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

Chapter 638 This is Mortarian, he poops all the time.
A round hand, adorned with blue and white stripes, emerged from the reddish-pink wooden door, holding a wooden stick tied with white cloth strips. The stick struck the Silent King squarely on the head, which was mostly covered in reddish-brown rust.

The Silent King heard a loud bang in his head, like a bell, a zither, the wind, thunder, a grand bell, the chirping of birds, the sudden sound of an organ in a church in the stillness of midnight, the melodious sound of a harmonica rising from beneath ruins, the song of musicians descending from the clear sky.
A gentle breeze suddenly swept through the parched valley, bringing distant clouds and rain, a warmth unlike any seen before, dispersing the long-accumulated snow, and causing something to sprout in the otherwise empty valley.
An indescribable sense of fullness began to erupt within the Silent King, gradually dispelling the chill that had lingered in his metallic body for countless years, making him warm and even burning hot.

Inside the empty box, a burning fire was placed—scalding, intense, bright, and clear.
He realized with horror that the hard ice wall between him and the world was melting.
Previously, although he possessed an advanced and meticulously designed perception of this world, with a precision surpassing that of almost any flesh-and-blood body, it always felt as if a thick ice wall separated him from the world. While he could sense everything behind the ice wall, when he reached out to touch it, he could only feel its coldness.
Now he is truly connected to the world.
He could feel the pain of his body slowly corroding, he could smell the stench of poisonous gas in the air, he could feel the sharpness of the rock beneath his face, and he could sense his emotions surging uncontrollably.

Pain, a clear and real pain, was tearing at his will.

For sixty million years, those images that had always lingered in his memory modules—the scenes of the annihilation of the Fearful Race—suddenly became vivid and clear.

Those memories were originally just memories to him, but now they felt like he was experiencing them firsthand, transforming into sharp knives piercing into something that wasn't originally there within him, causing him to feel an urge to cry.

But his body, the eternal space necromancer body, was not designed with this feature.

soul,

The Silent King finally remembered what was inside his body.

It is the soul.
A passionate, newborn soul.

The Silent King hated the soul.

That was his soul, but not the soul of the one who fears death.

But the sense of fulfillment that the soul brought to the Silent King was undeniable, for he experienced a painful separation of will, obsession, and soul.

"Silent King, do you repent?" The voice came from behind the red and pink wooden door.

First, a round, chubby belly appeared from the doorway, followed by a round, chubby head and a pair of round hands.
The blue raccoon cat emerged from the door and stood before the Silent King.

Zhou Yun had just stood up from the bathtub filled with Siegfried bath soap, and before standing up, he casually sculpted himself into the likeness of Doraemon using body clay.

It wasn't that he didn't want to put on clothes and come over with his face exposed; it was just that some eyes were constantly on him, making him a little uneasy.

Within the subspace, the gazes of the gods and many lesser beings remained fixed on this place. Zhou Yun paid little attention to most of these gazes; they were merely observing him without any particular intention.

However, even after experiencing Slaanesh many times in his dreams, Zhou Yun still couldn't get used to Slaanesh's gaze.

"I do not need the soul you give me; for the past sixty million years, I have been constantly repenting."

“I repent, but I will not submit to you. I must atone for my mistakes and save my race.”

“I am giving you a chance to save the undead race of space, your true race,” Zhou Yun said, looking down at the Silent King and gently shaking his head.

“I am Szalak, the last Silent King of the Deathbringers, and my race is forever the Deathbringers and their continuation.”

"The space necromancers who have abandoned our race's past are not my race."

The Silent King's face showed pain, but his will still controlled him to resolutely reject Zhou Yun's proposal.

A faint look of death appeared on Zhou Yun's face, which he had sculpted from clay.
King of Silence
In over 20,000 dreams, Zhou Yun had subdued him in this way only a handful of times; this was arguably his most successful attempt yet.

But even these few instances accounted for at least a tenth of Zhou Yun's mental anguish.

He has yet to successfully persuade the Silent King even once to accept a path other than biological transformation.

Even though he forcibly bestowed a soul upon the Silent King this time, it was to no avail.

Zhou Yun's power as a master of malevolent arts allowed him to sense it.

The will of the Silent King is violently striking his newly born soul.

His actions finally caused Zhou Yun, after a long period of numbness, to erupt with an indescribable burst of energy. Zhou Yun stretched out his hand and pointed to Mortarian behind him, in the thick poisonous fog.

"This is Primarch Mortalian, he poops all the time ——————"

“I don’t poop.” Mortarian interrupted Zhou Yun in a calm, gloomy voice.

The air fell silent for a moment, as the six Death Guard lords surrounding Mortalian were all on the verge of losing their composure due to their Primarch's words.

As the demon prince of Nurgle, Mortarion doesn't physiologically need to defecate, but his abstinence is still very unusual for a demon prince of Nurgle.
Mortarian didn't even have any organs that had fallen out of his body, and his armor was free of dirt except for rust, revealing a stubborn, pale texture.

Zhou Yun slightly shifted his hand downwards, pointing it at the Death Guard Plague Lord wielding the giant axe.
A hole had appeared in the lower part of the lord's power armor, from which his tattered intestines dangled, dripping a yellowish-brown filth.

"This is the Death Guard Plague Lord, he's always taking a dump."

The Plague Lord tilted his head slightly, looking a little confused.

"But if he dies one day, his shit won't come out and claim him as the Lord of Plague."

Just as Zhou Yun finished speaking, a grime spirit curiously poked its head out from the clump of yellowish-brown filth between the Plague Lord's legs.

"Look, this is a Nurgle that grew out of the Death Guard's shit, not the Death Guard." Zhou Yun moved his hand down again, pointing to the Nurgle.

Nurgle cheerfully raised his hand and waved at Zhou Yun and the Silent King.

"The Space Necromancer inherited all, or at least part, of the memories of the Fearful Ones," the Silent King said stubbornly.

"It was born in my secretions, and it is actually connected to my will. Hmm, it should be a deeper connection than that between the Fearful Dead and the Space Necromancers." The Plague Lord hesitated for a moment, looked at Mortarian, and spoke after Mortarian nodded slightly.

The Nurgle spirit beneath him nodded in agreement.

“But it is not me,” the Plague Lord added.

Zhou Yun shifted his gaze from the Plague Lord to the Silent King and asked softly:

"Why would a space necromancer be a fearful of death?"

"You are the silent king of the space necromancers, never the silent king of those who fear the dead."

"You feel guilty towards the fearful dead, but have you forgotten that you also bear responsibility for the current state of the undead in space?"

"Do you need my submission?" Faced with Zhou Yun's question, the Silent King did not answer. Instead, as if he had sensed something, he raised his voice slightly and asked in return.

Many times, Zhou Yun got stuck here.
The Silent King's submission was a necessity for a long time in those long dreams.
However, Zhou Yun had already found a solution.

"No need, it's just a little inconvenient."

"I'm just trying it out to see if I can save some energy."

Zhou Yun's voice was calm and indifferent.

He had been hoping for a different reaction from the King of Silence, but in the end, he was bored by the King of Silence's response.

He reached out slightly and pulled a thin piece of cloth from his pocket.
The cloth was red on one side and blue on the other, and it was embroidered with many clocks.

The Time-Space Burial Pouch.
Zhou Yun waved his hand slightly, covering the Silent King with the Time Cloth, and the clock on it began to spin rapidly.
(My stomach is still hurting, the next chapter will be later.)

(End of this chapter)