I'm in Warhammer, please don't praise Doraemon

Chapter 587 I didn't ask you to never be corrupted; you're not Dorn.

"That Tarazin guy, after I left, actually used a she-wolf as the most precious collection in the human exhibit?"

Looking at Guilliman, whose expression was somewhat complicated, Fugen said in a slightly teasing tone:

"It seems he's not very good at preserving the history and culture of the galaxy, which is why you couldn't reunite with your foster mother."

Although there was a hint of teasing in Fugen's tone, it also carried a comforting undertone. Combined with his already touching manner, it made Guilliman smile with a sense of relief.

“Perhaps this is better. If she saw the Milky Way as it is now, I would feel a little uncomfortable,” Guilliman said, shaking his head.

Seeing Guilliman's expression, Fugen looked curious and couldn't help but ask, "What? Are you worried she'll criticize you for governing the empire like this?"

“She won’t.” Guilliman glanced at Fukugan, his expression returning to its rational state. “But she will worry about me.”

"That's how it is when you're a child. You always want to show your mother the good side of your career and bear the bad side yourself. You just want your mother to be proud of your career and don't want her to worry about you."

Fugen's expression twitched.
Guilliman's words reminded him of his "father".
Not the emperor, but a clone of him, Fabius Bayer.

Fabius Bayer betrayed Fugen to Tarasin, and Fugen was constantly confused, wondering what he had done wrong and how he had disappointed Fabius.

Fugen still remembered the disappointed look in Fabius Bayer's eyes; that look truly stung him.
“Am I not perfect enough? Am I not like the real Forgrim?” Forgrim couldn’t help but ask.

Guilliman took a small step back and looked at Fugen with a slightly horrified expression.

“Yes!” Guilliman said in a low voice.

“Then—” A hint of joy flashed across Fugen’s face.

“You’re so similar, you’re even more like Forgrim than Forgrim himself.” Guilliman interrupted Fugen: “But this isn’t a good thing, I almost feel like I’m seeing the next Primarch.”

“I will not, I will not allow the gods to defile my body.” Fugen shook his head resolutely.

Guilliman stared at Fuggen for a moment: "Forgrim, your willpower isn't as strong as you claim."

“I did not ask you to resist the corruption of the gods forever; you are not Roger Dorn.”

"But what do you mean by being corrupted just because you picked up the stabber's sword? What's wrong with your willpower?"

Guilliman said helplessly.
Foghrim's downfall seemed too casual to him.
The stabbing sword wasn't a particularly powerful demonic weapon; Guilliman himself had even been stabbed by a far more dangerous ritual dagger. But for Fugen to be corrupted simply by wielding the stabbing sword was far too casual, almost like a woman who would easily have an affair!
"That sword only has one demon, right? If this keeps up, what will you do when you see two demons? You'll have to kneel before the gods on the spot! What if you see four demons? You'll probably become the chosen one of the four gods!"

“As the regent of the empire, I really have to be wary of you being corrupted by the gods, really.”

“You just don’t understand!” Fugen retorted sharply. “I always hear you talk about gods, but do gods really exist?”

“Huh?” Guilliman was stunned for a moment.

"When you discuss the gods, it's as if you're discussing something that truly exists but cannot be understood. But how can something that truly exists be incomprehensible?"

"The subspace is not a real thing; it is a reflection of our emotions, a condensation of our desires. It is a powerful illusion!"

"The gods are not noble beings who respond to our desires; they are our desires themselves. They do not truly exist; they cannot fulfill our wishes, nor can they make us more perfect. They can only bring us endless illusions and depravity."

"Only the weak, cowardly, and filthy pursue such illusions, and I, the real Forgrim, refuse to accept them!"

Fugen made a gesture that conveyed disgust and contempt, his face showing extreme disdain:
"Imagine the damp, filthy power of lust and emotion, containing the most despicable, being injected into your body. It's utterly disgusting. Do the gods even deserve to bless my perfect body?"

"Who taught you all this?" Guilliman asked, barely able to contain himself.

“Fabius,” Fugen answered honestly.

"This is the first time I've met someone more talented than Kaur and more stubborn than Zhou Yun," Guilliman couldn't help but exclaim.

Fugen pursed his lips, and then he heard Tarasin speak.

"The exhibits we will visit next are those of a very small number of Phoenix Guard survivors."

"As we all know, the Phoenix Guard is the Terminator Guard of Primarch Vogrim, and I believe that its power armor design is the pinnacle of all Primarch Guards, and even the pinnacle of Terminator design."

Tarasin said in his usual icy tone.

Fugen's expression shifted slightly.
But at that moment, Zhou Yun shook his head: "There's no time to visit the next one."

Before Fugen could even wonder why, he caught a glimpse of a ghost radiating blue light appearing not far away.

“The Silent King agrees to speak with you,” Anlakel said, his voice slightly stiff. The Silent King consciously sought to marginalize Anlakel within the necromantic political arena.
Before the Silent King's return, Anlakel abandoned his status as a ruler, wandering the stars and constantly saving the catacombs that were being attacked, preventing the undead's property from being threatened. In the process, Anlakel would also requisition one-tenth of the fleets of the catacombs he saved to better protect other catacombs and revive the undead empire.

While some Necromancers and Pharaohs believed that Alla'kel was nothing more than an ambitious man who used the pretext of protecting Necromancer property to expand his own military power, most other Necromancers and Pharaohs acknowledged and respected him.

However, in the eyes of the Silent King, such behavior was nothing short of disloyal, unfilial, unkind, unjust, impolite, unwise, and untrustworthy.

You, Anlakel, have protected the undead's property, and you, Anlakel, have revived the undead empire. What use is there for me, the Silent King?
The Silent King then dispatched the Triune Guard under the guise of protection to monitor and control Allahkel, removed Allahkel's troops, and marginalized Allahkel in necromantic politics.

After Anlakhar and Talasiam conspired together, and Anlakhar lost his three holy guards, the Silent King directly regarded Anlakhar as half a traitor.
This time, Alla'kir still had to use a lot of his old connections, expend some political capital, and contact some spies to get the Silent King to receive his message.
The Silent King's agreement to communicate with humans was thanks to Zhou Yun's suggestion. Zhou Yun instructed Anlakel to tell the Silent King that Saint Gilles wished to speak with him.

Ultimately, it was this point that moved the Silent King, leading this silent ruler of the undead to agree to speak with humans.

Fugen sighed softly. He had originally hoped to find an opportunity to reclaim his offspring from Tarasin.
"Tarasin." Just then, Zhou Yun suddenly spoke, looking at Tarasin, and said, "I want your collection."

His sudden remark left Tarachin frozen in place, taking a moment to react.
"Which one?" Tarasin asked in a low voice.

Although it was heartbreaking, Tarachin was willing to give up a portion of his collection in exchange for the favor of this being.

Because this being holds the authority over the mechanical aspects of the High Heavens, and is the source of the mechanical soul in Anlakel.
Tarachin had initially harbored some doubts, but just recently, this person had gently touched Tarachin's steel head with their finger.

Then something else suddenly appeared from Tarasin's hollow metallic body.

His presence was no longer as cold as before; though not much, it had definitely gained a little warmth.

He began to be able to perceive some emotions slightly, and had some extremely simple feelings.

Although simple, those were genuine emotions, not calculated or simulated false feelings.
Tarasim cherished the wisp of machine spirit within him immensely.
“Perhaps every single one,” Zhou Yun replied with a smile.

".What?"

Tarasin took a step back, his voice rising slightly:
"That's going too far! This is robbery!"

Although precious, it is merely a fragment of mechanical essence, not a true soul, and is vastly inferior to even the most primitive animals or the smallest bacteria.

Even with a machine spirit, Tarachin is still essentially a machine, an empty existence.

If the true soul is fire, then the machine soul doesn't even qualify as fire; at most, it's just a bit of heat radiated from Zhou Yun's scorching flame.

"Tarasin," Anlakel shook his head at Tarasin.
In Allah's view, even a false spark is better than utter coldness, and a false hope is better than utter despair.

Even if it's just a machine soul, for a civilization that has already fallen to rock bottom, it's already an immense stroke of luck.
He hoped Tarasim would remain patient, but Allah Kher also understood how much Tarasim valued his collection.

"Tarasin, I can give you souls."

Zhou Yun remained calm and instead spoke in a persuasive tone:

"And in this process, I will need to use a lot of your collection."

“Soul?” Tarasin keenly realized that Zhou Yun was referring to the soul, not the machine soul.

"The true soul."

Zhou Yun nodded slightly:

"I can give you true souls, reverse the transformation of your bodies, and give your race a future again."

"Use your collection to exchange the past for the future."

Anlakel felt a sense of tension flowing through his body.

He didn't know if Zhou Yun was lying, but he knew of Taracin's obsession with those collections.

Tarachin knew one thing better than any other undead: their race had no future; their race was left only with the past.

That's why this former chief archivist of the Death-Fearing Clan was so obsessed with collecting these artifacts; in his eyes, they were evidence of the existence of the undead.

In Alla'kel's view, exchanging these artifacts for a possible future for the undead was entirely worthwhile.

But in Tarachin's eyes, these "past" are probably more important than a vague and uncertain future.

Tarasin stared at Zhou Yun with his green-glowing eyes.
(End of this chapter)