Chapter 311 A Harmony
With Mortarion's permission, the Emperor bent down so that his tall golden body could enter the chamber. In order to drag the object he held with his golden claws into the house, a piece of earth and stone around the door frame was knocked off and scattered on the ground, raising a lot of mist-like dust.
The dust fell and the thing took shape. Morse raised his eyebrows and looked up at the Emperor.
The Emperor blinked. The last time he showed such vivid eyes was on world 154-4, playing the role of mortal Fath in front of a bunch of Primarchs.
+Good. +The Emperor's expression remained unchanged, and a brief psychic message flashed by.
The Primarch Mortarion, who was very sensitive to this, was aware of this and uneasily let his alert gaze rest on the master of witchcraft Mors in his eyes.
Morse sighed exaggeratedly, "What are you holding this for, Emperor?"
He made a motion to observe what was grasped in the Emperor's claws.
Judging from the strength of his spiritual energy, he is also a sorcery overlord, but he is not Mortarion's breeder, Naklay.
His limbs were cut off, leaving only the main body of the body and an ugly head in a coma. Looking through the undigested parts of his digestive system through fluoroscopy, it can be seen that before being suddenly snatched away by the Emperor, he was eating some kind of green leafy vegetables mixed with sliced meat and sauce, and drinking something suitable for drinking when the afternoon sun was shining on the garden. brown tea.
"It will be our enemy," the Emperor replied, speaking simply.
Perhaps from his son Rogal Dorn, this father also learned how to reduce the possibility of angering others with inappropriate language.
“We are new here, how can we have enemies?”
Morse pinched his chin and walked around the room casually, blocking Mortarion from looking at the sorcery overlord. sight.
As expected, Mortarion took the initiative to change his angle and began to observe the Emperor's prey probingly.
He has almost never met any sorcery overlords other than Nacre. With a few exceptions, Nacre used him as an exhibit to show to other overlords who maintained superficial peace with him because of their own interests.
But Mortarion could recognize the filth and evil that he abhorred.
The original body asked blankly: "What is that..."
Morse pretended not to hear Mortarion's words. Additionally, he discovered that the name Perturabo had given him shared the same prefix as Mortarion. He wanted to laugh a little.
“We are also people who use witchcraft,” Morse continued, his face sinking into the shadows of the room, and a crimson flame on his fingertips dimmed and appeared. “As for killing, I still need to do it for you. Do you count how many bones were trampled by the hoofs of the Great Crusade?”
"We do not come for slaughter." The Emperor threw his captives to the ground, standing opposite Mors instead of side by side. "Every enemy of mankind is our enemy. The annihilation that has just occurred, So that the human souls here are not desecrated and insulted by evil magic."
"Tsk, that's just your dream-"
"Why did you catch him?" Said Mute, staggeringly standing up with the scythe on his back.
A pair of eyes in his pale face first stared at the unknown sorcerer overlord on the ground with hatred, and then looked up at the emperor, his disgust began to be mixed with other emotions.
The Emperor replied with a calm face that seemed to remain unchanged from time immemorial: "He is the enemy of mankind."
"Lies." Mortarion spat with bravado. "Witchcraft is the greatest threat to mankind."
"By the Star Torch, he is right, Emperor." Morse whispered softly. When he laughed, this burst of laughter was like a steel needle on the experimental table, stimulating Mortarion's nerves. "In the eyes of some... extremely intelligent people, aren't you also an enemy of mankind?"
Facing Morse, the emperor did not open his mouth to defend himself, but just looked away, his eyebrows lowered. There was a sense of loss and melancholy.
"What...are you going to do with this person?" Mortarion's sickle blade drew across the ground, the tip pointed at the unconscious unknown sorcery overlord.
The Emperor put away his fleeting expression of true feelings, and his body language returned to coldness.
On the surface, he seems to be just a king.
However, people who are sensitive by nature often especially like to deny a person's mask-like appearance. If kindness is on the surface, malice must be on the inside. vice versa.
"Kill," the Emperor announced.
Morse clapped beside him: "Come on, my Emperor. You can dig out his heart."
The Emperor did not listen to Morse's words. The dark eyes with golden light stayed on Mortarion.
Then the Emperor asked.
"You wish to kill him?" the Emperor asked Mortarion.
"I don't know if he wants to, seeing as he's holding a farm implement..." Morse said softly, the consonants floating in the air.
Before he finished speaking, Mortarion had already thrust his scythe forward. In an instant, the tip of the knife penetrated the back of the sorcerer overlord's neck, hooked into his brain, and then moved forward. When it was lifted, it was stabbed from the face, and blood flowed along the blade.
The Primarch grabbed hold of the sorcerous overlord's torso and pulled the scythe back, tearing off his head with ease.
He wiped the blood from his face, held the sickle, and looked at Morse gloomily.
Morse laughed, and this time the laughter was indeed out of emotion. "I lost, Mortarion. You won."
Mortarion looked away and tossed the remains of the sorcerer overlord at the Emperor's feet. "I killed him," he said, lifting his chin.
"Do you wish to kill more?" asked the Emperor.
Mortarion did not give his answer directly. The smell of scorched earth and the putrid smell of the dead, along with the poisonous mist, corroded his respiratory tract, causing a long tug-of-war between the Primarch's resilience and the backlog of trauma.
He completed an execution without any real sense of accomplishment.
Mortarion looked around. Nearly a hundred villagers once lived here. They were poor, hungry, and technologically backward, but they took him in, and their kindness overcame their fear and gave him hope for a new life, showing others what they could live for.
A home. Mortarion thought dazedly. There is only this one.
Today, the village has been unforgivably destroyed, and his own enemies are still overlooking the land of Barbarus in the foggy mountaintops. Nacre sneered and planned the next round of shameless plunder, as if he dreamed that he would once again surrender to the Overlord's feet.
Even if Mortarion knew rationally, the death of this sorcery overlord already symbolized the revenge of many lives that had nothing to do with him. But Mortarion was not happy.
"What about you?" Mortarion asked. "Are you going to kill more?"
"I have seen how many stars sorcery and xenos can destroy," the Emperor breathed slowly, his chest rising and falling regularly, "Every one is corrupted , how many billions of humans live on the destroyed planet. Death is everywhere, some are necessary, some are not. "
"Then why do you continue to use witchcraft? Tarien became agitated again.
One of the targets of the resentment that has been buried in his heart for many years is the witchcraft that caused Barbarus to fall into the hands of the alien overlord and caused him to suffer for many years. With every broken bone and torn tendon, as he languished miserably in prison, his hatred of witchcraft and cruel tyranny deepened.
Silence spreads in the hut, floating along with the crumbs of earth that fell off the roof. In this narrow space crowded with three people, Mortarion felt an unreasonable loneliness.
He didn't want to appear intolerable. You don't want to look like you're giving in, becoming weak.
However, however...
He wanted the emperor in golden armor to give him an answer.
"I am only a human," the Emperor said softly, as if this sentence was enough to explain everything.
Another shadow flashed past him. It was an old man wearing a gray robe. His face was tired and marked with the scars of time. Mortarion continued to look at the Emperor, trying to see the true shadow clearly. At this time, he could only see the splendor and majesty on his surface.
He cannot be just an overlord. Mortarion concluded.
"He cannot say that he is 'just' a human." Mors twitched the corner of his mouth. "This is true, Mortarion. I sincerely advise you not to think that the Emperor is What a perfect man."
"Morse is right," said the Emperor, "I will conquer the galaxy to protect the entire human race."
"Oh, Witch. Technological Overlord..."
"He is not," Mortarion blurted out, decisively rejecting Morse's sarcasm.
With no time to be surprised that he had said this, Mortarion continued to the Emperor: "I want to kill more sorcerers, Emperor," he said awkwardly He addressed the Emperor, "But I have to rely on my own strength."
The Emperor looked at him quietly: "I need a general."
Mortari Ann said nothing. Memories of Naklay grew noisy in his mind.
The Overlord once told him that he could be his general, his most trusted subordinate, and even the heir to the kingdom he ruled with fear. While being tortured like a plaything, he was forced to learn martial arts, conspiracy, and the use of fear and extermination. And the more joyful Naklay was, the more disgusted Mortarion became.
When he escaped from the castle on the mountain, he watched the dismembered humans being stitched back into driven monsters by the witchcraft of death, and watched Barbarus being enslaved, oppressed, and crushed by the nightmare of witchcraft. Under tyranny, everything is crushed.
Sympathy for humans and hatred for everything that happened to him overlapped with each other. Mortarion had long decided to kill the overlords one by one and purify this dirty land.
The adoption of the village delayed his revenge. As soon as he understood how to accept a family, his new home was torn to pieces by his past.
Under the rule of a tyrant, there is no room for emotion or hope.
"I will not serve another overlord." He said stiffly. This was no longer a sarcasm against the emperor, but an implementation and emphasis on his own will. "I can't be your lackey."
"It's a tool." The Emperor tried to correct him attentively, "I don't need lackeys."
Mortarion had just felt a stinging discomfort, and this emotion was blocked by the hands beside him. The cold face of Morse who was surrounded by him was extinguished.
"You heard me, Emperor," Mors said, "He doesn't want to go with you. We might as well go to Baal."
This time, Mortarion did not follow Maul Sri Lanka plays devil's advocate. Although he pursues the execution of other witchcraft overlords, it is not absolute. Only Nacre's deformed and ugly twisted body must be killed by him himself.
That is his mission, his purpose. That was the only thing he could still cling to after the people in the village died.
"Your strength proves that you don't need me as your help, Emperor." Mortarion's face was expressionless, as if his emotions had been overwhelmed and destroyed by Barbarus' poisonous gas, drowning in the ominous swamp and dim fog. middle. "Go conquer your universe and leave Nacre to me."
Universe. What a lofty word. In his cognition and memory, the endless starry sky was out of reach. He does not understand it, nor does he want to understand it.
The arrival of these two extraterrestrial visitors suddenly opened a new door for him. Witchcraft and aliens burn the stars, and hundreds of millions of mortals gather on them.
Those endless things do not belong to him, and his family has died in Barbarus. He is at odds with the stars, and Mortarion belongs to the land of Barbarus.
"Leave Naklay to you?" the Emperor repeated. In the reflection of the dazzling golden armor, his face was reflected like a piece of golden tissue paper. The paper was hard and cold, but not thick enough.
"Wait for me," the Emperor said, turning and walking away again, walking into the thick fog, leaving the stunned Mortarion behind.
"Sit down for a moment," Morse said, leaning against the wall again. "I see you hunched over in the room, which is not good for your waist."
"That's enough, wizard." Mortarion said coldly, with a kind of contempt in his tone. He coughed twice and walked out of the room, silent.
Morse followed him out of the room and looked up at him. Each Primarch may have differed in height, but they were all taller than Morse.
"Ten minutes ago, the Emperor and I said the same word," Morse said, laughing. "'Enough,' you both said. And I'm just advising you. Sit down and rest.”
Mortarion fell silent again. This habit of accumulating anger in silence reminds Morse of the young Perturabo forty years ago.
The difference between the two is that Perturabo cut his neck out of anger on the first night, expressing his anger towards everything. And Mortarion allowed the silent fire to turn into putrid poison, eating away at his own mind.
"What are you thinking?" Morse asked calmly. "Wondering why you would reject a path that would save your people more quickly? At least that's what I'm thinking."
I cannot risk handing Barbarus over to another tyrant. Mortarion said in his mind.
“Why does he need me? What does he want to use me for?”
"On the one hand, liberating the entire galaxy requires enough help. He will be alone and unable to support himself." Morse said, "On the other hand..."
He suddenly stopped talking and glanced at He glanced at Mortarion and snorted dissatisfiedly.
“What is it?”
“How can I get past the Emperor’s lips when he has not opened his mouth?”
“Tell me!” Mortarion roared Said, his fist hit the wall hard, finally destroying the entire crumbling house.
The smoke dispersed, and Morse shook his hair, letting the gravel fall from his hair.
"Because the Emperor is a fool who lost a lot of sons, and you are his blood son," Morse's black robe corners fluttered in the wind, and the annoyance on his face was not visible. Seemingly hypocritical, "Damn it! Who else but him would create twenty children at once? Why would he do so many things!"
Suddenly, a wave of emotions stirred up in Mortarion's spirit. Horrifying wind. He took a step back in confusion, and something new was touching the surface of his heart from the inside out.
"He didn't say..."
He can use this blood to control me, use me, bind me with the shackles and ties of family affection, order me, and use the power of witchcraft Come to intimidate me, lock me down.
But he didn't.
"Because he cannot promise you the affection a father should have for his son, Mortarion." Morse said, his expression calming.
"First of all, he is the leader of the Great Crusade, the Emperor of the Galaxy. He is the master of all armies, the father of all people, the eternal king of all ages. And in the end, he is He is the father of a son. "
"After a long time, you may find that you have misunderstood him, overestimated him, and mistakenly thought that he was worthy of sympathy or too glorious. You may feel sorry for him. Be angry, be silent in regret. But at the same time, you will also find that there are no lies here today."
A complex torrent rolled up in Mortarion's chest.
"How could he have a subordinate like you?" the Primarch whispered gloomily.
“We have to ask him, the Emperor’s child.” Morse nodded, “Look, he is coming.”
The Emperor’s golden armor emerged in the thick fog. , the power gathered on this spiritual projection was reduced by another layer, reflecting his spiritual energy consumption. His golden light further converged, changing from a soft halo to a certain degree of dimness.
He dropped the body of another sorcerer overlord at Mortarion's feet. Likewise, the Emperor incapacitated his prey but preserved his life.
"A gift," said the Emperor, "not a Na'klay. Do you want more?"
Mortarion pursed his lips, the edge of the scythe flashed, and he completed the execution of another overlord.
He turned and walked away without saying a word, and his pale figure disappeared into the thick fog of dusk, leaving behind the dead village, the corpse of the witchcraft overlord and the two alien visitors.
(End of this chapter)