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

Chapter 650 Saint Gilles: What the hell is it you?!

“Mom.” Guilliman’s voice trembled as he gently grasped the aged hand with his own large one.

“You look so tired, child.” The old woman looked at Guilliman with gentle eyes, her voice full of pity: “You always take on so many responsibilities, and so many people depend on you, making them forget that you also need to rest.”

“I am a Primarch, madam, you need not worry about me.” Guilliman revealed a bright smile, adjusting his facial muscles to lessen the weariness on his face.

“You are a person too, my child,” the elderly woman said with heartache.

Guilliman opened his mouth slightly, as if to say something, but in the end, all his words were reduced to a single sentence.
“You’re right, madam,” Guilliman said gently. “I promise you, I will get some rest.”

This brought a slight smile to the old woman's face. She turned her head and looked to the side:
"Sir, won't you come and talk to your child? Look at him, he looks so haggard."

The woman's words startled her, and she almost felt her body stiffen.

"Lady Tarasa Yoton, he is a monarch. How can a monarch confide his innermost sorrows to another man?"

“Even if that man is his father, it won’t work. This is a matter of a man’s and a monarch’s pride.”

"Robert, if you're feeling down, you should talk to Mrs. Euton more. It's never shameful to confide in your mother."

“Lord Connor.” Guilliman realized who the man standing behind him was.

“Just call me Father, child,” said the authoritative voice, tinged with a hint of age.

Guilliman turned his head to look at the mortal man standing behind him. The man was much thinner than Guilliman and incomparable to the former emperor.
But Guilliman, the regent of the human empire, perhaps the most powerful man of all, knelt gently on one knee before the mortal, bringing his head level with Guilliman's.
“Father!” Guilliman said earnestly.

“You’ve grown so tall!” Connor’s voice rose a little, a mix of surprise and delight, as if he were talking about Guilliman’s height, or praising Guilliman’s achievements: “I’m so sorry, son.”

“My departure was too sudden, leaving you alone to face the chaos on Macragge, but you are a much better monarch than me, and you did very well.”

“I’m also sorry. You are an excellent son, but relatively speaking, I am an average father.”

"My limited teachings cannot offer any help with the problems you have faced in the past and are facing now."

“No!” Guilliman interrupted King Connor softly, his tone slightly raised: “It is because of your and Mrs. Euton’s teachings that I have been able to hold on until now.”

“You don’t need to comfort your insignificant foster father. I am merely a ruler of a planet. How can I teach you to rule a galaxy?” King Connor smiled and shook his head.

“No, Father, he did not teach me how to rule.”

Guilliman lowered his head, a few water droplets faintly visible on his kneecaps.

"What you taught me is something far more genuine than rule."

The dream became blurred, like ink spreading in water, like sunlight spreading in fog, leaving only a warm, gentle touch lingering in Guilliman's heart.
Blood, fresh blood, and corpses piled up on the bombed-out ground.

Fugen wandered through the land in bewilderment; he had never seen anything like it before, nor did he have any memory of it.
He knew he was dreaming, but the dream was very strange.
He had just seen a World Eater, clad in blue and white power armor and with one arm exposed, hanging on the hood of a Sikaran vehicle belonging to the Sons of Horus, speeding away into the distance.
Fugen recognized him as Kahn, the company commander of the Eighth Company of the World Eaters, but Fugen didn't know that Kahn also had a hobby of using car emblems.

Fugen slightly raised his head, looking at the blazing black sun hanging on the horizon.
The sun was so dark it was frightening, like a single eye looking down on the earth.

“Is this your test, Father?” Fugen raised his head and said to the black sun.

“We prefer to call it punishment.” A muffled voice sounded behind Fugen, as if coming from a coffin.

Fugen gently turned his head to look behind him.
It was a fearless, towering, sacred, and ancient figure painted in phoenix purple, wielding a twin laser cannon in one hand and a powered claw with a built-in flamethrower in the other.

"Rellano? My ancient sage!"

Fugen recognized the fearless warrior from his memories; he was one of the most respected warriors among the Emperor's sons.

It was at that moment when he saw him that Fugen suddenly realized:

"This is Istvan III."

“You finally remembered, you traitor!” Rellano growled.

Behind him, countless purple figures emerged—the loyal sons of the Emperor who had been betrayed by Vograim aboard the Istervan III.
“.Aboudmon, Demit, Kafin, Katheron, Solason, Lacatio, Vespasian, Zavin, and Sol Taviz.”

Fugen recited the names of those loyal fighters:
"My venerable sons, the conscience of our legion."

"Shut up, traitor!" A cold, low growl rang out.
A soldier belonging to the 34th Thousand-Man Company of the Sons of the Emperor roared and charged uncontrollably toward his Primarch.

This company as a whole maintained its loyalty to the Empire, but they refused to become Black Shields and abandon the Legion's name like the loyalists of other rebel legions.

These sons of emperors proudly maintain their purple and gold attire, hunting down traitors who tarnish the name of the legion until their demise.

Fugen didn't move, letting the warrior stab him with his power sword.

"Hano, the lieutenant of the 'Death Eagle' of the 34th Thousandth Company." Fugen softly uttered the soldier's name: "I remember your sword was named 'Phoenix Light,' and you said it was because you wished your sword to be as sharp as the light emanating from me."

“Look at me now and tell me, can you see the light of the past in me?”

Fugen's voice was so gentle and moving that the soldier hesitated for a moment.

"Do you still want to seduce us?" The power claw came whistling in, pinning Fugen's body down to the ground.

The ancient sage Rellano overpowered Fugen's body, and a son of an emperor slowly approached, holding a sharp blade, and plunged it directly into Fugen's throat.

Blood spilled from Fugen's mouth. He felt his vocal cords being torn apart, but the sword vanished into thin air, as if it had disappeared into Fugen's throat.

“Because of your betrayal, we have taken your voice, so that you can no longer boast of your perfection,” Rellano said, looking down at Fugan.

“It’s alright.” Fugen opened his mouth slightly and found that his voice had become hoarse, unpleasant, shrill, and disgusting. “It doesn’t affect my perfection. My perfection doesn’t need to be boasted about.”

Four more sons of the emperor came to Fugen's side, holding long, sharp blades in their hands, pressing them against Fugen's limbs.

"Because of your betrayal, we have taken away your martial arts, so that you can no longer use force to proclaim your perfection," Rellano said coldly in judgment.

The sharp blade pierced Fugen's limbs, and intense pain assaulted his entire body, making him feel as if all his bones were shattered and he was utterly powerless.

“This doesn’t affect my perfection.” Fugen, forcing himself to stand, looked at Rellano and said, “My perfection does not come from violence.”

"Then because of your betrayal, we will also take away your intelligence, so that you can no longer play tricks and pretend to be perfect."

The sharp blade pierced Fugen's brow, stirring his brain. Fugen felt his thoughts become very, very slow, slower than ordinary people, as if the Emperor and Erda were related by blood and had given birth to him, this mentally challenged child.

“My perfection is not an act; my perfection is real,” Fugen said stiffly and blankly.

Rellano's power armor slammed into Fugen's face: "We will also take away your perfect face because of your betrayal, so that you will never be able to tempt others again."

The fire, the scorching heat, burned Fugen's face, turning it into a charred mess, ugly and hideous.

“It’s nothing, Rellano. My perfection has never come from these things,” Fugan said softly. “You can take away my voice, my strength, my intelligence, my looks, but I am still perfect, indisputably so.”

“Hopeless! You are still so arrogant and depraved, believing yourself to be…” Rellano’s voice was filled with barely suppressed anger.

“Because my perfection comes from you,” Fugen said to himself. “My pride also comes from you.”

“I was born as a clone, searching for the meaning of perfection in the memories of a man named Forgrim, but all I saw was depravity and madness. Only you were the only perfection in his memories. I learned what true perfection is from you. I am proud of myself and my Legion because of your existence.”

“You have proven your perfection to be indestructible, and my perfection comes from you. How can I abandon this perfection simply because I have lost my voice, strength, intelligence, and appearance?”

Rellano slightly moved his power claw away, and the ancient sage who hated Forgrim hesitated.

"Moreover, these injuries are all fake." Fugen slowly stood up from the ground: "Even if my father is certain that I will fall into depravity in the future, he will never allow you to hurt me now and let my fighting power be wasted."

The moment Fugen realized this, his wounds instantly healed.

Rellano took a few steps back.

"But our Lord has also given us another power, to judge whether you have already been corrupted, or whether you are a nail left by the Lord of Thirst."

“If we determine that you have already been corrupted, you will be killed, whether in a dream or in reality.”

"Now we will pronounce judgment. Every soldier has the right to judge whether you are guilty or not. If more than half of the soldiers find you guilty, you will die."

“Wait, I demand to defend myself!” Fuggen realized that what Relano said was true, waved his hand and stepped forward, attempting to give his own speech.

"Do you think we'll give you another chance to seduce us?" Rellano swung his claws at Fugen.

But at that moment, a pair of Shanabal sabers slashed out from the side, effortlessly swatting aside Relano's power claws.

"Rellano, good sage, calm down." An Astartes, dressed in magnificent golden power armor adorned with numerous tassels, eagles, wings, and horse mane-like ornaments, with only a few purple hues, blocked Rellano's attack.

This man lacked the elegance and nobility often associated with sons of emperors; instead, he seemed somewhat rustic, enthusiastic, and impulsive.

"What an ugly power armor." Fugen couldn't help but say, "Why haven't you changed your aesthetic sense yet, my strongest swordsman?"

The warrior wielding the double blades seemed to feel humiliated and couldn't help but complain, "Father, do you understand? I'm not here to hear you judge my aesthetic sense; I'm here to fight for your right to defend yourself."

Having said that, the warrior turned to all the loyal sons of the emperor: "I think that of all those standing here today, only I can call myself just."

"I am neither a loyalist nor a rebel."

"I have pledged allegiance to both Fulgrim and Lord Felus, and will remain loyal to both until death!"

"I am unaffected by anger and will not be involved in those future hatreds. After all, I died too young; we hadn't even chosen a war commander yet!"

“I approve of my brothers’ decision to seek revenge. If that demon is standing here, my twin swords will be with you.”

"But I still have a glimmer of hope for the man standing here, and I believe he has the right to defend himself."

"In the name of the Third Legion, I beg you all to grant him the right to refute."

With that, the warrior bowed to all the loyal sons of the emperor and stepped aside.

Rellano hesitated for a brief moment before looking at Sol Taviz.

Taviz didn't speak, he just nodded slightly.

“Three sentences. You are a member of the Third Legion. You can defend yourself in three sentences,” Rellano announced.

“That’s enough.” Fugen stepped forward and reached out to the warrior wielding two swords, gesturing for him to hand over his weapons.

The dual-sword warrior handed a Shanabar saber to Fugen.

Fugen took the military knife, then held the blade to his face.
The blade sliced ​​across his face, leaving three deep, bone-revealing wounds.

“That shameless Slaanesh demon has also betrayed me; he has tarnished the name of Forgrim, just as he has tarnished the Son of the Emperor!”

"I swear to avenge him, to cut off his head, and to restore your and my tarnished names!"

"I will not heal the scars on my face until I have completed my revenge."

Fugen returned the sword to the dual-wielding warrior and sighed softly.

“Now, I accept your verdict, which is your right as soldiers of the Third Army.”

Having said that, Fugen knelt on one knee, awaiting the legion's verdict.

Looking at the dark sun hanging low over the crimson red earth of Bal, Saint-Gilles couldn't help but sigh.

Is the father adjusting his state of mind in this way?

"That is indeed a way to let those souls filled with anger, hatred, loathing, and a strong desire for self-destruction see the people they want to see, vent their emotions, and gain some peace, so that they can stand on our side later and help resist the pressure of the two realms of vicious arts and erosion and destruction."

"But Guilliman is King Connor and Lady Euton, and Fugen is the loyal sons of the emperor."

"Why am I you? Why aren't you completely dead yet?!"

Saint Gilles turned his head to look at the mangled body behind him.

Looking at that big bald head shining brightly on the Baltimore soil.

(End of this chapter)