Warhammer: Don't Call Me the God of All Machines

Chapter 839 Feralus: Kids, you're all wrong
Ms. Euton has always been the most cherished person in Guilliman's heart, without exception.

Even his deep love for the six hundred worlds of Alteramar, or his loyalty to the Emperor, could be completely shattered by a single glance or tone of his mother's voice.

If Koz had actually captured Lady Yoddon and taken her hostage to force Guilliman to surrender unconditionally when he wreaked havoc in Macragge, the King of Macragge would not have hesitated at all.

Or perhaps it was those rebellious Primarchs who fled into the Eye of Terror. If they truly had the ability to capture Lady Yoton and promise Guilliman that he could exchange his mother for the Chaos Gods, Guilliman would very likely... choose to accept.

For Guilliman, Mrs. Ewton was more than just a foster mother and his most trusted assistant; she was a part of the foundation of his humanity and the core of his soul.

Of course, if such a situation were to actually occur, Ms. Euton would certainly have committed suicide decisively before Guilliman made a foolish decision, thus severing the root of Guilliman's downfall.

Many people admire Ms. Eaton's good fortune in having such a perfect and exceptionally capable son as Guilliman.

But Guilliman was actually lucky; it was King Connor and Lady Yodon who made him the happiest of all the Primarchs.

Guilliman's deep sensitivity made him unwilling to face the reality that Mrs. Ewton would eventually grow old, as if as long as he didn't think about it, the sculptor of time would not fall on his mother.

At this moment, knowing that Roche had a way to extend Ms. Yotton's life, and even to transform her into an artificial immortal to accompany him forever, Guilliman's joy was beyond words.

“You’re truly my best brother, Rosie. Knowing you is the second luckiest thing that has ever happened to me,” Guilliman said excitedly.

"Let me interrupt for a moment."

"First of all, I'm not your brother; strictly speaking, I'm your uncle."

Rose smiled and corrected him politely.

"Secondly, I don't think being ranked second in luck is something to be proud of."

A helpless, conflicted expression appeared on Guilliman's face.

"But my luckiest thing was that after I landed in Macurag, I met my father, King Connor, and Lady Eudon, who raised me together."

"Okay, okay, stop looking at me with that kind of misleading gaze."

Roche and Guilliman maintained some social distance, but he squeezed in again.

“Ms. Eudon and I are also close friends. I admire her open-mindedness and optimism, and I also admire her ability to raise a Primarch like you.”

"In short, I will do my best."

Hearing Roche's assurance, Guilliman felt relieved.

He knew Rose's character well: once he made a promise, he would do his utmost, no matter how difficult or dangerous.

"Don't be so impatient, my child. I'm not about to close my eyes yet," Mrs. Eudon said gently, looking at her son with affection.

“Oh, right,” Rose suddenly remembered something and asked, “What brings you here? Didn’t you say you were going to check those long-forgotten records?”

“Times have changed,” Guilliman explained. “We can now use secure AI to assist with processing, without spending too much time.”

His expression turned serious: "Moreover, there is indeed an urgent matter that needs to be dealt with as soon as possible."

"Regarding the promise we made to Ferrus."

Luo Xi understood instantly.

When Guilliman encountered Felus Marus, who had joined the Cursed Legion, aboard the Undying Embers, the headless brother left behind a poignant request:

Feralus hopes his brothers can help him guide the now-lost Iron Hand Legion back to the right path.

"The Iron Hand Legion is currently resupplying and repairing in Macragge. They won't be staying for long. If we miss this opportunity, will we have to take the time to travel all the way to Medusa to find them again?"

"Besides, Dorn is still in Macragge. If we Primarchs speak out together, Mel and the others should take it to heart."

Guilliman had always harbored a special fondness for Ferrus.

Felus is one of the Fearless Four listed by Guilliman.

Although the latter often appears cold and aloof, this has never changed Guilliman's preference.

This favoritism naturally extended to the Iron Hand Legion, which was founded by Feralas.

“Actually, I have a question.” Loshi turned his gaze to Makado, the palm print holder who seemed to want to disappear into the background.

“Although Felus has been serving in the Cursed Legion, surely he has at least some time to change his offspring and the legion?”

"The Emperor wouldn't be so heartless as to use Felus to the point of death. Oh no, Felus does seem to have actually died once, strictly speaking."

"Your Excellency, the one who holds the seal, surely you know the inside story?"

Makado clearly understood the unspoken meaning in Rosie's tone, which is why he spoke so quietly.

“In theory, Felus could certainly meet with the Steel Hand in person.”

"But why don't you think this is a problem with Feralas's own personality?"

"Who can force him to do this unless he himself doesn't want to?"

“What a proud man Felus was! Because of his momentary leniency and the rage that clouded his judgment, he became the first Primarch to die in the Great Rebellion. How could he possibly face his descendants who once followed him and are now lost because of his death?”

Guilliman's brow immediately relaxed, and he instantly understood Feralas's predicament.

"So he wants us to speak for him, to be his mouthpiece, to express his sense of indebtedness and regret towards his offspring?"

"absurd!"

Guilliman's tone was unusually tinged with anger.

In a sense, Ferrus is what Guilliman subconsciously aspired to be: absolute rationality, precise calculation, and ruthless power, like steel bearing immense weight.

But it was precisely because of his overly strong bias towards Feralus that Guilliman could not tolerate Feralus's “cowardly” escapism.

It's not like he can't come himself, yet he expects others to fulfill his obligations, pushing this responsibility that belongs to a father onto others. This is completely not the kind of responsibility that Guilliman believes Ferus should have.

"Since you are dissatisfied, you should correct this even more."

“Summon Felus and let him explain everything to his offspring himself.”

Roche's determination dispelled Guilliman's last shred of hesitation.

He took a deep breath, walked up to the person who held the seal, and said with a burning gaze.

“You must find a way to contact Felus, for the sake of the Steel Hand, for those loyalists who paid a heavy price in Istvan and the century that followed. The Empire owes them.”

“We cannot watch these loyalists go further and further astray.”

Macardo said nothing, his withered hand gripping the scepter tightly, and finally, he slowly nodded toward Guilliman.

“Go and summon Mel Irn, the Iron Father of the Iron Hand Legion. If any other Legion warriors are willing to be present as witnesses, please invite them as well.”

Guilliman gave orders to the ever-victorious army that followed him like a shadow.

"Are other legions included as well?" the ever-victorious soldier confirmed.

"Yes, if they want to come, then they can all come."

“I want everyone to be a witness that Feralas should have this kind of magnanimity.”

The Ever Victorious Army immediately accepted the order and went to summon the Space Marines from various Legions who were stationed on Macragge.

Before long, the Ever Victorious Army brought over the Iron Father.

Following behind were not only Mel Irn, but also many clan representatives of the Iron Hand Legion. They were all eager to attend when they learned that Guilliman was about to give orders to the Iron Ten Legion.

Commanders of other legions, such as Luther and Bjorn, were also curious about what orders Guilliman was going to give to the Iron Ten Legion and why he had only summoned them, so they followed behind the Ever Victorious Army.

The tranquil lakeside deep within Hera Fortress was suddenly filled with Space Marines from various Legions, and a chilling atmosphere permeated the air.

Surrounded by Morlock Terminator guards, the Iron Father approached the Primarch.

His remaining eyes gleamed with a cold, rational light. He knelt on one knee, his voice like a precisely tuned machine: "Mel Ain, lord of the Avignon clan, pays homage to Lord Guilliman."

The steel arms around him all showed signs of advanced mechanization—cold mechanical arms, electronic prosthetic eyes flashing red, exposed metal joints and pipes—making them stand out from the other legion warriors around them, like a group of walking war machines.

"The Lakuan Clan..."

"The Gesaka clan..."

"The Karagu clan..."

After Mel paid homage to the Primarch, the remaining leaders of the Iron Hand clans followed suit, each taking turns to pay homage according to their clan's ranking within the Legion.

All ten clans were eager to seize the opportunity to perform and gain recognition before the Primarch.

Even the other legion warriors who were watching the spectacle were astonished by the current division within the Iron Tenth Legion.

The Steel Hand, once such a powerful and unified legion.

With Ferrus's multi-threaded deployment, the Steel Hand can precisely control the troops to the perfect degree, making the most efficient use of them.

The Iron Ten Legion has consistently ranked first in the number of planets conquered, and its casualty ratio and overall performance are also superior to other legions.

Ferrus Marus earned his reputation with this iron-willed army during the Great Expedition, which gave him the political capital to compete for the position of War Commander.

Back then, Iron Hand still had the Primarch's banner, and although everyone fought against each other, they still followed the Primarch's lead.

But now, none of the Iron Hand's clans submit to each other. They all have different cultural traditions, different fighting habits, and even different command systems, which is definitely not good news for the Legion.

"Mel, do you know what I'm planning to do by calling you all here?"

Guilliman waved his hand, indicating that the Steel Hands didn't need to be so restrained.

However, the son of Feralus showed no sign of relaxation, remaining taut and coldly serious, like a machine.

"Based on available information, the Thinker's computer calculations show that there is an 83.5% probability that you are here to reward us Space Marines who have distinguished ourselves in the war."

"But I don't know why you only summoned the Iron Tenth Legion. Without enough known information, I cannot draw a definite conclusion."

“I wish our communication style could be more relaxed and comfortable,” Guilliman said helplessly.

"This is very comfortable for us. The Iron Tenth Army pursues absolute accuracy and efficiency, rather than inefficient communication methods."

"If you need these, we can accommodate your request."

To others, Mel Ian's response could be described as extremely arrogant and even inhumane.

The victorious soldiers clearly expressed their dissatisfaction with these cousins, but they could not shake the cold, rational logic of the Iron Father.

"No need for that, just keep your own style."

Guilliman had no choice but to give up, but he also understood that the steel hand in front of him was not deliberately targeting him; they were just like that to everyone.

"The reason I called you all here is to fulfill a promise."

“A promise to your father, my brother Felus Marus.”

Dorn and Perturabo, standing nearby, immediately looked puzzled. They had just returned to the Empire and felt they had missed many important events.

Ferrus Marus.

The name, like a boulder thrown into stagnant water, stirred up a tidal wave beneath the cold exterior of the Steel Hand warriors.

Mel Ian, who was in the lead, suddenly emitted a blinding white light from his only remaining eye.

Not only the Avignon clan, but other Iron Hand clans reacted in the same way.

They may appear extremely cold and distant, but that doesn't mean they have no feelings at all.

Instead, all their remaining emotions, fueled by guilt and anger over Felus's death, never died out and instead became the core fuel driving their mechanical bodies.

"Excuse my bluntness, Lord Guilliman, our Primarch has already perished on the Istvan V. How could he possibly make a promise to you?"

Mel ultimately maintained his composure and did not directly point his finger at Guilliman and accuse him of talking nonsense.

"Who told you that Feralas has completely disappeared?"

"For a Primarch, physical death is not the end of life. As long as their warp nature remains, they can live in another way."

Guilliman knew that these Iron Hands were unaware of the existence of the Cursed Legion, nor did they know that their Primarch had been serving in the Cursed Legion for a very long time.

The Iron Ten Legions were completely unaware of this. On one hand, the Cursed Legion rarely appeared, and even when they did, they vanished without a trace, like phantoms. On the other hand, there was Felus's concealment of this from his offspring; he seemed very reluctant to tell the Iron Hands about his current situation.

The news came as a shock, completely unknown to the Steel Hands.

The Iron Father suddenly took two steps forward, almost closing in on Guilliman.

The Ever Victorious Army reacted immediately, and the leading guard activated his power sword, blocking Iron Hand in front of the Primarch.

"Lord Guilliman, what do you mean by this?" Mel's voice finally trembled slightly.

"Are you saying that our father is actually still alive, but not in the form we are familiar with?"

Mel was unaware of the concept of "the nature of the Primarch," nor did he care about such trivial details.

All he wanted to know was whether the Primarch was still alive; that was the most important thing.

“If your definition of being alive isn’t so strict, then Felus is indeed still alive and can carry out his mission for the Empire according to his own will.”

“Ferus is my brother, and he is also the Emperor’s son. How could the Emperor allow him to die like this?”

Felus and the other cursed warriors were indeed in a bizarre state, teetering on the brink of life and death, but their willpower was unquestionable.

As if triggered by some pre-programmed procedure, all the Iron Hands knelt down in unison, the sound of their metal knees striking the ground heavy and resounding.

"By the Emperor, thanks to your supreme glory, the Tenth Legion is able to still possess the Father of Genes."

"Ferus is alive! That's wonderful! That's wonderful! Praise be to Om Messiah! Praise be to the Emperor!"

Representatives from various clans even managed to squeeze out a few drops of murky lubricant from the eyes of the transformed righteousness, collectively expressing the same ecstasy and excitement.

"The Iron Tenth Legion is extremely grateful to you for invaluable news, but we still want to know where our father is and why he hasn't come back to look for us?"

The Iron Father originally planned to return to Medusa immediately after resupplying and recuperating in Macragge, but he has now changed his mind.

Even the other clan leaders shared his thoughts like never before – now that the Primarch was still alive, the most important thing they should do was to find Feralus immediately and rebuild the Legion.

Guilliman was silent for a moment, then exchanged glances with Losi.

“Rather than having us overstep our bounds, let your father tell you why himself,” Rosie said.

“Please, you who hold the seal,” Rosie gestured to Macado.

"You young people really won't let this old man have a moment's peace. I can't even guarantee that I can summon Ferus if he's on some important battlefield."

The man holding the seal walked slowly to the lakeside and plunged the scepter he held deep into the earth on the shore.

A powerful surge of psionic energy coursed through him as his withered fingers traced lines in the air, outlining a complex ritual array on the ground composed of countless mysterious runes.

Loxi silently memorized these totems, thinking that he might be able to use them in the future.

Large beads of sweat trickled down Makado's forehead, disappearing into the deep furrows of his brow.

"Alright, Felus has answered my call."

Macado gasped, his voice trembling with exhaustion.

"The Cursed Legion generally only appears on the most critical battlefields. The vast galaxy is so large that there are far too many places where they are needed to put out fires."

"You'd better hurry, there's not much time to waste."

Similar to what happened on the Undying Embers.

The once turbulent lake surface instantly calmed down. With the help of the ritual array, the power of the subspace surged into the real universe, and the low temperature instantly turned the lake into a sheet of ice.

One after another, dark figures burning with golden flames appeared on the ice surface, as silent as ghosts.

They were entirely black, with golden flames emanating from the gaps in their armor and from their empty eye sockets, silently watching the mortals and Astartes present.

Many Astartes were seeing the true form of the Cursed Legion for the first time and instinctively felt wary of these unknown "kindred spirits."

If they hadn't known about the existence of the Cursed Legion beforehand, most of the Astartes present would probably have mistaken these fiery creatures with no flesh or blood for some kind of special warp demon.

Directly in front of the Astartes of the Cursed Legion, a tall, headless figure also appeared silently.

He held a lightning-struck metal warhammer in his hand, with leaping arcs of electricity spreading along his signature, gleaming, silver-white steel hand, connecting to the massive and complex power backpack on his back.

Without any words or symbols, the moment they saw this figure, a resounding roar echoed deep within the souls of all the Iron Hand warriors.

This is their genetic father, Medusa's Iron King, Feralus Marus!

"So this is what Guilliman meant by his father's indescribable state of being, whether he was still alive or not..."

The Iron Father finally understood: Feralus's head had vanished without a trace, and a life form in the real universe without a head, even if it was a Primarch, certainly could not survive.

"So Father is only alive because of the Emperor's psychic powers. He has been active in the Warp, fighting tirelessly for humanity. No wonder we haven't heard from him at all."

Countless complex thoughts flashed through Mel's mind, and even the installed mind suppressor and the imprinted thought were ineffective.

The connection between the Primarch and Astartes is not merely a genetic one, but a special connection that extends to the level of the soul.

"Father!"

The Iron Hands knelt down in unison, their cold metal knees sinking deep into the earth, calling out to the cursed Ferus before them.

The voice, filled with a century-long longing, guilt, and the ecstatic joy of regaining what was lost, instantly broke through the carefully constructed dam of reason they had built.

Although Felus had no head and could not show any expression, the sorrow and guilt emanating from his headless body weighed heavily on everyone's hearts.

Even the cursed flames that clung to his body dimmed as his emotions sank.

"Although I agreed, we all feel that you have to do this yourself."

“We are outsiders, so how could we possibly persuade your descendants to abandon that… wrong path?”

Guilliman looked at Felus and suddenly felt somewhat less confident.

He emphasized "we," including Roche, and even the silent Dorn and Peturabo.

After all, his agreement with Feralus did not stipulate that Feralus should come forward to explain this matter.

"Ferus is now in the Cursed Legion, and the Emperor's psychic power sustains his existence and that of the other Heroic Spirits."

"When humanity in the galaxy encounters an insurmountable danger, the Emperor will dispatch the Cursed Legion to provide assistance."

"Many of the cursed warriors behind him may well be your old comrades."

"The promise that the loyal will return to the Golden Throne is not just an empty phrase; the oath you made will still be fulfilled after your death."

The words of the one who held the seal were like a key, instantly unlocking the long-sealed memories in the hearts of the Iron Hand veterans.

The first thought that came to the minds of the Iron Hand veterans was not to marvel at the Emperor's power, but that their dead brothers had never disappeared and were still following the Primarch.

Doesn't this mean...

While they tore each other apart in the agony and rage of the Primarch's fall, their dead brothers were by their father's side, waging war across the galaxy.

As they split apart, shattering the vast Iron Ten Legion, the fallen brothers rallied around the Primarch, united as one.

Then why are they still alive?

Even in death, they can still fight for the emperor, and may even play a greater role than when they are alive.

These fiery, cursed legion warriors were more powerful than the Iron Hand even to the naked eye.

Many Ironhand veterans, including Mel Irn, tacitly came up with the bizarre idea of ​​dying now and then joining the Cursed Legion to continue following the Primarch.

Although it sounds absurd that a Space Marine would commit suicide just to stay by the Primarch's side, most Space Marines would gladly accept this choice if given the option.

It was just death; for Astartes, death was merely a milestone in his service career.

Those who did not accept death, but chose to die, were forcibly stopped by the Space Marines, who remained in the real universe to continue maintaining the Legion.

No one knows a son better than his father, and Feralus had clearly long been aware of his offspring's twisted desires, which was one of the key reasons why he had long been unwilling to contact the Legion.

He couldn't just turn his entire Iron Hand into a cursed legion, could he?

For those iron-fisted individuals who are so obsessed with completely mechanizing themselves, if death can achieve their goal, then death is not death, but a "efficient" shortcut.

“If you still acknowledge me as the father of genes, then you cannot come to me by deliberately dying.”

Feralus's voice suddenly became stern and heavy, carrying an undeniable Primarch pressure, warning the Iron Hand.

“By the Emperor, when you shout this battle cry, the Emperor will truly be watching you, and he will know all your secrets and thoughts.”

"And such cowardly behavior as actively seeking death makes it impossible for them to join the Cursed Legion." Felus's voice struck the very core of every Ironhand warrior like a hammer blow.

Seeing that Felus's patch had sealed off this shortcut, the Iron Hands' morale plummeted.

I want to die so badly, what should I do?
The Iron Father of the Avini clan was filled with regret. Why hadn't he died a quicker death at the hands of the orc warlords? Why had he allowed Danteok to save his mutilated body?

If I can't actively seek death, then dying in a one-on-one duel with an orc warlord wouldn't be acceptable, so I'd better report to Feralas's side long ago.

Mel wanted to slap himself a few times, but there was nothing he could do.

But if you don't commit suicide, but instead actively choose some tasks with extremely high risks and extremely high mortality rates, wouldn't everything be fine?

This idea grew wildly in his mind like a wildfire, and the other Iron Hand warriors also arrived at a similar "optimal solution" in their thought processes.

Felus did not expect that his obstruction would instead ignite an even more intense and dangerous fire of madness within them.

"Do you know why I went to so much trouble to ask my brother for help?"

“My sons, I am so saddened that you have gone astray.”

Ferrus's words struck the already extremely unstable Iron Hands like a thunderbolt, their faces filled with disbelief and shock.

Why? Why would the original body be so disappointed in them?

An unprecedented panic surged through him, and the Father of Steel spoke directly, asking the question.

“Father!” Mel Ian retorted almost instinctively, with a frantic, almost erratic urgency.

“We…we have been following your teachings.”

It was you who taught us to compete with each other, to let the best survive, and to promote the positive evolution of the legion.

'Adapt and you will grow stronger; fail and you will perish'—this is the ironclad rule we have upheld since your return to the Legion.

"We have also learned from the lesson of your murder by a traitor. Only by becoming more mechanized and fighting in a more ruthless and rational way can we overcome the weakness of flesh and blood and forge greater strength."

"Isn't this... the direction you were pointing us in?"

Felus looked at his offspring with grief. They were colder than ever before. They had found the weaknesses in the flesh and destroyed them, then replaced them with strong and tough machines.

That is indeed his teaching, but it is wrong.

“I shouldn’t blame you, it’s my fault.” Felus’s voice suddenly softened, filled with self-reproach.

"I originally planned to reverse your erroneous idea of ​​flesh and blood being weak and mechanical ascension after the Great Expedition ended, but I didn't expect Istvan V's betrayal to disrupt this plan."

"My death has only spurred you to become even more extreme in your original ideas."

The Iron Hands looked at each other, completely unable to believe what they were hearing.

If that's really the case, then the cornerstone of their beliefs, the path of evolution they've been so proud of for centuries, and the spiritual pillars upon which they depend for survival have all been wrong from beginning to end? Were they all mistakes that their father wanted to correct?
Instead of awakening them, their father's death pushed them into an even deeper and darker abyss.
This complete collapse of faith is far more despairing than the most fatal physical injury.

It is no exaggeration to say that Felus's denial is enough to shatter the foundation of the Iron Ten Legion's existence. Their ideals, beliefs, and everything they pursue are all wrong.

"No! That's not how it is!" Mel let out an unprecedented, almost collapsing, desperate scream.

This roar was devoid of any rational calculation; it was nothing but a torrent of pure emotion.

The longer the battle went on, the more thoroughly the Iron Hand warriors were transformed, and the deeper their pain and confusion became.

They had long since fused themselves with the machinery, severing their path back to flesh and blood. Could they... ever go back?

(End of this chapter)