"What are you thinking about?"
Adam finally spoke.
In fact, he was originally preparing to set off for the Webway to resolve the Eldar situation. If those pointy-ears weren't kept in check, it would only be a matter of time before they added even more chaos to the galaxy's upheaval.
However, the very moment he stepped out of the Throne Room, the signal sent by Guilliman reached his perception.
Adam immediately turned around and teleported directly outside the Imperial Regent's office—whereupon he saw this two-and-a-half-ten-thousand-year-old Farseer with his back turned, rambling on about the legend of the God of Death in that signature Eldar aria-like chant.
As Adam listened, he could barely keep a straight face.
What do you mean, the Eldar successfully gathered all the Croneswords? If the four Chaos Gods didn't have a hand in this, I'll eat a Nurgling!
Still, this was a pleasant surprise.
If he wanted to eliminate the Eldar from the upcoming galactic turmoil ahead of time, there was no better entry point than this, Adam reflected silently.
"Greetings, God of Humanity. May your glory shine like the tides of the Warp—"
The shock had passed.
Eldrad Ulthran instinctively composed all his emotions in an instant. He bowed slightly, lowering his head toward Adam in an ancient and elegant gesture.
Regardless, even if the entity before him was a deity of an alien species, Ulthran would still accord him the proper etiquette. His lips parted slightly, preparing to deliver a suitable opening greeting.
And then, Ulthran was interrupted.
"Have you still not realized it?"
Adam had an expression of keen interest.
"Your own mind—can you clearly recall right now how you actually got that thing?"
"Of course—"
Ulthran went to answer almost by reflex.
That sword—the Cronesword he had personally reclaimed from the depths of the Webway—how could he possibly forget it?
Then, his thoughts suddenly ground to a halt.
Ulthran's eyes went blank.
It was a deeply eerie sight.
It was as if some silent, invisible cognitive filter was being peeled away layer by layer from the depths of his consciousness, finally exposing the truth before him without any concealment.
Along with Adam's words, the power of reality warping directly stripped away the interference clouding Ulthran's mind.
That interference was exquisitely subtle and powerful, as if woven personally by multiple Ruinous Powers themselves, overlaying every memory in Ulthran's mind regarding the sword's true origin with a seemingly flawless illusion.
Ulthran's eyes widened.
A wave of immense terror and lingering dread surged from the depths of his heart like a tsunami, swallowing him whole.
He remembered.
He remembered where he had actually gone in the depths of the Webway.
It was a forbidden region long corrupted by Chaos.
Through the infinitely deep, damaged passages that seemed to wind through multiple dimensions simultaneously, he had advanced alongside the Eldar Aspect Warriors.
The air had gradually become sweet, cloying, and warm, as a scalp-numbing fragrance began to permeate the corridor.
The more he recalled, the more the old Farseer's pupils contracted in terror.
And then—endless drapes.
Layers upon layers of silk hung from the four walls of the passage, writhing slowly like living things. That unholy fragrance seeped from every thread of the drapes, enveloping everything.
Ulthran's lips began to tremble.
He finally realized where he had been walking back then.
It was—Slaanesh's bedchamber.
"No—"
Dread poured down his spine like ice water.
Those Eldar companions whom he had originally remembered as having "perished through the hardships of the journey"—their soulstones had never been brought out of the Webway.
Not a single one.
Those gems shimmering with the light of Eldar souls were all lost in the depths of Slaanesh's bedchamber at this very moment, trapped forever within that palace built of indulgence and agony.
"How is this possible... Why did I overlook such an obvious anomaly?"
He muttered to himself, his voice so raspy it was almost unrecognizable.
Yet the memories continued to churn like an opened wound.
He remembered how, during a process that resembled "continuous sacrifice" far more than "clearing a path through obstacles," they had finally arrived at a certain bedchamber deep within the Six Rings of Slaanesh.
The longsword thrust into the floor in the deepest part of that chamber within the Six Rings...
He had pulled the sword out himself.
"No!"
How could this be?
Had he truly been manipulated like this?
In his dazed state, a face surfaced in the depths of Ulthran's consciousness.
It was that Eldar Farseer who had once been deceived by a Great Demon of Tzeentch deep beneath Terra.
Ulthran had forgotten his name by now.
Yet at this moment, every detail of that face was carved into his mind with crystal clarity.
Because that face was his own.
---
"So, you've realized what happened now, haven't you?"
Seeing that the fellow seemed to have calmed down somewhat, Adam finally spoke.
"...It's too late."
Ulthran closed his eyes in despair.
And at that exact same moment, elsewhere...
Deep within the Eldar Webway.
This was a vast, forgotten space where the crafting techniques of the ancient Old Ones were displayed to perfection. The dome was immeasurably high, and in the darkness, countless layered conduits and buttresses could be faintly seen extending in all directions, like the vascular network of some colossal organism.
Right now, Yvraine, the "Daughter of Shadows," stood at the direct center of the hall.
Before her was an altar forged from wraithbone, its surface covered in ancient Aeldari runes that flickered with intermittent light as psychic energy flooded into them.
Resting upon the altar, five longswords of varying designs were arranged in a fan-like spread.
All five Croneswords were finally gathered in full.
Yvraine took a deep breath. Her chest expanded slowly with the inflow of air, before she exhaled at a ceremonially slow pace.
Her bright eyes reflected the gleam of the five Croneswords, as though all the luminescence within the entire hall had been drawn into her pupils.
At this moment, as the emissary of the God of Death, Yvraine could already feel the energy gifted by Ynnead surging within her body.
Meanwhile, the gathered Eldar all around—the Ynnari cult members who had followed her here, the Aspect Warriors, and even the silent figures standing motionless in the shadows—were all gazing at her.
Along with them was Ynnead, the Eldar God of Death.
Countless millennia of waiting, the sacrifices of countless generations of Eldar, and the wails of innumerable souls devoured by Slaanesh echoing in eternal agony—all of this would be repaid the moment He awakened.
Without a shadow of a doubt, Yvraine could not afford to care about anything else right now; she had completely put out of her mind a certain Eldar Farseer whose whereabouts were currently unknown.
Or rather, any Eldar who believed in the God of Death would have cast everything else aside if placed in this position.
"In the name of the God of Death—"
Her voice echoed through the entire hall, clear and resolute.