The greatsword fell, its blade carrying immense force as it sliced through the air!
"Clang!" But Jonson's sword never reached its target; it was stopped.
A black claw, gleaming ominously in the dark night, intercepted the Lion Sword's blade. The Primarch of the Raven Guard, Clarkson, appeared in front of the little girl at the last second. "Jonson, you can't do this."
"That's right, Jonson, my brother! What are you doing? How can you attack such a little girl?" Vulkan, the Primarch of the Salamanders, arrived right after Clarkson, using his hammer, Dawnbringer, to block Jonson's attack. He immediately shielded the girl behind him. "Have you lost your mind?"
"Even the slightest negligence can lead to irreversible betrayal!" Jonson prepared to attack again.
"Enough, stop." The Emperor finally spoke. Hearing the command, the Dark Angels' Primarch hesitated for half a second before lowering his sword. "Your indecision and over-concern for civilian lives will only lead to your downfall, Vulkan, Clarkson."
"But that doesn't justify your actions!" Vulkan growled in a low voice. "Do you even realize what you were about to do? We're here to attend Ryan's coronation, not to slaughter innocents!"
"There won't be a next time." Though Jonson relented, he still voiced his displeasure. "So, what should we do now?"
By this time, the little girl was so frightened by the sudden events that she had collapsed to the ground. Her eyes were vacant, drool dripped from her mouth, and dark stains appeared on her skirt—she had wet herself in fear.
"Oh no, Jonson, my brother, you've scared her senseless!" Another Primarch entered the scene.
Dressed in a tattered monk's robe, covered in hundreds of glowing scriptures, with a golden bishop's mitre on his head, and a kindly expression that belied his fearsome power, Lorgar emerged. Chanting ancient Terran prayers, golden letters swirled around him as a radiant halo formed behind his bald head. Bathed in divine light, Lorgar appeared like a living saint, a divine incarnation walking among mortals. The tiny granary was illuminated as if it were daylight.
In this state, every step Lorgar took left glowing golden runes on the ground. He seemed like a holy figure descending from the realm of gods.
The little girl, still in shock, gazed blankly at Lorgar. With a gentle smile, Lorgar placed a hand on her head. A flash of golden light restored her senses, and she immediately burst into tears. "You... you bullied me! Waaah~"
All of this happened within seconds, from Jonson's strike to Lorgar's intervention.
"..." The Emperor's expression was complicated as he watched Lorgar. He was helpless in this situation—Lorgar had experienced so much during his millennium as a Daemon Prince, and after being brought back, he now fully embraced his role as a religious leader. The Emperor understood all too well the impact Lorgar's current demeanor could have on the ignorant masses.
With a wave of his hand, the Emperor dispelled all of Lorgar's divine effects. "Don't attract unnecessary attention, Lorgar!"
But things don't always go as planned. Despite their attempts to remain quiet, the commotion had already drawn someone's attention. A woman, still in her nightgown and with a headscarf wrapped around her head, came rushing over with a pitchfork in hand. Both frightened and brave, she confronted the intruders. "Who are you?! Manny! Oh, dear Lady, please protect us!"
The woman's despair deepened when she saw how tall and heavily armed these strangers were. How could she possibly stand up to them?
"..." The Primarchs all turned to look at her, and Jonson's eyes flashed with a murderous intent that sent chills down her spine. She began to wail, preparing to call for help.
"Wait!" Schultz stepped forward, quickly positioning himself between the serf and Jonson. He raised his hands, his expression sincere. "Madam, madam, we mean no harm. This is just a misunderstanding. We are travelers passing through! We're from Marienburg!"
"Travelers... passing through?" The woman's face was filled with disbelief, but the situation left her with no choice. The giant black man still had her daughter behind him, so she mustered all her courage and pleaded, "Alright, alright, I'll believe you. Just please, give Manny back to me. Take whatever you want from the granary, but please, in the name of the Lady, just return my daughter. I beg you!"
Schultz glanced at Vulkan, who made no comment. Vulkan released the little girl, allowing her to run back to her mother. The two embraced, crying tears of relief.
"Please, don't be frightened, madam. Here, this is a bottle of honey. Your daughter will like it. Manny, may I call you that? Do you like honey? All children do." Schultz quickly retrieved a bottle of fine honey from Reikland from his spatial ring and handed it to the woman and her daughter. "This is our apology. We really mean no harm."
The woman was still shaken, but the little girl eagerly took the bottle and hugged it to her chest. She opened it and licked some honey, her tears stopping.
"This is chocolate, imported from Araby." Schultz produced two bars of dark chocolate and handed them to the woman. "You'll enjoy this. It's our apology. We're sorry for disturbing you."
Chocolate?! The woman, holding her daughter, widened her eyes. While an ordinary serf might not know what chocolate was, as a free citizen living near Couronne, she was well aware of this imported treat's luxury. Even knights couldn't afford to eat chocolate regularly. Perhaps this really was just a misunderstanding?
Though still wary, the woman accepted the chocolate with trembling hands. "Alright, alright, but why are you here in the middle of the night?"
"We're traveling from Marienburg to attend Lord Ryan's coronation. It's late, and we ran out of food, so we wanted to see if we could buy some supplies from the farm." The Emperor spoke calmly, addressing the woman directly. "We're sorry, but everyone was quite hungry."
The Emperor's words carried a power that seemed to resonate deep within the woman's bones. She felt an inexplicable trust in him. Calming down, she put her daughter down and nodded. "Alright, alright. Guests from afar are always welcome. We have plenty of food. I'll prepare something for you."
"Could you slaughter a cow, a sheep, and two chickens, and make several pots of porridge? We all have big appetites." Schultz placed two gold crowns in the woman's hand. "Thank you."
The woman's eyes lit up when she saw the gleaming gold crowns and the profile of King Arthur stamped on them. With a quick flick of her wrist, the coins disappeared into her sleeve. The two gold crowns were worth several times the price of the livestock and grain. Besides, if these strangers had intended to rob her, she wouldn't have been able to stop them anyway. At least they seemed sincere.
With the woman accepting the payment, the entire farmstead sprang to life. Seven or eight women emerged to start cooking, slaughtering the livestock, and preparing food for the "travelers from afar."
"Why are they all women? Where are the men?" Schultz asked curiously.
"The men went into town to sell grain," the woman explained, bringing out bags of barley and oats and fetching potatoes and vegetables from the storehouse. She was still a bit afraid of Clarkson, Vulkan, and the others, so she spoke only to Schultz. "With the new king's coronation, the city is collecting grain for the banquet. The Emperor of the Empire has also arrived. My husband took the men to town to sell the grain and buy some things."
"Isn't that dangerous?" Schultz asked, trying to make conversation. "What about Beastmen, for instance?"
"This is the outskirts of Couronne, my lord," the woman replied, a bit embarrassed. "There are many patrols, and even Grail Knights occasionally ride through. We rarely see Beastmen. The knights are eager for glory to adorn their armor. To find Beastmen, you'd have to travel dozens of kilometers. I've never been that far."
"Alright." Schultz asked no more and returned to the open area within the farmstead. The Emperor and the Primarchs sat together, drinking Bugman's beer brought from Marienburg. Only Vulkan wasn't with them; the Salamanders' Primarch was using his hammer, Dawnbringer, to repair the damage they had caused to the farm's fences. He even reinforced them, apologizing to the farm's owner.
Thus, in the dead of night, under the dim light of torches and candles, the Emperor and his Primarchs enjoyed a simple farmhouse meal. Though the women's cooking wasn't particularly refined, they didn't mind.
"So, we won't be showing ourselves this time," Vulkan said, holding a large mug and downing a swig of Bugman's beer. He then raised a ceramic bowl and poured the steaming porridge directly into his throat. "I still remember the expressions of those guests at Ryan's wedding when we made our appearance. It was priceless!"
"...We have no reason to show ourselves this time." The Emperor said no more, merely sipping his barley porridge, his eyes distant as if recalling something.
He remembered his youth in Anatolia, where he had been a handsome, strong, and hardworking young man. His parents and he had shared a meal of barley porridge
just like this. The memories from over forty thousand years ago were blurry, only faint echoes of a past that seemed increasingly unreal.
"In my opinion, Ryan is moving a bit slowly," Lorgar commented, savoring the porridge with a reverent demeanor. The Word Bearers' Primarch was like a devout priest, his gentle and sincere expression making him the most popular among the women and children. "He's almost forty now, right? And he's only united one country."
"Lorgar, you're being too harsh. When we were scattered by the Warp storm to those worlds, did you face such formidable enemies? Greenskins? Chaos? The Undead? Not to mention the Elves and Dwarves?" Clarkson disagreed. "He's done well. At least he's united one country."
"...I suspect you're mocking Angron. I have evidence!" Vulkan roared. "He's the only one who hasn't succeeded!"
"Hmph, a traitor and an oathbreaker, satisfied with nothing more than playing the farmer. A brother like that is utterly disgraceful!" Jonson said coldly. "When I see him, I'll make sure to teach him a lesson."
"You'll get your chance," Lorgar said, eager to stir the pot. "Shall I be the master of ceremonies and referee? I'm good at that."
"Jonson will beat you and Angron both," Clarkson sneered. "Your skills are only good for being Jonson's sidekick, like that black-hearted pirate Huron."
Clarkson was referring to a recent event. While Jonson was leading the Caliban and Mechanicus Crusade Fleet back to Terra, they encountered a Chaos fleet led by Abaddon the Despoiler and Huron Blackheart, the Red Corsairs' leader. The ensuing battle was fierce and bloody.
In the end, Jonson faced Abaddon and Huron Blackheart alone, ultimately deciding the battle's outcome.
Abaddon took two sword wounds to the thigh and back from Jonson, severely injuring him. In a desperate moment, Abaddon grabbed Huron Blackheart, using him as a shield to block Jonson's fatal strike before fleeing.
Huron wasn't as lucky. He was cut in two by Jonson, meeting his end at the hands of the Dark Angels' Primarch. The Red Corsairs' warband leader and master of the Maelstrom paid the price for his betrayal and atrocities.
This had been a significant battle recently, and the Primarchs discussed it briefly as more dishes were brought out from the farm's kitchen—roast beef, stewed beef soup, roast chicken, grilled lamb chops, and stewed lamb. The group dug in heartily.
The Emperor remained silent, his expression stern, focusing only on eating.
Finally, Vulkan broke the silence, holding a large roasted lamb leg. "Father, who's next? Perturabo or Mortarion?"
"Hey, Vulkan, don't mention Perturabo! You know what happened last time!" Lorgar laughed. "Let me savor my last bit of laughter. I think I have enough to last another two hundred years!"
Jonson and Clarkson exchanged glances, then looked toward the Emperor, whose expression remained serious and silent. Seeing this, Lorgar began explaining the situation with Perturabo.
Breaking through Perturabo's iron defenses was a challenge that had puzzled the entire galaxy.
Recently, the Imperial Fists Chapter discovered a recording on a derelict ship.
This recording was a message from Perturabo, the Primarch of the Iron Warriors, addressed to the Emperor. Upon viewing it, the Imperial Fists' warriors turned green with frustration, but they dutifully delivered it to the Golden Throne on Terra.
"So, what did that traitor say?" Jonson was intrigued.
Lorgar chuckled, glancing at the Emperor. Seeing no objection, he eagerly shared the message, eager to see his brothers' reactions.
"The first thing the Daemon Primarch Perturabo said was..."
"Emperor = fool!"
"Death to the False Emperor, burn the galaxy!"
"F**k you, Emperor!"
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