Warhammer: Saving Humanity Begins with the Resurrection of Horus

Page 187

"A tradition that has disappeared today is probably that a hero would meet with his admirers one by one in a public place, and then shake hands and take photos with them."

Lynch looked at Rogdorn and explained.

"Doesn't it feel very familiar?"

"But I think this is the best approach right now."

"In one place, they meet their offspring one by one, and the order is completely randomized by drawing lots. Indeed, this might be a good method."

Lin Xi sighed and said.

"But I really want to complain."

"Then keep complaining."

Wanshi responded calmly, then glanced outside the door, awaiting the arrival of his next offspring.

At the church entrance, an incredibly long line was being orderly arranged. Whether they were Imperial Fists, Black Templars, or Executioners, these Sons of Dorne were mixed together without any distinction of warbands, silently waiting to be received by their father.

A strange feeling began to linger between them.

And that's exactly the effect Rogdorn needed.

After all, facing the enemies ahead, scattered battle groups are destined to be ineffective, as there is no single, complete legion that can fully unleash its combat power.

Chapter 220 Extra: The Phoenix Whispers in a Dream (A whimsical idea I wrote previously)

death.

eternal life.

decay.

reincarnation.

Now we need to add "perfect".

No one knows what he went through, nor does anyone know why he fell to such a state.

Sometimes, fate likes to play cruel jokes on people. For example, a gentle person may eventually become a mad monster, a free spirit may become a hunter's loyal hound, and an idealist may become a dark blade. Fate is like that; it's a whore, a bastard, a jovial, playful god whose purpose is to satisfy its own perverse pleasures, watching those it manipulates struggle on its threads, and little by little, transform into something they could never have accepted in their former selves.

With a gentle flutter of its wings, the phoenix opened its eyes in the garden.

Those were captivating eyes, a pale purple hue, seemingly containing a deep, ancient well. Gazing into those eyes, one might even momentarily doubt whether they were seeing the most dazzling gemstones in the world, their boundless brilliance captivating every viewer, irresistibly drawing them in.

However, when the viewer's gaze shifts slightly from those eyes to the body of its owner, they will instantly calm down, vomit while their body trembles, and wonder if they have seen the ugliest monster in the world.

There were no strong muscles, no slender figure. Bloated and decaying were the perfect descriptions of this body. Layers of unclean fat, infested with bacteria and viruses, piled up in the abdomen, and thick pus slowly oozed from the ruptured abscesses. The once magnificent armor, painstakingly crafted by skilled artisans, had been corroded beyond recognition, with only a few fragments still hanging on its master. The machine spirit within howled in agony, like a poet of a fallen kingdom lamenting to passersby.

The phoenix gently fluttered its wings, causing the Nurgles hanging above it to fall. The phoenix didn't like these little creatures; their appearances were always inconsiderate and extremely noisy, always waking it from its slumber.

"Stay away from me..."

The phoenix grumbled in dissatisfaction, and foul liquid leaked from its tattered mouth. The Nurgles cheered and strode joyfully to the ground where the liquid had fallen, stretching out their long tongues to greedily lick it up.

The phoenix looked down at the little creatures, watching them lick the liquid from the soil and then burp contentedly, watching them snuggle together and sleep soundly, watching them get along so affectionately with each other. After a long silence, it stood up and took steps with its legs, which were now as thick as marble pillars supporting a house, toward the depths of the garden, toward the little territory that its loving father had granted it.

There was nothing on the territory—no palace, no offspring, not even the Nurgles or other demons that usually roamed the gardens. Only a small, unremarkable wooden cabin stood quietly. The phoenix stretched out its hand, looking at the doorway that seemed far too small for its current size, and sighed helplessly.

The next moment, Phoenix stretched out her hands, grabbed the fat on her body, and slowly but firmly began to tear it off.

Bloody fat was continuously torn off and thrown to the ground. From the face to the neck, torso, and limbs. Every thick layer of fat on the body was cruelly peeled away. A bloody face was exposed to the air, but in an instant, the bleeding was stopped. Skin rapidly grew on the skinless flesh, and as the blood fell away under gravity, a pale and emaciated face reappeared on the flesh.

This self-torn torture lasted for seven minutes. After seven minutes, the torture ended, and the huge, bloated, rotting phoenix was replaced by another form.

A thin, almost mortal man stood amidst a small mountain of fat, seemingly oblivious to the stench around him. With his ever-present, beautiful eyes, he stepped up the stairs and pushed open the wooden door of the small house.

The cabin was just like the outside world, completely empty except for two things. There were no artworks, no daily necessities, not even any furniture except for a small bed. Phoenix came to the bedside, looking at the man on the bed who had no limbs and whose body was tightly bound by white bandages, his voice gentle as water.

"I am coming."

The man on the bed opened his eyes and looked at Phoenix with his dull, gray eyes. He looked at his former brother and comrade-in-arms. After staring at him for a full five seconds, he closed his eyes and resolutely turned his head away.

Are you still persisting?

The phoenix continued, saying that he had been doing something like this for ten thousand years. For ten thousand years, he had come here day and night without fail, whispering in his brother's ear. He had never used torture, because he firmly believed that he could persuade his brother to join him in embracing true eternity and redemption.

And so, ten millennia passed.

Ten thousand years of persuasion, ten thousand years of torment.

Phoenix never gave up, and neither did his brothers.

Logically speaking, such days should continue for a long time, perhaps even forever, becoming a daily occurrence in the garden.

But for some reason, today, Phoenix, Forgrim, the once perfect man, felt a sudden sense of disgust as he looked at his brother whose limbs he had severed.

Stretching out her hands, Phoenix unleashed tremendous power from her thin arms, forcefully snapping back the ugly head of Felus Manus, the Primarch of the Iron Hand.

He lowered his head, looking down at the steel hand.

“Look at me, my brother.”

The phoenix whispered, but his brother simply closed his eyes and remained silent.

“Look at me…”

"..."

"look at me!"

The phoenix's voice grew urgent, and at the same time, Feralus Manus's tightly closed eyelids began to change—they began to decay, aging in an instant as if millions of years had passed. They were about to turn to ashes, forcing their eyeballs to be exposed to the air, to see what they did not want to see.

"stop!"

The decay stopped, and a helpless sigh drifted from afar. The phoenix looked in one direction, remained silent for a long while, and finally slowly uttered a sentence from its throat.

"Praise be to you, great Father God."

Phoenix closed his eyes and took a deep breath. It took him a full seven minutes to open his eyes again, and when he turned his gaze to his brother's face, he found that his brother had opened his eyes at some point and was quietly looking at him.

What kind of eyes were those? Gray, deep, lifeless. They were eyes that shouldn't appear on the face of a living person, but at this moment, they appeared on the face of Felus Manus, the face of this tenacious Primarch, as unyielding as steel.

Phoenix was stunned. He met those eyes with his own, and finally sighed helplessly.

He lay down on the bed and hugged his brother from behind.

"sorry."

The phoenix murmurs in a dream.

Chapter 221 Current Situation

Rogdorn concluded his meeting with his 34,206th son.

This was a massive undertaking, taking Rogdorath three Terra days. During this time, he made no preparations for the impending crisis, failed to construct sufficiently robust fortifications, gather adequate resources, or recruit enough soldiers.

He even subtly conveyed a message to the Astartes Chapter, who were not his own offspring, during a private meeting.

If you are unwilling, then you do not have to participate in the next war.

Rogdorn was certain that everyone else understood what he meant; after all, what was veiled to him was no different from being stated openly to others.

But not a single chapter chose to leave; they all stood firmly on the land of Amigeddon, rallied under the banner of Rogdorath, and raised their banners together for the life-or-death battle to come.

Rogdorn let out a long sigh, turned his head to look at Lynch, who was flying around freely, and spoke expressionlessly.

"Please do me a favor."

Lynch glanced at Rogdorn, then sent his soul to him, looked into his eyes, and spoke in a very serious tone.

"Sorry, I can't help you."

Rogodon frowned, but quickly stopped worrying about it. He stood up and went to the back room of the church, where a high-quality sheet of white paper was spread out on a large table, and next to it were pen and ink that had been prepared.

Rogdorn picked up his pen, dipped it in ink, and began to write and draw on the white paper.

Lin Qi flew over and saw Rogdorn writing and drawing something. He asked curiously.

"These are your defense blueprints?"

“Yes.” Rogdorn didn’t even look up. “Aside from this meeting with me, I’ve been working on the defense plan for Amijuton and the rebuilding of its defense facilities for the past three days.”

"If the person coming is Peturabo, then we will inevitably face a devastating engineering attack. He will find every weakness in our defenses, and then target that weakness with overwhelming firepower to suppress it and destroy it completely."

Lynch heard Dorn's words, thought for a moment, and found a loophole in them.

"So, according to you, if our defenses develop a weakness, then Peturabo can definitely destroy it completely."

"Ah."

"Doesn't that mean our defenses simply can't withstand Petrabo's attack?"

Lin Qi began to speak.

How could a defense possibly have no weaknesses?

As soon as he said those words, Lin Qi suddenly thought of something.

That is, from the very beginning, he has been looking at the defenses that a normal person would engage in, from the perspective of a normal person.

The problem is, however, that Rogdorn is not a normal person.

It is the Primarch, the Terra Guardian, who personally led the Solar System War ten thousand years ago, as well as the subsequent Siege of Terra.

If its designed defense system has any so-called weaknesses, then it will only be a hidden trap.

At this moment, Lynch also knew what Rogdorn wanted him to do by calling him.

"Do you want me to directly render this blueprint for you?"

Lin Qi asked the question.

“No, that’s not it.” Rogdorn looked up and answered Lynch’s question in a very sincere tone.

"I want you to directly materialize all the defensive fortifications I need on this planet."

"Haha, are you kidding me?"

Do you think I would joke at a time like this?

"..."

Lynch could tell from Rogdorn's expression and tone that he was serious.