Chapter 328 Angel of Witchcraft
"Of course I know what's going on with Mortarion," Mors teased, not hiding his pride. "I was there when the Emperor conquered Mortarion."
The story of Mortarion is not usually a topic worthy of discussion. Of course, this evaluation does not come from Morse's comments on genes. The Primarch's affection or respect simply stems from the fact that he does not find anything uniquely interesting in the story of a Primarch uniting an army, conquering a homeworld, and returning to the banner of the Aquila.
To be honest, almost every primarch has to do this. They are natural generals.
But Konrad Curze and Sanguinius are different.
This pair of blood relatives who touch the trajectory of the future can easily taste the absurd contrast between reality and prediction based on their preconceived impressions, just like tasting which bottles of Malcador's rare and exquisite stasis field wine cellar are genuine. The precious nectar brewed thousands of years ago is as easy as the temporary forgery of ordinary wine wholesaled by transport ships at the end of the old night.
Of course Mortarion can unite the army and conquer the planet, but what details in this process led to Mortarion being willing to accept the existence of the Emperor in the end is what the prophets will be concerned about. A strange and awe-inspiring experience.
“So, for those of you who are curious, I know exactly what remarkable positive and negative contributions the Emperor made in convincing Mortarion, and what Magnus’s How do you feel about it, for him to stuff into the new journal of the Tianxiao School a research on numerology methods based on natural philosophy that was attached only by the supreme authority of the original body..."
"No," Coates decisively interrupted Morse. This was the first time he took the opportunity to cut off Morse. "I'm not curious."
"I believe his lack of curiosity stems from his inner frustration," Sanguinius smiled at Conrad, "He has seen so much more than I have. That's why a completely different future will shock him more than me. But he's looking forward to this change, right, Conrad? "
"I can't help but be deeply puzzled that a great angel can help me explain my inner moments with sincere feelings." Conrad patted his own robe and swept away the fine sand stuck between a few sutures. , "Go to your people, Sanguinius. They have waited long."
Sanguinius turned to Mors: "Please follow me."
— —
They are tired, thin, and fragile, eroded by the radiation-filled dust haze over the years until their skin is covered with burning scars, and the thin skin on their backs can barely cover their shriveled, curved spines. .
Even if they are tribal leaders united by Sanguinius, they have a high status and are respected by others. When they take off their hoods to show their sincerity in front of Sanguinius, revealing their true appearance that has been weathered by the sand, , they proved equally difficult to escape the common description of the Baal people.
This may be called a conspicuous sign, but if you throw away the pity contained in the description, yes, this is their ugly fate.
Perhaps what is gratifying is that the pure-blood tribe is more in line with the general aesthetics of ordinary humans than the mutants of Barr. Those alien skeletons that succumbed to the wrath of Sanguinius were truly sore-stained, blind-eyed, and twisted in flesh and blood.
When Sanguinius stepped onto his high platform to receive his loyal followers, he was still a little distracted.
The pure-blood secret meeting chosen by the angel was held in a natural grotto. A golden beam of light spills into the darkness from the naturally formed gap at the top of the hall, and is illuminated by candlesticks around it. Amidst the shadows caused by the cracks in the dark rocks, a mysterious and tranquil atmosphere arises spontaneously.
He sat down and announced the names of all the elders gathered in this hall one by one, and asked them all to sit back on the mats instead of standing or kneeling to listen to his holy sermons. .
Mors stood beside Sanguinius, observing everyone's expressions and movements. The devotion in their eyes illuminated Sanguinius's face, and he was forced to respond. His wings stretched uncomfortably a few inches behind his back, then froze, each feather following the direction of the wings.
The pure-blood tribe of Baal reminded Morse of the Barbarians - not in the sense that they were similar, but in the sense that they were different.
Belief gives happiness to the former, even if this happiness will easily occur when they encounter sandstorms, water shortages, radiation bugs, streams bleeding from radiation red mist, grazing livestock dying, radiation sand sticking to the skin causing blisters Sores, and the decision of the archangel son of Baal to leave, these moments disappear as quickly as they come. These are difficulties that faith cannot solve for them.
“The messenger of the Emperor of Mankind has arrived in Baal,” Sanguinius said with a pleasant expression, looking at each of his elders in turn, soothing their emotions with his gaze, “And I will also go to the stars, Fulfill the duties for which I was born.”
He gave his people some time to think, a period of restless restlessness full of whispers, some surges of reluctance, and some thoughts about the angels. The admiration offered by the man in black robe. They loved Sanguinius with all their hearts and every word he spoke - they viewed it almost from the bottom of their hearts as a window into the divine. They do not merely pay homage to the image of an angel, but pay heartfelt homage to the divine essence that Sanguinius represents.
An elder spoke. He was perhaps the oldest among the people present. The skin was loose and hanging around his eyes, making him look extremely tired: "Please return to heaven in peace, Blood Angel. My lord, the Barcelon will live up to your teachings and decrees when you depart."
"I thank you for this, Zomali Sawyer," Sanguinius said.
“When will you come back?” asked another person.
Sanguinius's face froze slightly, "I can't promise you," the angel lowered his eyes sadly, his appearance was in no way arousing pity, it was a more noble and pure sadness, It is sad, "But there must be a day, and it will not be long ago, Imlet Ilsachs."
"Then, Blood Angel, who is the Emperor of Humanity?"
"There are countless stars in the sky above our heads. Each star is a world, inhabited by countless people like us. Humanity The Emperor is the Lord of the Stars, the Guide of all mankind, and he will be the one I follow.”
His words made the elders of the Pure Blood Secret Society marvel. Humanity among the stars, this one. Although the description is recorded in ancient narratives passed down orally, it is too far away and unimaginable for the Baal people who have lived deep in the yellow sand for several generations, living a simple tribal life and coping with the mutant craze.
But only the starry sky can match the great angel in their minds.
The angel gently patted Morse on the shoulder: "This is the messenger of the human emperor and a friend of the emperor. What do you want to say, Morse?"
Morse had to stop and watch the farewell unfold.
“As Sanguinius said, he will participate in the Great Crusade organized by the Emperor of Mankind,” he said objectively, “This is the most noble and magnificent cause in human history, and it will begin at the Tower of Babel. After the collapse, the weak individuals scattered across the world, with language barriers and inconvenient communication, reunited. After the angels left, the blood relatives of the angels and the empire will ensure the survival of Baal."
The sincere eyes of the elders. Staring at Morse, the latter couldn't help but marvel that the angel could bear such a heavy look for decades.
"What shall we call you, Messenger of the Emperor?" said one of the elders, this time a young woman. "What kind of angel are you?"
Sanguinius's wings trembled, and the sadness in his eyes was briefly wiped away by this question.
"They call me the Blood Angel and the Archangel," Sanguinius laughed, "and Conrad the Midnight Angel. What about you, Morse?"
"Then the Angel of Sorcery," Morse really thought about it, and then he replied, "I have been called a wizard for a whole year, and I decided to keep this title."
"Dear Angel of Witchcraft... ..." People said respectfully, regardless of whether they thought the title was weird or not.
“This brings me to another important matter, Baalmen,” Morse said to the audience. “Your archangel has nineteen blood brothers, and now you have met Conrad. ·Koz, the Midnight Angel. He has never brewed wine with the blood of Baal, which shows that Conrad has no unshakable rejection of your respect."
"Then, if in the future, the blood relatives of angels. When you come to Baal again, how can you use your local language to praise other angels fairly and find their own honorable names? ”
(End of this chapter)