegant cycle of three?

His losses in this war were indeed enough.

As the Emperor's Dream's macro-cannons were recalibrated, the Plague Father sighed and released the essence of the Primarch in his hand, letting it howl in pain and melt in the golden flames. The Cursed One wants his son back, so just give it back to him. The Great Game must continue, even if Nurgle's own power will be greatly damaged by this failure, but as a god who can exist eternally at the same time, Nurgle believes that one day he will be able to return to the chessboard.

He thought that this matter could end just like that, but it didn't. At the moment when Mortarion's essence completely disappeared from His fingers, the nova cannon on the keel of the Emperor's Dream fired again.

——Thirteen salvos. The real war will begin now.

In the split second before the shells hit the ground, the Plague God suddenly realized in the midst of his angry roar: the Accursed wanted more than just his son, more than just to push Nurgle himself off the board of the Great Game.

He wanted Him to die.

This is something Nurgle would never accept calmly.

Meow (six o'clock)

(End of this chapter)

Chapter 123: The Primarch is a tough guy

He woke up in a phantom light and felt more complete than ever before.

This is a very strange thing - completeness, for most creatures, is a concept that is taken for granted, like the basic resource that sustains their lives. Just like people need to breathe air when they are born, but if they were not suddenly drowned, I am afraid no one would realize how precious air is to human survival. Similarly, if people have never experienced loss, they will not be happy about returning to completeness.

He couldn't remember when in the past he had experienced loss, but the relaxation and pleasure that completeness brought him were still extremely vivid.

For a short while, he couldn't remember anything. All the information, records, knowledge, theories, past experiences and thinking abilities were still in his mind, but his dull mind couldn't retrieve the truly useful parts from this pile of messy matters and sort them out. He did remember everything, but at the same time, he couldn't remember anything.

During this brief period, he was just himself, and he felt pure joy for his own completeness. However, happiness was short-lived, and his Primarch-level thinking ability woke up from a brief hibernation despite his will, and his information processing ability came online again, starting to sort out the huge archive room in his mind that had been in disrepair and covered with dust for a long time.

Then he remembered: he was Mortarion, the champion of Barbarus, the fourteenth Primarch, the Lord of the Death Guard, a contradictory aggregate. He was once a human, but he obviously surpassed humans in all functions; he despised psychic power, but he himself had a very high psychic talent; he longed for salvation and resistance, but he only lost again and again, and knelt down under power and strength again and again.

In an unprecedented clarity, he realized how ridiculous his life was. A part of him realized this from a third-party perspective, and another larger part of him felt almost crazy pain because of it. For a moment, he even thought about death.

But he did not really go crazy, nor did he really die. Mentally speaking, this was indeed a big blow, but it could not completely defeat a Primarch. And in the flash of a second when he thought of death, he suddenly realized that he was indeed dead - and the dead cannot die a second time.

Mortarion's strong will still worked in places he didn't want, even though he wanted to go crazy and give up control of his consciousness and escape from this torture. But he couldn't do it.

The vivid past flowed mercilessly before his eyes regardless of his own will - dots and dots, lines and lines, events and events, mistakes and mistakes. Under this quiet, indifferent and apathetic light curtain, he was forced to recall all the bits and pieces of his life, the sweet success was fleeting, and the bitterness of failure always remained.

In this torture, he unconsciously swore and began to curse others. Cursing the Emperor, cursing the children who betrayed him, cursing all other beings who went against his will, and cursing the alien adoptive father who abused and tortured him at the beginning of his life. He cursed everything he could think of, as if his failure in life was caused by them.

He once again tried to hide in the cage of self-deception, telling himself that this was not his problem, in order to avoid these mental pressures. But this time, he failed. Some strange force forced him to look into his heart and focus on the real source of the problem - which was often himself.

"This must be a trick of the Emperor's psychic powers!" He screamed frantically under the pressure. "Cursed corpse on the throne! You can't defeat me in this way!"

"That's true - I mean the part about the psychic trick." Another gentle voice responded, "But he doesn't want to defeat you with it. On the contrary, he hopes you can survive it."

"Who is talking!" Mortarion roared.

As he asked this question, a brilliant figure immediately emerged from the surroundings that originally seemed to be empty except for the light. He seemed to be unstable in shape, and his shadowy figure sometimes rose and sometimes fell, but he always had one feature - the pair of white and graceful wings behind him, which could never be mistaken.

"Sanguinius," Mortarion said with obvious venom in his voice, "Even the glorious archangel is now playing tricks on his brothers?"

"I am not playing tricks. I have always been here," said the humanoid light ball, probably Sanguinius. "It's just that I am incomplete, and you were so immersed in your own world that you didn't notice me."

A little stimulation from the outside world diverted Mortarion's attention from the battle with himself, and the shame, pain, grief and other unbearable negative emotions brought about by self-torture subsided a little.

“You know, I envy you.” Sanguinius spoke gently, as if Mortarion had never said anything bad to him, as if the great rebellion ten thousand years ago had never happened - as if they were still brothers who rarely got together during the intervals of the Great Crusade, sitting at the same table and chatting. “I also want to complete my soul one day earlier, but...ah.”

Mortarion had no idea why the other party said this, but that didn't stop him from sneering and mocking: "And then, like me, you will be forced to relive your life as a loser over and over again? Oh, I'm so sorry. You have lived an extremely brilliant life, so you don't think you are afraid of this, right?"

The betrayer laughed maliciously in his agony, but Sanguinius acted indifferent, as if the other party had never said such a word.