Refusing the Doom Slayers' company, Blazkowicz, alone, rapidly moved through the steel corridors of the Hrafnkel.
During the journey back to Terra, he needed to reassure the warriors of the Nineteenth Legion.
He had to act quickly; after returning to Terra, he might not have much time to look after them.
Blazkowicz's goal was to detach the Legion from Horus' command, allowing them to utilize their unique talents and maintain their independent existence, rather than serving as cheap cannon fodder for the Luna Wolves.
This way, Horus would no longer expend them, and when facing his brother in the future, some sentiment could be preserved.
When his brother returned, the Legion he inherited would be independent, with its own Legion culture.
They would not be assimilated by the Luna Wolves, becoming a Legion known for assaults.
Even if they did become an assault Legion in the future, it would be their own achievement.
On the deck, the Legion warriors had already formed neat ranks, awaiting their Primarch's inspection and address.
Having detached from Horus' command and about to return to Terra, the warriors of the Nineteenth Legion felt lost.
Briefly stepping away from the Great Crusade to adjust their existing tactical system, how should they conquer the enemies of humanity?
Their path ahead was uncertain; they needed guidance.
As a somber atmosphere permeated the Legion, the warriors saw their Primarch's tall figure approaching.
"Great Primarch."
Thirty thousand Space Marines knelt on one knee, offering the highest respect to the Warrior King with a warrior's salute.
"Rise."
Blazkowicz stood on the platform, his calm voice as warm as sunshine, dispelling the gloom that hung over the Legion.
Clank, clank, clank—
The sound of armor rubbing was perfectly synchronized as the Legion warriors rose, carefully gazing at their Primarch's glorious image.
He was extraordinarily heroic, his strong physique clad in simple armor, draped with a cloak bearing the marks of war.
Most striking were the glowing, muscular chest and the red runes carved into it on the Primarch's chest.
Among the ranks of tens of thousands standing, only one remained kneeling, isolated at the very front, holding his helmet without looking up.
"Please punish me, Great Primarch!" A sob came, as the gray-armored warrior bowed his head, choked with emotion.
The warrior's cry was full of pain; he could not forgive his own mistakes.
Blazkowicz softly called for the Legion Master of the Nineteenth Legion to rise: "Rise, Legion Master."
"You could not resist Horus Lupercal, just as you cannot resist me."
With that simple sentence, the Legion Master trembled all over, his helmet falling to the ground, and he cried even louder, sprawled on the deck.
The warrior, who had shed blood silently on brutal battlefields, was now crying like a child.
The Legion Master knew that the Primarch had forgiven him, even understood and tolerated the helplessness of the Nineteenth Legion.
Under the command of a Primarch, the Nineteenth Legion could not resist; obeying orders was their duty.
Even if the orders were highly unreasonable, sending their Legion brothers to their deaths, they were forced to comply.
Through countless charges and assaults, the Legion's original talents were obscured, gradually aligning with the Luna Wolves.
Blazkowicz raised his hand, signaling, and two Legion warriors stepped forward to help the sobbing Legion Master to his feet.
"After returning to Terra, I will entrust the War Council to plan a new course of action for you; you will embark on your journey independently."
"Thank you for your mercy!" The warriors knelt again, their helmets concealing their excited expressions.
From now on, the Nineteenth Legion would be independent, no longer serving as cannon fodder or footnotes to the honor of other Legions.
Blazkowicz waved his hand, telling the warriors to stand.
"Independence is the beginning of a new journey; having separated from the Luna Wolves, you need to research new tactics and forge your own style."
"Do you have any ideas for this? Or will you continue with assault tactics?"
"I have new plans." The Legion Master wiped away his tears, straightened his posture, and stood ramrod straight before the Primarch.
He was a strong, fit man, with black hair tied into a ponytail, a stern face, and piercing, bright dark eyes.
The Legion Master gestured towards the depths of the Legion's formation, calling out a fellow brother.
Blazkowicz watched patiently; having an idea was best, good or bad, at least there was a direction.
Warriors feared confusion, then falling into self-destructive paths, which was precisely what he worried about.
The current situation made him nod inwardly; while most of the Legion was confused about the future, the Legion Master had never given up on independence.
A warrior of medium build, wearing standard power armor, ran up; he looked ordinary.
"Primarch, please see, this is a hidden secret of the Legion, which I have never publicized, and even our Legion brothers know very little about it."
Blazkowicz nodded, gently raising his hand to signal; every Legion had secrets, and he was not surprised.
The Destroyer Legion also had secrets.
"Feel free to display your talent; the Primarch saved us from dire straits, and no one is more worthy of trust than him."
With the Legion Master's encouragement, the warrior nodded solemnly, then stepped forward, into a thin, long shadow of light, and then completely vanished.
Whoosh~
The Nineteenth Legion warriors gasped; they had never felt or heard of such an amazing skill.
Blazkowicz's eyes narrowed; he felt a faint psychic fluctuation, and then the warrior disappeared.
He could still clearly perceive that the warrior still existed, standing motionless in the shadow.
"Merging into the shadows?" Blazkowicz nodded with satisfaction; it was indeed a good talent.
"Yes, merging into the shadows, invisible to the naked eye." The Legion Master proudly raised his head, saying excitedly:
"A gift from the Gene-Father; I intend to use this talent as a foundation for the Legion to develop infiltration tactics."
"Very good."
The Primarch smiled, nodding to the Legion Master, "This is indeed a unique talent, suitable for developing stealth operations, infiltrating enemy lines."
"If you had let Horus know earlier, perhaps you could have escaped your predicament."
"I made my brothers swear never to reveal it to Horus." The Legion Master said with a grim and unwavering expression:
"Our unique talent will never become an aid to the Luna Wolves, allowing them to exploit us even more deeply."
As things stood, Blazkowicz said no more, nor did he try to persuade them.
Within the Nineteenth Legion, there had long been resentment towards Horus, but they were powerless to defy his authority.
Now freed, away from Horus' oppressive power, their previously hidden defiance immediately emerged.
However, from this day forward, the Nineteenth Legion's animosity towards the Luna Wolves would be passed down forever with their Legion culture.
"Legion Master," Blazkowicz said softly, "Since you have a plan, I will no longer interfere with your future."
"I wish you smooth sailing in advance."
With his worries gone and the matter settled, Blazkowicz gave a brief instruction, then turned and left.
"Primarch!" The Legion Master called out to Blazkowicz, then knelt as the Primarch turned in question: "The Nineteenth Legion will forever remember your grace!"
After he spoke, thirty thousand Space Marines knelt before the Primarch, their grateful shouts echoing: "Great Warrior King, the Legion will forever remember your grace!"
"When the Gene-Father returns, I will relay to him all that you have done for his sons!"
The Legion Master's eyes were red; besides this, he could not express more gratitude.
Blazkowicz waved his hand and smiled, gesturing for them to stand, and asked gently: "Does the stealth skill have a name?"
"Yes," the Legion Master nodded eagerly, telling the Primarch the name of the stealth talent: "I call it—Shadow Stealth."
"Use it well."
Blazkowicz nodded in satisfaction, turned and entered the elevator, leaving the deck under the respectful gaze of the warriors.
"We must remember the Primarch's salvation of the Legion." Watching the Primarch's tall figure depart, the Legion Master turned to his Legion brothers and said solemnly:
"Let everything that happened today be written into the Legion's history, to be passed down forever."
The Legion warriors nodded in agreement; the Primarch's grace deserved to be remembered by the Legion.
"From now on, the Nineteenth Legion will no longer be cannon fodder; let Hor..." The Legion Master realized his slip of the tongue, and his eyes shifted as he changed his words: "...the Luna Wolves, go and seize honor for themselves!"
Speaking ill of a Primarch behind his back, even if they disliked him, Space Marines dared not speak carelessly.
Blazkowicz had not yet reached the Fenrisian-style palace when he smelled the pungent scent of mead.
Russ was with his Fenrisian warriors, singing tribal songs and feasting on drink.
"Come, come, come~"
Seeing his brother's figure, Russ quickly came over with a drink.
Blazkowicz took the goblet, petted Russ' wolf brother with one hand, and without a word, downed the mead.
"Those little brats have quite interesting talents."
Russ put his arm around Blazkowicz's shoulder, and the two sat down together, arm in arm: "Horus will probably regret it later."
Blazkowicz was not surprised; Russ, though outwardly wild and rough, even seemed a bit simple-minded when he smiled.
But he was a Primarch, one of the most powerful beings in the universe.
On the Hrafnkel, a Primarch's control over information was absolutely top-tier.
Blazkowicz smiled, feeling a deep trust; Russ could have kept this to himself.
"A group of the finest skirmishers, perfect scouts, slipping through one's fingers, is indeed a regrettable thing."
The Fenris Kor exited the Warp from the Gate of Hades, returning once more to the heart of the Human World—the Solar System.
He was to rendezvous with the War Council to re-plan the Nineteenth Legion's conquest route and fulfill his promises to them.
"Brother, I must depart," Russ said, standing at the palace gate, bidding farewell to Blazkowicz.
"I have many duties; the Space Wolves await on Fenris, and I need to return and integrate the Legion."
Russ placed a hand on Blazkowicz's shoulder, his beast-like eyes showing reluctance as he gave his reasons for leaving.
"The Space Wolves are only nominally so now; they are not a true pack of wolves. I need to reform the Legion and integrate Fenrisian culture."
Blazkowicz nodded to Russ, offering a sincere blessing: "May you have a smooth journey."
"Once the matters on Terra are settled, I too must leave and return to the Nur Stars to attend to some affairs."
"The Destroyer Legion is in Argent Nur, conquering the stars, and I also need to handle that; Legion integration is a significant problem."
"Once you've finished your tasks, you are welcome to visit Argent Nur," Blazkowicz concluded, opening his arms to invite Russ, "My homeland welcomes your visit."
"Likewise, Fenris welcomes your arrival."
The two Primarchs embraced, sharing a smile that conveyed unspoken understanding, then Russ turned and departed with a flourish.
Blazkowicz watched Russ' figure until he turned a corner deep in the palace, disappearing from sight.
He took a deep breath; now he needed to meet the Master of Mankind.
The mission to eradicate the Psychneueins was fraught with too many questions, and he hoped to receive a relatively normal answer.
Yes, a "relatively normal" answer.
In Blazkowicz's eyes, the Master of Mankind was a strategist, shouldering the banner of humanity's resurgence and plotting the path of resistance against the Four Gods.
Taken individually, the Master of Mankind's achievements were unparalleled.
However, the Master of Mankind was also unreliable in certain aspects, and his methods of doing things were problematic.
He always concealed things in his words and actions, revealing half and hiding half, obscuring the true purpose of everything.
He strode forward, finding a Custodian to lead the way, choosing paths that were as unfrequented as possible.
The appearance of a Primarch often sparked fervent crowds of worshipers.
As the Great Crusade progressed, Terra's population grew, with aristocrats from other worlds gradually settling down on Terra.
For them, no wealth could compare to an inch of land on the Throneworld.
The Great Crusade spread the Master of Mankind's glory throughout the galaxy, even leading to the widespread belief among the stars that the Master of Mankind was a "god."
Aside from a god, the newly reconquered Human Worlds, those saved mortals, could not imagine what other being could achieve such great deeds.
And the Primarchs, the Master of Mankind's sons, demigods walking among mortals, were naturally objects of mortal worship and gratitude.
Blazkowicz tore down a palace curtain and wrapped it around himself, using it as a disguise.
He lowered his voice, chatting with the Custodian along the way, learning about recent interesting events on Terra.
With the Custodian's deterrence, even if curious about the tall figure, the nobles waiting in line for an audience at the palace could still control their emotions and not rush forward to prostrate themselves.
Led by the Custodian, Blazkowicz entered the Master of Mankind's office for the first time.
It was simply too vast!
A colossal gilded dome, load-bearing stone pillars adorned with elaborate carvings, and Gothic windows on either side stretching from ceiling to floor.
The understated, elegant stained-glass panels, polished to perfection, formed immense murals depicting the Master of Mankind's great deeds.
There were too many people; most were lavishly dressed nobles, generals with chests full of medals, and Astartes Legion Masters.
They formed a long queue, their exhaled breath condensing in the dome and falling as raindrops.
Despite such a massive crowd, the hall was eerily silent; they queued in an orderly fashion, not daring to overstep any boundaries.
Custodians stood solemnly on either side of the hall, the Master of Mankind's guardians, their silent presence radiating immense power, deterring any miscreants.
Blazkowicz entered from the side, and his presence was quickly noticed, causing the crowd to kneel en masse.
These were all astute individuals; with a Custodian personally leading the way, unobstructed, the identity of the tall figure was not difficult to guess.
A Primarch—a son of the Master of Mankind—had returned.
They silently knelt in homage, performing the Aquila, the Cog, and the Warrior's salutes, all expressing their respect.
Blazkowicz remained silent, not removing his disguise, and gestured to the Custodian to quicken their pace.
It was not until he saw the Master of Mankind that Blazkowicz frowned at the contrasting scene before him.
Those queuing could not see the Master of Mankind; the end of the line was a Custodian who relayed the Master of Mankind's messages.
At the back of the hall, there was a simple yet dignified small room where Malcador and the Master of Mankind sat opposite each other at a wooden table.
Malcador's appearance had never changed; he wore dark sackcloth, held a burning staff, and sat in a chair opposite the Master of Mankind.
The Master of Mankind wore a laurel wreath and a white, gold-embroidered robe, toying with a deck of Tarot cards.
Blazkowicz peered in from the doorway; the two inside were mysterious, like two sorcerers engaged in an evil conspiracy.
The Master of Mankind nodded to Blazkowicz, continuously manipulating the Tarot cards, arranging them into combinations.
"Don't come in yet," the Master of Mankind said, taking a moment to raise his hand, preventing Blazkowicz from entering the room. "This little contraption won't work if you come too close."
Blazkowicz removed the curtain he was wearing, handed it to the Custodian, instructing him to rehang it, and stood at the doorway with his arms crossed, waiting for the Master of Mankind to complete his ritual.
He listened to the constant shuffling and dealing of cards; the two seemed to be playing a game, performing a psychic ritual.
"Please come in," the Master of Mankind's slightly weary voice came after three minutes of waiting.
"What's wrong with you?" Blazkowicz asked as he entered the room, noticing the Master of Mankind yawning, the golden light behind his head somewhat dim.
"The Imperium's borders are expanding; he needs to expend more psychic power to make the Astronomican brighter."
Malcador looked up, his aged face under the hood revealing a benevolent smile, and pointed to a nearby chair: "Sit."
"I see," Blazkowicz nodded and sat down, gaining a clearer understanding of the Master of Mankind's power.
One man, constantly dealing with Imperial affairs, maintaining the Astronomican with psychic energy, predicting major Imperial events, and directing the Great Crusade.
It was a bit too powerful!
"What are you two doing?" Blazkowicz's eyes were slightly lowered; on the table was a line of cards, made of obsidian with gold-outlined figures.
"Tarot cards," the Master of Mankind said, rubbing his face to perk up, introducing them to Blazkowicz with a hint of pride: "A divination tool I developed, quite accurate."
"It's widely applicable; all Psykers can use it."
"Divination?" Blazkowicz frowned; even though he knew about psychic powers, he didn't quite believe in vague, ethereal predictions.
"The Psychneueins you eradicated, the Master of Mankind knew through divination," Malcador said slowly, like a wise man. "If they weren't eliminated, after the Xenos made contact with humanity, it wouldn't take long for them to experience a technological explosion, and then they would become a major threat to the Imperium."
Blazkowicz's mind gradually cleared; the Master of Mankind was eliminating future enemies.
"Is that all?" He still didn't quite believe it; the Master of Mankind was a shrewd man, and the reason for sending him seemed too simple.
The Master of Mankind grabbed a card from the table, his eyes glowing golden, and explained: "I predicted many outcomes."
"Russ' Space Wolves would suffer heavy losses, leaving half their progeny among the Xenos; he would return in great defeat."
"Horus would eliminate the Xenos, but at the cost of most of the Human population and heavy losses to his Legion."
"So you chose me?" Blazkowicz narrowed his eyes, shaking his head as he denied the Master of Mankind: "I cannot be predicted. How could you be sure I would win?"
Blazkowicz already knew he couldn't be predicted; Psykers on Argent Nur had tried multiple times, seeing only darkness.
"You indeed cannot be predicted," Malcador also picked up a Tarot card, his aged face smiling, wrinkles crinkling together. "So we predicted what kind of future the mortals in those star systems would face."
"Without a doubt, the results were excellent; ninety-five percent of the mortals survived."
"No, that's not right," Blazkowicz shook his head. "Since I cannot be predicted, you naturally cannot use me as a baseline for an overall prediction."
"Therefore, I sent Russ and you together to provide corroborating evidence from the side."
"It's like solving a math problem; when I can't get the answer, I introduce new variables to cross-reference."
The Master of Mankind stirred his hand across the table, then drew a card; the image on it was "The Chariot."
"The Chariot represents victory," he said, discarding the card in his hand, which was "The World": "The World represents completion."
Malcador discarded his card to match the Master of Mankind's; it was "The Sun": "Symbolizing success."
"A complete and grand victory," the Master of Mankind said, spreading his arms, finally reaching his conclusion.
"As for the reason I sent you, there's actually another one," Malcador said, nodding slightly to the Master of Mankind. "It's his personal reason."
The Master of Mankind's eyes widened, looking at Malcador incredulously; his most trusted friend had betrayed him at this moment!
"Mixed with someone's personal revenge, an intense revenge born of unfulfilled desire, to smash it to smithereens."
"He waited for this day for decades, eagerly anticipating the complete annihilation of the Xenos world."
Malcador's smile held a hint of playfulness, his eyes sparkling with excitement, as if exposing an old friend's embarrassing secret brought him immense pleasure.
They were the best of friends, and the closest of partners—yet precisely because of this, Malcador especially enjoyed the fun of digging up an old friend's shortcomings.
There was no opportunity before.
Now, with Blazkowicz present, someone of equal standing by their side, he naturally had to thoroughly mock his old friend.
"Before the Great Crusade began," he said unhurriedly, "the Emperor used existing benchmarks to predict the overall direction but discovered resistance in the Salts system."
"There exists a conscious world there, symbiotic with the planet's organisms, sheltering the souls of the Psychneueins, right?"
Malcador smiled as he asked Blazkowicz, simultaneously revealing that both of them already knew the specific situation of the Salts system.
A conscious world exists, symbiotic souls and identical psychic power, with dead souls returning to the world.
Blazkowicz's expression gradually darkened; the two people before him clearly knew everything but were only willing to reveal bits and pieces.
He couldn't help but recall the scene he faced at the time and the choice he made:
"I originally thought it was a political necessity and didn't think too much, opting for orbital deployment against a race without orbital defense capabilities."
"You nearly caused the deaths of many soldiers."
"Don't be impatient, listen to me finish before you draw conclusions." Malcador nodded in agreement, slowly speaking to stop Blazkowicz from delving into responsibility:
"We already know the outcome of the war, and we deeply believe in your choice. Please let me finish first."
Blazkowicz let out a long breath, suppressing the irritation in his chest, and listened as Malcador explained the reasons.
Malcador glanced at the Emperor; his old friend was expressionless now, like a prisoner awaiting judgment.
"The Emperor's consciousness crossed the star sea and once descended upon that world, conversing with its world consciousness."
The Elder's words stunned Blazkowicz, and his gaze naturally turned to the Emperor, who was now leaning back in his chair, looking up at the ceiling.
"The Emperor believed that the Salts world should accept humanity and bind souls with humans, to shelter the souls of deceased humans."
"Haha, what a pity." Malcador's tone was meaningful; at first listen, it seemed like mockery, but on closer inspection, it hid regret:
"Someone was severely rejected and ultimately parted on bad terms."
Blazkowicz nodded repeatedly; with this explanation, he understood the Emperor's 'grudges and affections' with Salts.
He understood the regret in Malcador's tone.
If humanity could take control of Salts and bind their souls to the world, it would indeed be a tremendous boon.
People born there, their souls returning to the world after death, would enjoy peace and no longer be corrupted by the Warp.
Unfortunately, things did not go as planned; the world consciousness did not recognize humanity.
"It has a certain ability to shelter the souls of humans in several star sectors, but it is unwilling to change!"
The Emperor straightened up, a look of regret appearing on his dark brown face.
"I intended to spare its life, to have a good talk someday and strive for harmonious coexistence between us."
His face suddenly darkened, and his calm, upright voice abruptly changed, becoming as chilling as a cold wind:
"But it incited the Psychneueins to attack the Human World and plunder human resources. It must die!"
"So you sent me to kill it?" Blazkowicz tilted his head and asked the Emperor, "Then why didn't you make it clear? I wouldn't shirk."
"Uh…" The Emperor fell silent, his lips twitching slightly, trying to maintain his expressionless dignity.
Blazkowicz looked at him in confusion, thinking there was another unspeakable difficulty, and sat up straight to listen attentively.
"I told him long ago to be honest with you."
Malcador's lips curled into an uncharacteristically mocking smile: "But he said he wanted to surprise you."
"Surprise?" Blazkowicz looked at the Emperor's embarrassed face and shook his head, "This isn't a surprise, it's a fright."
"I understand!" Blazkowicz suddenly thought of a possibility, then narrowed his eyes and asked the Emperor, "Is this a kind of interaction? Similar to Russ?"
The latter nodded weakly, covering his mouth with his hand, trying to hide his embarrassment after his thoughts were exposed.
Blazkowicz stood up, looking at the silent Emperor.
He could indeed feel that the Emperor wanted to be closer to him, and he was trying to build a relationship.
"Frankness and honesty are the most genuine emotions between us, and the bridge of communication."
Blazkowicz was very helpless; such a result was too absurd, making it difficult for him to accept for a while.
"I will return to Argent Nur to conquer the surrounding worlds. Contact me when you need help."
"Take your progeny and leave," the Emperor nodded and said to Blazkowicz, "The more worlds conquered, the more test subjects, and the greater the success rate."
Speaking of this, since entering the Solar System, dozens of new sensations had appeared in Blazkowicz's mind.
He was surprised in his heart; every bit of increased power against demons was an additional help.
Including the original warriors, the Legion now had 200 people.
The Emperor had invested a lot, and the results were equally evident; the Legion was growing robustly.
"What is the success rate?" Blazkowicz asked Malcador, the founder of the Department of the Interior and its head.
For a long time, he knew the success rate was very low but had never asked for the specific number.
"You don't need to know." Malcador's face was serious, shaking his head, refusing to answer Blazkowicz, then seeing his expression change slightly.
The aged voice quickly added: "You don't need to worry, it's within an acceptable range."
Blazkowicz did not press further; he could imagine the difficulties involved: "I hope that in the end, the returns on these investments will ultimately benefit humanity."
Fighting Chaos is the basis of their cooperation.
Until a better solution is found, these sacrifices and investments are the only way.
As long as Chaos is not eliminated, humanity will never know peace, whether in life or after death.
"You need to go to the underground laboratory to extract new genetic material and cultivate Gene-Seeds."
The Emperor raised his dark eyes and said to Blazkowicz, who was about to leave: "After you depart, I don't know how long it will be until your return, so you must ensure sufficient Gene-Seeds."
"I know." Blazkowicz nodded in agreement, then turned to Malcador, saying with a touch of respect, "Elder, let's talk another day."
Blazkowicz had relative respect for this Elder, who appeared very old but was actually an immortal.
He acted and spoke more steadily than the Emperor.
"Let's talk another day." Malcador returned a smile, nodding to Blazkowicz, as he greatly valued this Primarch.
Blazkowicz saluted the Emperor, then left the office and headed to the gene laboratory.
"I told him long ago to be more honest with him; it makes getting along simpler."
Malcador watched Blazkowicz leave, then turned to the Emperor, smiling without a trace of conscience.
"What kind of honesty?" The Emperor shook his head helplessly, "Tell him where you're going, who you're going to kill, what races you're going to exterminate?"
"That's too direct, even barbaric."
"Perhaps that's exactly it," Malcador's eyes widened as he nodded in agreement, "Direct, simple, precise, violent."
"He is a Warrior King, the embodiment of violence, and destruction is his innate instinct."
Malcador felt that the Emperor had hit the nail on the head; when dealing with Blazkowicz, just tell him what to do.
He was a king with full self-awareness, knowing what he was doing now and what he would do in the future.
His purpose was clear, his understanding clear.
Once he identified his goal, he would use every means and try every possible way to advance towards it.
Blazkowicz's primary goal was Chaos, his starting point, and his secondary goal was the Great Crusade, to help the Emperor redeem humanity.
Based on these two foundations, he would not be stingy with his help.
"I've done too much useless work…" The Emperor sighed helplessly, his shoulders slumped somewhat dejectedly.
"Not entirely." Malcador looked at him seriously, his old friend.
"At least you let him know that you care deeply about your relationship with him and are willing to invest effort in maintaining it."
The Emperor shook his head, his dark hair at his temples swaying, quickly recovering from his despondency: "Let's not worry about him for now."
He exhaled a golden psychic energy, which materialized in the void, forming a magnificent galaxy.
"Our progress is a bit slow; we need to speed up, continue sending out scout ships, and retrieve more Primarchs."
"The Imperium must launch a full-scale offensive; troops await their leaders, and Space Marines, in cooperation with the Gene-Father, can unleash their maximum power."
"I need to leave Terra and continue to participate in the Great Crusade, and incidentally, retrieve the lost sons."
"Understood." Malcador's eyes reflected the golden galaxy; it was incredibly brilliant, vast, and dangerous, with the Imperium's controlled territory being only a small part.
"The Department of the Interior will fully cooperate, build more warships, urge the Adeptus Mechanicus to produce armaments, and recruit soldiers from conquered worlds."
The Emperor's face was solemn; when he heard 'Mars Adeptus Mechanicus,' a golden light flashed in his eyes: "Are the Adeptus Mechanicus behaving themselves now?"
"They are now working with great enthusiasm; knowing that they have a replacement, the Adeptus Mechanicus' output has significantly increased."
"Haha. Do I have to thank Blazkowicz? He brought a great gift upon his return."
"In this regard, his cooperation is impeccable, giving the Adeptus Mechanicus a sense of crisis that they are not irreplaceable."
Blazkowicz walked out of the laboratory, escorted by over a thousand Custodian Guards.
Frankly, Blazkowicz had never seen so many Custodian Guards densely gathered in one area performing a single task.
They surrounded the laboratory in layers, making it impenetrable, personally controlling every detail.
Blazkowicz secretly estimated that even if Russ were to force his way in, the fully armed Custodian Guards would subdue him.
If it came to a death match, the Custodian Guards' fire support would be limitless.
He saw Aquilon Terminators patrolling nearby, and Custodian Guards' Venerable Contemptor Dreadnoughts on alert.
With such tight security, Blazkowicz felt that the Custodian Guards could even defeat a medium-sized Astartes Legion.
Arriving at the Destroyer Legion's station, Osiris and Seth were ready, bringing their new brothers and dragging the coffin sealing the Necrons, preparing to leave Terra.
"What is that?"
Blazkowicz looked at a conspicuous obsidian stele standing within the station, with a name carved on it.
— To the Most Beloved Brother · Onis.
Osiris stepped forward and solemnly replied to his Gene-Father: "That impostor, he escaped by feigning death. We held a proper funeral to accompany the curtain call of his performance."
Blazkowicz shook his head upon hearing this. He wondered if his Primarch brother, skilled in disguise, would be sad or happy upon seeing the stele.
"He definitely came back to confirm his death," Osiris seemed to guess his Gene-Father's thoughts, "Perhaps he thinks he fooled us and is secretly pleased."
Facing the slightly absurd farce, Blazkowicz did not want to comment.
He glanced at the stele again, shook his head, and turned to leave: "Let's go to Lion's Gate Spaceport. We are going to Argent Nur."
Boarding a small spacecraft, Blazkowicz embarked on his journey home, feeling immensely relieved.
For him, Terra was never home, even though the people here admired and respected him just as much.
Argent Nur was Blazkowicz's true home.
If one day in the future, the Four Gods were destroyed and his mission concluded.
When his endless life finally ended, he hoped that it would be the sands of Argent Nur that covered him.
The spacecraft steadily left real space, and after a month of stable Warp travel, finally arrived in a brand new star system.
Through the viewport, Blazkowicz saw Argent Nur's "Gateway World." When Sophia left Terra, he had instructed her to plan a port system.
A specially built diplomatic system of planets, responsible for communication with various worlds and the distribution of materials.
At the forefront of the Nur Stars, the ancient construct "Blocker" stood, cutting off the Warp route.
No external vessel, without permission, could enter the core worlds of the Nur Stars.
All incoming and outgoing vessels had to leave the Warp, re-enter real space, and dock at the Gateway World.
Blazkowicz did this out of deeper concerns.
During his stay on Terra, he conducted some simple investigations and found that the Imperium's lower-class citizens lived in hardship.
If Argent Nur opened its gates and allowed the people of the Imperium to learn about life there, smuggling and other black market activities would inevitably proliferate.
Too much intermingling was not good; maintaining distance and letting each go their own way was currently the best solution.
Thus, the Gateway World naturally appeared.
Since establishing diplomatic relations with the Imperium, Rogue Traders exploring the Halo Stars made their first stop at the Gateway World.
The Halo Stars awaited in-depth development, and Rogue Traders loved it there, seeking treasures amidst danger and the unknown.
They might be fortunate enough to find ancient technology and exchange it for benefits with the Adeptus Mechanicus or Argent Nur; or trade with hidden pocket civilizations in deep space, reaping vast wealth.
There were even greater ambitions, such as finding a son of the Emperor, which would be an unparalleled honor.
Blazkowicz's personal vessel docked at the Gateway World, where he transferred to a Argent Nur ship to enter the Nur Stars.
Imperial ships were complex in composition. The small frigate he took had a crew of 80,000, and it certainly did not lack adventurers.
To minimize trouble, transferring was the most clumsy but effective method.
"My Lord, welcome back."
As the spacecraft entered the Nur Stars, Sophia appeared by Blazkowicz's side, curtsying in a standard manner.
After thirty years of restoration, most of the Nur Stars' functions had been reactivated.
The "Quantum Communication Network" that once covered all worlds, providing low-latency communication within the star system, was largely restored.
The Central Law, Sophia, had gained an even deeper mastery over the star system.
Major and minor events within the communication network could hardly escape her tracking, and she could even deduce general future trends by integrating information.
Blazkowicz once thought about extending the Quantum Communication Network further to benefit the Imperial populace, but reality was harsh.
Parts of the construction technology were lost, requiring a long time to re-establish the system, the construction costs were exorbitant, and long-distance communication had excessively high latency.
These various obstacles made him give up. This matter, which would have benefited both the country and its people, ultimately came to nothing.
"Hello, Sophia." Blazkowicz sat on the spacecraft's throne, a relaxed smile on his face, speaking to his personal assistant: "It's good to see you."
He wasn't just saying it; he genuinely felt that way.
As the Great Crusade deepened, the Imperium became increasingly bloated.
The vast Imperium of Man was run by the Department of the Interior, assembled by Malcador, with astronomical amounts of data calculated by humans.
Any mathematical genius would feel dizzy upon seeing such a vast ocean of data.
But the Imperium demanded that they calculate the precise data of every water droplet collision and every splash in that ocean.
Blazkowicz had visited the Department of the Interior and saw the most brilliant computational talents become imbecilic due to data redundancy.
Even more, some, in despair, plunged their pen tips into their throats, escaping the digital hell with a smile.
The Imperium's solution was simple and brutal—add more people!
Things that could be solved by people were considered minor issues in the Imperium of Man.
The Imperium of Man was bloated and oppressive, its populace exhausted and burdened, merely replaceable parts in a machine.
Compared to the Imperium, Argent Nur could truly be called a "paradise on earth."
Data was collected and analyzed by Sophia, who then issued commands based on her conclusions, distributing them to various worlds.
For her, data analysis was not a burden but a source of life.
Production and manufacturing were complexly handled by automated machines; with a simple command, beautifully practical items were produced.
The concept of machines needing rest or leisure also did not exist.
Sentient machines and automated machines could not be compared; an insurmountable chasm separated them.
The difference was even greater than that between humans and rocks.
Returning to Argent Nur, Blazkowicz's suppressed mood immediately improved, and his expression became relaxed and comfortable.
"Please forget the troubles of the Imperium of Man and enjoy the comfort of Argent Nur."
Sophia was understanding; she always stood by Blazkowicz's side, half a step behind her master.
"How can one easily leave when in the midst of a whirlpool?"
Blazkowicz gently shook his head, thinking of the Great Crusade and the Emperor's plans, and softly said: "My return this time is urgent, and I don't know when I will have to leave again."
"Is there anything you need me to handle?"
He dared not relax for a moment; Chaos lurked in the shadows, and he could only strive to strengthen himself.
"You don't need to rush. I have handled the minor matters. Only some major decisions require your judgment."
Sophia's blue image bowed slightly, dutifully and respectfully reporting her work:
"The mid-term integration of the Nur Stars is complete; all 64 core worlds have been taken over."
"All 36 subordinate Forge Worlds have been activated; they can operate at full manufacturing capacity as soon as raw materials are supplied."
"The 8 Bastion Worlds and all Blockers are fully operational, forming an insurmountable Warp barrier."
"There are also 21 Agricultural Worlds, 6 Paradise Worlds, 7 Medical Worlds, and several other functional worlds currently being restored."
"With Argent Nur as the base, the sphere of influence extends up to two hundred light-years."
Blazkowicz listened intently to Sophia's report, a smile gradually appearing on his face.
All of this was the gratifying result of his continuous efforts over the past thirty years since he reactivated the Nur Ring.
"A hundred new Dead Worlds have been planned for storing materials sent by the Imperium and the Adeptus Mechanicus."
"The construction of the Gateway World and the conquest of surrounding star systems are proceeding rapidly."
Sophia finished speaking quickly and then stood quietly to the side, knowing that her master was processing the information.
Blazkowicz nodded in satisfaction; his departure from Argent Nur did not affect anything; everything was running normally.
He suddenly became serious and asked sternly: "What about the War Ring?"
This was a persistent worry for Blazkowicz; the thought of this question filled him with anxiety.
The War Ring.
A war machine built by Argent Nur, slightly smaller than a planetary ring, it was a pure instrument of destruction.
In its heyday, four War Rings, combined with eight Bastion Worlds, allowed Argent Nur to stand above the stars in the Halo Stars.
It could attack or defend.
The Ring of Domination was struck by traitors, and the star system was infected with a silicon-based virus, destroying many intelligences.
The War Ring's killing intelligence, relying on its own computing power, resisted the silicon-based virus erosion and launched attacks against traitors and psykers.
They blasted dark zones in the Warp, depriving psychic powers of their sustenance, successfully repelling the invading fleet.
Finally, due to the silicon-based virus erosion, they fell into slumber, drifting in the areas where they had once fought.
Waking them up would be easy, but the risks involved made Blazkowicz hesitant to act.
The Doom Slayers were extremely dangerous, created solely for war, their cold circuits filled with aggression and destructive urges.
They drove away the invaders at the last moment, proving their continued loyalty to humanity.
If their minds were intact, awakening them would be a great help.
However, the silicon-based virus' erosion could very likely damage the Doom Slayer's minds, causing them to attack indiscriminately upon awakening.
Every time Blazkowicz thought of the War Ring, the terrifying images it caused were still vividly clear.
In the final battle's star system, the floating wreckage of warships filled the entire system, shattered and broken, orbiting the War Ring.
Ship logs echoed with the Doom Slayer's frenzied electronic screams, full of destruction and annihilation.
It howled in pain from the silicon-based virus' erosion, unleashing destruction and pure violence upon the invaders.
By the end of the battle, its logic had completely collapsed, and it slaughtered indiscriminately based on pre-set commands.
"My compatriots are still dormant, and the dismantling of their intelligent cores is progressing slowly."
Sophia shook her head regretfully, then brought up a holographic projection and reported the progress to Blazkowicz: "These designs are too complex."
"Even I, or the Iron Man brothers, don't understand their intricacies."
"Even a slight mistake, touching the wrong circuit, could very likely trigger an alarm and awaken the Doom Slayer."
"Progress isn't the priority; caution is paramount." Light reflected in Blazkowicz's eyes as he solemnly instructed: "Ensure the safety of the technical personnel."
Blazkowicz's plan was to first remove the intelligent cores from the ring, place them in a safe room, and then activate the Doom Slayer.
Even if it went mad, it wouldn't cause too much harm.
The dismantling work proceeded in an orderly fashion, and Blazkowicz nodded, his inner worries somewhat lessened.
The War Ring was like a dud bomb; it had to be cleared and dismantled to prevent endless future troubles.
If its existence were ever discovered by enemies in the future, malicious activation would be a disaster.
Now, with time and energy, it was decisive to dismantle the core and nip the problem in the bud.
The spaceship quickly returned to the Nur Ring, and Blazkowicz arrived at the ring's royal palace, which was bright and spacious, with the lines of its dome reflected on the mirror-like floor.
Several parchment papers lay on a table.
"These are the matters you need to handle." Sophia's finger lightly pointed to the documents on the table: "I cannot decide for you."
"Thank you for helping me." Blazkowicz softly thanked Sophia.
If not for her, during his time away on Terra, the documents on his desk would likely have piled up like mountains upon his return.
"It is my honor to assist you." Sophia's rational voice was elegant as she curtsied again.
Blazkowicz took his seat and opened the first document; his brows gradually furrowed.
It was a letter of resignation written in vigorous script.
He quickly finished reading, then finally sighed and instructed Sophia: "Have him come see me."
"I will notify him immediately."
The papers beneath mostly concerned external issues, requiring Blazkowicz's approval.
With Sophia managing the internal affairs of the Nur Stars, and other automatons assisting with research and production, there was naturally not much to worry about.
After Blazkowicz arrived at Argent Nur, he studied military culture while leading the Doom Slayers in various conquests.
In just a few months, he conquered dozens of independent worlds.
Blazkowicz looked at Sophia with confusion and bewilderment: "How did he do it?"
Granted, he had reviewed the data of each of his sons at the Legion's base on Terra, knowing the great past of the Blazkowicz family.
But he still didn't understand how he managed to conquer at a faster pace than the Great Crusade Legions.
"That Lord is a brilliant strategist."
Sophia said, a look of admiration on her face: "His conquests stem from a combination of wisdom and physical means."
She brought up a holographic projection and explained the key to Blazkowicz's conquests to Blazkowicz: "tithes."
tithes? Blazkowicz's expression grew even more puzzled.
tithes were the Imperium's taxes, requiring worlds under the Imperium of Man to regularly submit manpower, materials, special resources, and other forms of taxation.
Worlds abundant in humans would submit populations to serve as the Imperium's Auxiliary Army, helping to conquer world after world.
Mining worlds would submit minerals, agricultural worlds would submit food, and industrial worlds would submit industrial goods.
Simply put, whatever a planet had, it would submit.
Although called "tithes," the tax amount needed to be adapted to local conditions, with different worlds having different tax rates.
The Nur Stars were granted "Special Tax Exemption" by the Imperium, requiring no submission of any taxes.
Blazkowicz had not understood why this special exemption was granted at the time.
Argent Nur had been integrated into the Imperium, and their relationship was one of cooperation, so why were there tax levels?
"What did he do?" Blazkowicz asked in a low voice.
He remembered clearly that the tax rates he set for worlds outside the Nur Stars were much higher than those of the Imperium.
With such conditions, and a comparison between the two, would any world still be willing to submit?
"Lord Blazkowicz went to the scattered worlds with the Imperium's tithe regulations, and they surrendered."
Sophia smiled gently, her thin lips softly explaining: "Lord, you seem to have overlooked something?"
"What is it?"
"Time." Sophia pointed on the holographic image, then showed a scene: "The uncertainty of Warp time."
"We are on the far frontier of the Imperium of Man, at the edge of the Astronomican, far from the core of the Imperium of Man."
"The tax collection ships that come here might arrive every few days, every few years, or even every hundred years."
"Lord, you should now know," Sophia asked her master, her eyes smiling, "what kind of terrible consequences the people of the scattered worlds face, right?"
"I know!" Blazkowicz, having been prompted, immediately understood the crucial point.
Within the Imperium of Man, planetary governors held immense power and could do anything on the worlds they governed.
They could indulge in debauchery, exploit the people, live in extravagance, and suppress their subjects.
They could do anything, but they absolutely had to pay taxes; they wouldn't dare to evade taxes even a little.
Paying taxes to the Imperium was what maintained the governor's rule; taxation was the cornerstone of everything.
This was true for the Imperium, and equally true for the governors.
When the Imperium's tax ships arrived in a planet's orbit, it represented the descent of Imperial authority, an existence that defied reason.
Governors were also willing to pay taxes, as the Imperium's taxes could still be squeezed from the populace.
However, if the timing was off, trouble would immediately follow.
An industrial world had the capacity to pay tithes annually, but if the tax collection ship arrived a century later, it would be a disaster.
Industrial goods had a shelf life, and during storage, they would be consumed and material would be constantly lost.
After a hundred years, the tax collection ship arrived.
The Imperium's tax envoy demanded that the planet pay this year's tithes in full to spare the planet from Imperial punishment.
This was not a problem; an industrial world naturally had the capacity to produce this year's tithes.
Then the envoy demanded that they also make up all the taxes from the past hundred years, not a single bit less, and the quality could not be compromised.
Paying all historical taxes at once was naturally impossible.
The tax ships would not be flexible or compromise; they represented the Emperor's will and were the foundation of the Imperium of Man's continued existence.
The Imperium's iron fist would then descend, severely punishing the worlds that failed to pay taxes, for they had failed the Emperor.
Planetary governors were hanged, industrial worlds were re-planned, and their people were forced into slavery to repay the tithes they owed.
If industrial worlds faced such a fate, agricultural worlds were even more helpless.
Crop production required cycles, and food harvests were a fixed cycle; while capacity was limited, storage was not for very long.
The Imperium's tax collection ships had no fixed schedule for arrival; they might have one for departure, but their arrival time was irregular.
Blazkowicz shook his head helplessly; the Imperium's territory was constantly expanding, yet it lacked effective means of management.
While seeking a new route for the Nineteenth Legion, he had heard in the War Council chamber that some worlds had rebelled due to taxes.
Such incidents would only become more frequent as the Great Crusade deepened.
Sophia pulled up a list of worlds conquered by Blazkowicz, representing his achievements:
"Blazkowicz Junior used the Imperium's tithe regulations to explain the pros and cons, and the surrounding worlds surrendered one after another."
"Since his arrival at Argent Nur, he has conquered a total of forty-seven worlds, using force on only nine of them."
"He is excellent." Blazkowicz nodded with a smile, acknowledging Junior's achievements.
This gene-son, just like his ancestors, conquered the stars as if conquering the lands of Terra.
Blazkowicz acknowledged Juniors' achievements and also saw the drawbacks of the Imperium's tithes, further understanding the Emperor.
The worlds that submitted to the Nur Stars had slightly higher taxes than the Imperium, but they benefited from stability, with taxes collected and paid in real-time, which was ten thousand times better than the Imperium's random tax collection.
He understood why he was so obsessed with the Webway, hoping for humanity to relocate into it; this was an undeniable reason.
With a fast and stable Webway, most tragedies, tragedies that should not have happened, could be avoided.
"Have them return as well." Blazkowicz asked Sophia to summon the gene-sons; he needed to gather forces and plan a new expedition.
The Emperor had confirmed the independence of the Nur Stars and made a promise.
The worlds conquered by Argent Nur would fall under Argent Nur's jurisdiction.
In the Nurian Stars, a stable regime was indeed needed to maintain humanity's influence.
A person slowly walked in through the palace gate. He wore a simple vest, with a carved wooden box tucked under his left armpit and a sword-cane in his right hand.
His posture was still straight, but it could not resist the ruthlessness of time; a great warrior eventually faces old age.
His sword-cane tapped on the ground, the sound echoing through the hall, its rhythm as brisk as a war song.
The Chief Grand Swordsman of the Court, Dean of the War College—Siran.
He was a great warrior who had witnessed the rise of three King Nowicks and guarded their heritage, now entering his twilight years.
The sharpness in his eyes was gone, replaced by a cloudy dullness.
As the long table in front of Blazkowicz slowly descended, there was nothing else in the hall. The floor, as clean as a mirror, reflected the images of the monarch and his minister.
He prepared to stand and personally greet this Elder, but Siran raised a hand to stop him: "I can still walk."
"I am the petitioner; the sanctity of the rules cannot be broken."
The Grand Swordsman was old. Even if his life was nearing its end, rules and rituals had long been integrated into his blood.
Siran, with his white hair, missing eyebrows, age spots on his forehead, and a beard hanging from the corners of his mouth, spoke in a hollow, old, and slow voice: "Siran greets the great King Nowick."
He knelt on one knee, leaning on his sword-cane. His hollow voice was much louder now, and he mused for a long time: "This is the last time I will formally greet you."
"Please rise, esteemed Elder," Blazkowicz said, gently raising his arm: "I have long allowed you not to bow."
"Rules are one of the sources of our strength," Siran's wrinkled old face squeezed out a respectful smile.
Blazkowicz gestured with his eyes for Sophia to bring a chair, so the old man could sit and speak slowly.
"Elder, do you truly wish to lay down your heavy burden?" he asked Siran softly, maintaining the demeanor of a king, ensuring the Grand Swordsman had no fault to find.
The resignation on the table was Siran's written report; the Grand Swordsman had decided to return to an ordinary life.
Looking at the Grand Swordsman's aged figure, his heart was filled with reluctance.
This warrior, pure of soul, refused all means of extending his life, facing the end like an autumn leaf quietly returning to its roots.
"My King. My mind is slow," Siran said, simply stating the facts without regret: "It is time to retire and let new people welcome a new era."
Recalling his life, a gentle smile appeared on the Grand Swordsman's face, with no regrets in his heart.
"The future belongs to the young. My thoughts and soul will be passed down through my students. I have no regrets in this life."
As he spoke, his eyes were full of pride.
For a legendary warrior, death is not to be feared.
Legacy and remembrance are their lifelong pursuits, hoping their skills can be passed down.
Siran's warrior career was complete. His meticulous principles and balanced combat techniques were taught to one Sentinels after another.
"Then do you have anyone in mind? Someone who can take over your position?" Blazkowicz, seeing his resolve, no longer tried to dissuade him.
He asked the Grand Swordsman if he had any suitable candidates to take over his position.
Siran's position was crucial: Chief Grand Swordsman and Dean of the War College.
The former was responsible for the development and inheritance of court combat techniques, while the latter educated warriors, teaching skills and shaping their souls.
"Court Grand Swordsman—Flano Novick, Dean of the War College—Erica von Stern."
Siran named two people almost without hesitation.
Blazkowicz nodded slightly. The Grand Swordsman's recommendations were consistent with his own thoughts.
Flano Novick.
Beneath his refined appearance lay superb swordsmanship, sufficient to hold the position of Court Grand Swordsman.
It was time for him to take on some responsibility and end his leisurely semi-retirement.
Most importantly, Flano had a son and a daughter, making him best suited to educate the future generations of all races.
Erica von Stern. That serious, unsmiling lady, with sternness flowing in her veins, was perfectly suited for the position of Dean.
She tolerated no injustice, had an unyielding character, and her qualifications were unmatched.
"Can't the position of Chief Grand Swordsman be held by Harlan Ogilvy?" Blazkowicz looked at Siran, asking with a hint of anticipation.
He wanted to know if Siran's attitude towards his son-in-law had changed.
These two rivals, one an old man stubborn to the death, the other a warrior desperately trying to prove himself.
The feud between them had never eased over decades; instead, it had twisted into an unbreakable knot with the passage of time.
"If he takes the position of Chief Grand Swordsman, I would rather die at my post," Siran's face instantly became serious, his brows furrowed with disgust, and his tone became much stronger:
"I will never allow such a thing to happen before I close my eyes."
Blazkowicz shook his head helplessly. All his wisdom was useless at this moment; he could not reconcile the father-in-law and son-in-law.
Harlan lived for himself in the first half of his life. He fought fiercely on the battlefield, striving for honor, only to leave a mark in the Royal Swordsmanship.
His goal changed in the second half of his life; he still sought honor, but it transformed into seeking Siran's approval.
Marrying Siran's daughter was perhaps a premeditated act of retaliation, and Harlan also took on the corresponding responsibilities.
He hoped to gain his father-in-law's approval, proving his wife's choice was right, and he fought tirelessly for it.
Since establishing a relationship with Harlan, his wife had been driven out of her home by Siran, and the stubborn old father had never visited his daughter.
Siran loved his daughter, so he hated Harlan for taking her away.
If his daughter had married any other warrior, Siran would not have been so angry; he would have been happy.
But she married a Champion Swordsman, the most dazzling warrior on the battlefield, one who engaged in duels.
A person who carried his head on his waist, regarded life as nothing, and repeatedly provoked death.
Their combat philosophies and swordsmanship philosophies were at odds, leading to many rifts in the relationship between the father-in-law and son-in-law.
"You don't need to bring him up anymore," the Grand Swordsman lowered his head, staring blankly at his reflection. His stubborn heart wavered slightly:
"Harlan took away my pearl, leaving her shrouded in the shadow of losing her husband. I will never forgive him in this life."
"It is you, however," Siran put on a smile, put down his sword-cane, and held up the wooden box with both hands: "This is a relic King Nowick entrusted me to keep and give to you at the appropriate time."
"I think that time is now."
Tears welled in his eyes, and as he looked at the box, old tears streamed down his face. "Laying down all responsibilities, including the entrustment of an old friend."
Hearing of his father's relic, Blazkowicz instinctively sat up straight, his hands resting on the armrests clenching slightly.
Blazkowicz tried to maintain a serious demeanor, not daring to show any neglect, his voice a little hoarse: "Please bring it up."
He eagerly wanted to know what was inside the box, the relic his father had left him.
"I will bring it to you," Siran held up the box with both hands, no longer using his sword-cane to support himself.
His steps were unhurried, his aged body exuding dignity, his eyes fixed on the King seated on the throne.
"This was a solemn entrustment from your father."
Siran exclaimed: "After the Nur Ring was unsealed, my memory returned, and his wisdom amazed me."
"Open it and see," he knelt on one knee, holding the box high with both hands.
Blazkowicz took the wooden box, his large hand gently pulling Siran up to stand beside him.
The table rose again, and Blazkowicz carefully placed the wooden box on it.
His hands, which had killed countless enemies, now trembled slightly, showing some hesitation.
At the appropriate time? It must be his father's expectation for him, a time when the Grand Swordsman would approve.
Approval is very subjective. Did the Grand Swordsman's approval meet his father's expectations?
Blazkowicz's fingers trembled, and he finally opened the carved wooden box. What was inside made his eyes light up: "This is…"
His voice trembled with surprise as Blazkowicz saw a crown, pressing down on a letter sealed with wax.
The moment he saw it, Blazkowicz looked up, trying to suppress the tears welling in his eyes.
The oath crown!
Its history was as ancient as that of the Nowick royal family, witnessing the rise of every king and the change of power.
The crown was old and simple, quite crudely made, even a little ugly.
It carried extraordinary significance and did not need to be adorned with magnificent jewels; it was the brilliance it symbolized itself.
Thousands of years ago, in an unnamed cave, the first warriors decided to unite and end the chaos of Argent Nur.
They gathered before a furnace, made solemn vows of guardianship, and cast their respective oath tokens into the furnace to smelt.
When the molten iron was poured out, accompanied by the chanting of oaths, it was molded by their hands.
Palm prints were impressed on the irregular crown, the sharp protrusions formed by molten iron overflowing between their fingers, and the rough holes were traces left by blood erosion.
Blazkowicz seemed to lose his strength, leaning back on the throne, blinking several times, trying to clear the mist from his eyes.
"It's it?!" Siran exclaimed. Even a composed person like him lost his composure upon seeing the oath crown.
"I never thought the box contained the oath crown. No wonder your father made me Dean and kept me away from combat."
Siran slowly shook his head, a momentary fear rising in his heart.
If he had died in battle or suffered an accident, this holy relic of the throne might have been lost forever.
He let out a sigh of relief, instantly feeling incredibly light: "It truly deserves you."
Blazkowicz held the oath crown with one hand, slowly rotating it to examine every name carved on the inside.
Twelve names, these names symbolized initial honor, a resolve that would last for ten thousand generations.
Now, entrusted to him, it was not only the return of a royal symbol but also his father's final approval.
Blazkowicz's nose stung, and he raised a hand to rub his eyes, suppressing the bitterness that welled up; his father had given him his last tenderness.
As the redness in his eyes faded, Blazkowicz fiddled with the crown and said in a relaxed tone, "It's a bit small."
Although he said this, the oath crown itself was not meant to be worn on the head; it was the physical manifestation of guarding the oath.
"It is indeed a bit small," Siran pondered for a moment, then slowly said, "Compared to your current achievements."
Recalling Blazkowicz's achievements, Siran felt a bit disrespectful, but he couldn't deny the fact that previous King Nowick were not his equal.
There was some hesitation in his brows, but then he smiled, "I have finally finished all my work."
"Do you have anything else?" Blazkowicz keenly noticed the indecision in Siran's brows.
"Hmph..."
Hearing Blazkowicz's question, a look of determination flashed in Siran's eyes, and finally, as if having made up his mind, he said, "Please give it to him."
He reached into his robe, took out a letter, and handed it to the King before him.
The cover read: "For Harlan Ogilvy, to be opened personally."
"After I die, please deliver it to him yourself."
The old man was uneasy and reminded Blazkowicz again, "You must only give it to him after I die."
Unless necessary, Siran was even unwilling to speak Harlan's name, simply replacing it with "him."
He reached out and took the letter, his fingertips feeling the thickness of the paper, which surely contained a thousand words.
Blazkowicz's eyes lit up; the main content of the letter was not hard to guess.
This stubborn old man had kept a thousand words bottled up in his heart throughout his life, and in the end, only dared to convey them through death.
Seeing Blazkowicz solemnly accept the letter, yet unable to hide the teasing in his eyes, Siran's old face flushed.
He immediately realized that the young King might very well deliver the letter early.
"Please promise me, it must be after I die!"
Siran's face showed urgency as he reminded him again; he dared not imagine Harlan's smugness if he received the letter before his death.
"I beg you," he quickly knelt on one knee, his tearful gaze fixed on Blazkowicz, "this useless old man's only request!"
"You don't have to do this." Blazkowicz quickly went to pull Siran, wanting to help the old man up, saying, "I promise you then, no need for this."
"No..." Siran gently shook his head, refusing the help. He knelt on both knees and said, "Forgive my presumption."
"Please swear that you will only give it to him after I die."
Hesitation flashed in Blazkowicz's eyes, but he finally relented. He placed his right hand over his chest and said with a serious expression:
"I swear in the name of Nowick, that before your death, I will never willingly give this letter to Harlan Ogilvy."
"Thank you." Siran's tears turned to a smile, and he quickly stood up, leaning on Blazkowicz's arm, his face full of relief.
"Since things have come to this, I should leave now."
After standing, he slowly retreated, pointing to the letter in the box: "You still have some matters to attend to."
Siran bowed, retreated to the center of the hall, picked up his sword-cane, and left happily.
Having laid down a heavy burden, his steps were incredibly light, and he walked with great vigor.
Blazkowicz's expression was somewhat complex as he clutched the heavy letter, watching him depart with a helpless shake of his head.
He placed the letter aside, took out the wax-sealed envelope from the wooden box, and carefully unsealed it.
"To—Blazkowicz Novick, my most anticipated son."
After reading the first sentence of the letter, a smile appeared on Blazkowicz's face. He continued to read, carefully absorbing every word.
"When you read this letter, your mother and I are no longer in this world. You don't need to be sad or grieve; we have long since transcended life and death.
Your future path is long, and we will not be by your side. Remember to protect yourself well."
As Blazkowicz read, the redness that had faded from his eyes crept back, his expression changed several times, and he shook his head with a bitter smile.
"As for leading the Argent Nur people out of their predicament and embracing the stars again, I believe you have done it.
I have never doubted this; you have never disappointed my expectations.
However, the universe and its stars are infinitely beautiful but also harbor dangers. You must face them cautiously.
My wisdom is limited to Argent Nur and I cannot offer you other advice.
But I believe that after encountering the profound universe and complex human nature, you will develop your own independent understanding and perspectives, and establish new values.
You will also make new friends, journey with them, and forge deep friendships.
Your life is bound to be wonderfully exciting; on the canvas of the universe, a significant stroke is destined to be yours...
I won't say too much. My love for you is difficult to convey in a letter; one piece of paper is not enough.
Finally—may you forget sorrow and stride boldly into the future.
—Your ever-loving father, your ever-caring mother."
As Blazkowicz read the letter, hot tears streamed down, dripping onto the tabletop.
The emotions within him could not be suppressed, and in the empty hall, a low murmur filled with longing echoed: "Father... Mother..."
Silence reigned in the hall for a long time, the warrior's vulnerability and sorrow silently spreading, then slowly subsiding.
Blazkowicz composed himself, sitting on the throne with a proud smile; he had always been his father's most anticipated and proud son.
With extremely light movements, he refolded the letter and stored it in the compartment of the desk.
"Damn Chaos!"
Remembering how his parents died, Blazkowicz clenched his fists and gnashed his teeth in hatred, the anger in his heart constantly surging. He vowed that the Four Gods would pay the blood debt.
"Sophia, take me here." He clicked on a point on the desktop map, and with his heart full of rage, he left the throne room.
As the teleportation light flared, Blazkowicz's figure vanished, instantly arriving on Argent Nur's surface.
He arrived at the gorge of the Crystal Mountains, heading to the Crystal Caves, needing the Elder to answer some questions.
"Caw!"
A cry came from the sky, and the Crystal Hunter Hawk quickly spotted Blazkowicz, folding its wings and landing steadily on his shoulder.
"Hello, long time no see." Blazkowicz greeted it, raising his hand to let the hawk rest on his arm, and strode towards the Elder's cave.
His arrival was already known to the Elder; the Crystal Cave slowly opened, revealing the path to its depths.
Along the way, the scenery was strange, and within the infinite dimensions, one could even see creatures from other dimensions.
"Elder." Blazkowicz raised his arm and sent the hawk back to its perch.
He sat cross-legged on the ground and greeted the large toad lying on the bed, smoking with a blanket over him: "I've come to bother you again."
"Speak," Life Forger Primal said, half-closing his eyes, enjoying the rich aroma of tobacco, "What is it this time?"
The Elder didn't bother to look at Blazkowicz, still puffing clouds of smoke. This boy only came when he needed something.
Either to gain knowledge or to help solve a problem.
Blazkowicz watched the Elder, shaking his head continuously. He was utterly lazy, half-asleep, as if only smoking remained for the rest of his life.
The toad's head was buried in the hazy smoke, exhaling from its mouth and inhaling through its nose, savoring each puff repeatedly.
"Please look at this." He didn't stand on ceremony, raising his left arm to summon a shield from an extradimensional space: "Are there any safety hazards?"
Blazkowicz never trusted the Necron. To ensure he could use the shield with peace of mind in the future, he took this opportunity to have the Elder inspect it.
"A C'tan Shard?" Looking up, Prima's sleepy eyes instantly brightened. He sat up from the low bed, "Crafted from the Burning One's shard."
The Elder had fought the C'tan for many years, familiar with each other, and recognized which C'tan's shard it was.
Prima looked closely, then saw Blazkowicz's left-hand gauntlet, connected to the shield's aura: "It's a set."
"What a grand gesture, the Necron..."
The Elder habitually referred to the Necron as "Necron," but then remembered the Necron's extinction and corrected himself:
"The Necron's craftsmanship is still extraordinary."
He slowly rose, walked towards Blazkowicz in his bathrobe, pulling up the gauntlet with one hand and stroking the shield with the other.
The Elder closed his eyes, sensing the coldness of the weapon and the C'tan's power contained within.
Blazkowicz waited quietly, knowing that the Elder was experiencing and sensing the weapon's rhythm and true meaning.
The wisdom of the ancient race was extraordinary; all complex knowledge was commonplace in the Elder's eyes.
He once heard the Elder say that the Golden Men, on a philosophical level, had touched a glimmer of the Elder's essence; they also possessed the ability to "return to simplicity."
The complex creations of modern people could be achieved by the Golden Men with rudimentary craftsmanship.
They could create artificial intelligence with their bare hands, forge advanced technology with a hammer, and explain complex technology with simple methods.
Prima's expression was entranced as he carefully stroked the gauntlet and shield, nodding slightly from time to time: "What a truly excellent idea."
Prima's fingertips traced the shield's surface, and as he closed his eyes in concentration, the pulse of the C'tan Shard surged into his perception like an electric current.
After a while, he opened his eyes and praised, "To forge weapons from the bones of enemies... the Necron's creativity is extraordinary, sending shivers down one's spine."
"The C'tan being shattered and enslaved by the Necron can be considered just retribution, fate's punishment for their arrogance."
"You can use this set of weapons with confidence. Most Necron Dynasties can be considered 'upright and honorable.'"
Upon receiving the Elder's answer, Blazkowicz's worries dissipated. Putting away the shield, he asked with a serious expression:
"Elder, do you know about the Webway?"
"Do you understand the Webway?"
Blazkowicz's voice echoed in the cave, and the large, toad-like mouth of a Slann Ancient opened slightly.
Prima's eyes, located on top of its head, widened in shock. It pointed at itself with a finger and asked earnestly, "Are you asking me?"
It deliberately spun around, its gaze falling on the Crystal Hunter Hawk: "Or are you asking it?"
"I am asking you, Elder," Blazkowicz said, his expression unchanged, unaffected by the Slann Ancient's exaggerated movements.
"Heh heh~" Prima closed one eye, a forced smile on its face, a low chuckle rumbling in its thick throat.
Looking at Blazkowicz with a single eye, it crossed its legs and floated in the air, saying seriously, "You are asking a Slann Ancient if it understands the Webway?"
"When the Slann Ancients built the Webway that spanned the galaxy, humans were still digging holes in the ground, hiding from predatory dinosaurs."
"I still remember when the first Webway was completed; the universe cheered for it. Our civilization was as brilliant as the stars back then."
As Prima spoke, its toad-like eyes rotated a little slower, as if it was lost in memories.
"Unprecedented and never to be surpassed, that's how we described it at the time—an eternal achievement, benefiting all life in the galaxy."
Blazkowicz agreed wholeheartedly. If not for the War in Heaven, the glory of the Slann Ancients could have illuminated the stars forever.
The Four Gods would never awaken, the Warp would remain as calm as ever, and with the Slann Ancients mediating, the real universe would also be much more peaceful.
Unfortunately, there are no "ifs" in the world.
The War in Heaven destroyed everything; the tides of the Warp never receded, and the awakened Four Gods existed across all timelines.
"You understand it very well, don't you?" Blazkowicz showed a look of joy. The Slann Ancient knowing about the Webway should mean it possessed some related knowledge.
He sought out the Slann Ancient, checking the shield was secondary; his main goal was to acquire knowledge about the Webway.
After much thought, the Emperor's Webway project indeed had its feasibility, and Blazkowicz hoped to help him accelerate the progress of the Webway project.
"Child, you need to be clear about one thing." Prima crossed its arms, its face full of arrogance: "In this universe, no one understands the Webway better than I do."
"Then do you know how to build it?"
"I do not know!"
The Slann Ancient's answer was simple and direct. Blazkowicz looked at it with a puzzled expression, his eyebrows furrowed.
"I understand it very well," Prima reiterated, "I understand it very well, but I have no involvement whatsoever in the technology to build it."
"My title is 'Life Forger,' not 'Master Builder.'"
"Throughout the long years, I have specialized in the path of life, fostering thousands of races."
"For the research and construction of the Webway, my kin had specialized Master Builders; they were responsible for the construction and maintenance of the Webway."
After speaking, Prima casually beckoned, and a pipe appeared in its hand, placed at its lips, which it then enjoyed contentedly.
"I see." Blazkowicz felt a bit regretful, his initial joy diminishing somewhat.
"Do you really have no technical means to build the Webway, not even a small section?"
Although reality was cruel, Blazkowicz remained persistent, hoping to get some help.
His unwilling expression was noticed by the Slann Ancient, and Prima couldn't help but feel pity: "Child, you don't understand what the Webway is."
It took a deep drag from its pipe, puffing out its cheek pouches, and the smoke it exhaled filled the entire cave.
Prima's narration was as melodious as a poem, the ancient language rising and falling in rhythm, flowing with profound truths.
Blazkowicz did not understand the language the Slann Ancient chanted, but he understood the true meaning of the melody, comprehending the specifics of the Webway.
The Webway. A miraculous engineering feat of the Slann Ancients that spanned the galaxy, it existed independently of the real universe and the Warp, in between the two dimensions.
Its construction was extremely complex, unlike any network or road humans could comprehend.
The Webway connected to the real universe through gates, its entrances and exits scattered like stardust throughout the galaxy.
Its internal space was vast and boundless, forming a self-contained universe capable of sustaining intelligent life.
The physical laws within it were rewritten, allowing for super-fast movement, capable of traversing the galaxy in just a few days.
But the greatness of the Webway did not lie in its self-contained universe, nor in its high-speed travel.
The technology to build the Webway was indescribable, defying the rules of the universe and the common sense of the Warp.
The real universe was the domain of matter and energy, while the Warp was the domain of psychic energy; the two were distinctly different yet intimately connected.
They were like a mirror, two sides of the same coin.
The Webway was independent of both, yet existed within both.
It resided within the barrier between the real universe and the Warp, where the Slann Ancients, using technology beyond comprehension, embedded the Webway.
The three-dimensional barrier of the real universe, where it met the Warp dimension.
The dimensional barrier had no thickness; perhaps it was a point, or perhaps it was a plane.
In a dimension with no thickness, the Slann Ancients' technology was like a knife, slicing through a piece of paper with no thickness.
Using null crystal as a framework to support the new dimension, and a self-repairing material called "Wraithbone" as walls, the Webway walls were built.
Thus, the Webway was successfully created.
It sounded difficult, and it was even harder to do; it was completely unlike the "roads" humans understood.
Human rail trains were built on a fixed carrier, and the carrier was relatively stable.
The galaxy was constantly changing; under the influence of physical laws, the distances between stars might be increasing or decreasing.
Like a living entity, the Webway could be stretched and, conversely, folded.
The gate locations were eternally anchored to reality, and in the infinitely changing galaxy, the Webway could always connect to the gates.
Life Forger Prima—the sole surviving Slann Ancient in the universe—could still clearly explain the principle, but the specific technologies involved were difficult for it to replicate.
After Prima explained the origin of the Webway, its eyes narrowed, and its expression became leisurely again: "Child, the profundity of the Webway is difficult for you to comprehend."
"The entire Aeldari race can still maintain its operation, but even their wisest minds, after exhausting all methods, find it difficult to replicate its mysteries."
"Hmph~" It puffed out smoke rings from its nostrils, and its throat echoed with disdain: "Even the gods they worship can barely glimpse a corner of its mysteries."
The technology of the Slann Ancients was so profound that when Prima spoke of it, it slightly raised its head, its pride undisguised in its description.
Blazkowicz's understanding of the Webway deepened, and his lingering worries completely subsided; he no longer considered the Slann Ancient's help.
He still didn't understand how the Emperor intended to hack into the Webway for a galactic population migration.
"There are some things, however, that can enter the Webway." Prima's eyes darted, and it muttered to itself as if remembering something: "Let me think."
Its floating body slowly rotated, its eyes tightly closed as it searched for ancient memories.
Blazkowicz sat cross-legged on the ground, his body upright and still, not daring to disturb the Slann Ancient's thoughts.
"Towards the end of the War in Heaven, there was a divine artifact used for excavating the Webway. The Master Builders disassembled it to prevent it from falling into Necron hands."
Prima opened its eyes, raised a hand, and held up three fingers to Blazkowicz: "Three fragments of the divine artifact; they were sealed separately."
"Child, if you can find them and reassemble the Webway artifact, you will be able to enter the Webway."
A dim hope rekindled. Blazkowicz's eyes widened slightly, and he asked with anticipation, "Which three artifacts?"
"Heart of Plague, Rattlesnake, and Tu'Chucha."
"When the three artifacts are reunited, forming the Webway excavation device, it will be able to enter the Webway and dig deep for the relics of my race."
"Hehe~" Prima suddenly chuckled, with a hint of mischief.
"I remember a rumor that my race buried relics deep within the Webway, even opportunities for apotheosis."
"Opportunities for apotheosis?" Blazkowicz's expectant expression changed, and a murderous intent flashed in his eyes.
Apotheosis? There were too many gods in this universe; no more were needed.
The chaos brought by the Four Gods had already plunged the universe into suffering; with another god, the intelligent races of the real universe would find it even harder to survive.
"Don't be nervous…" Prima waved its hand, its expression relaxed with a strange smile: "Apotheosis is just a prank, a lie to deceive demigods."
"How can there be a shortcut to apotheosis? If there truly was an opportunity, members of my race would have already ascended to godhood."
"At that time, the Warp was calm and undisturbed; wasn't that a great opportunity for apotheosis?"
"If one could truly achieve godhood, without the defilement of the Warp, representing true goodness and beauty, becoming a god of ultimate goodness and beauty."
"For my race, a god would also be a powerful aid, fully capable of preventing defeat in the War in Heaven."
"So, ah…" Prima sighed mournfully: "Apotheosis is all an illusion; what demigods desperately seek is merely the Slann Ancients' prank-like mockery."
Blazkowicz shook his head helplessly. He had been overly sensitive about gods, overlooking key factors.
As Prima said, there was no shortcut to apotheosis.
If there had been an opportunity for apotheosis, the ancestors of the Slann Ancients would have already ascended, stabilizing the situation of the War in Heaven and preventing the extinction of their entire race.
"But I advise you to pay close attention to news of the three artifacts." Prima's tone changed, offering a kind reminder:
"There are no opportunities for apotheosis deep within the Webway, but there is my race's sealed knowledge vault, containing many ancient, deadly weapons."
"The Slann Ancients' knowledge vault contains knowledge about the construction of the Webway."
"Child, the galaxy is vast, and gathering the three artifacts is not an easy task, you know~~"