This is our Warhammer journey

Chapter 294 Khorne: Damn it, I followed!

Inside the dimly lit cabin, the flickering candlelight cast distorted shadows on the metal walls, like countless prying eyes.

These are four cards.

A card exuding an intoxicating fragrance floats on the far left, its surface shimmering with an eerie purple light.

Next was a large cauldron carved with blasphemous runes, constantly oozing a putrid green mist. Beside the cauldron were crystal cards, with countless star-like vortexes spinning wildly, as if to devour all the souls that gazed upon them.

On the far right of the card, eight skull containers filled with viscous blood are arranged in the shape of a chaotic eight-pointed star, with scarlet flames flickering in the hollow eye sockets of each skull.

This was the omen that the Chaos Wizard named Kayan showed to Perturabo.

"If this is what Abaddon is willing to pay, then you can get out of here."

"Perturabo said coldly, looking down at the wizard before him."

He was not particularly impressed with this Abaddon squire, but he was certain that the wizard who had survived the Scarlet Letter spells had not shone much during the Great Crusade.

Kayan's expression changed instinctively.

His pupils contracted slightly, and he involuntarily took half a step back. Feeling the overwhelming pressure and the almost solidified power in the air, he swallowed hard.

Hiss—I must say, it truly lives up to its reputation as a complete Primarch.

"Lord Peturabo, this is merely to demonstrate the attitude of those four beings."

His gaze briefly swept over Perturabo's iron-gray face before quickly falling back down. The wizard's voice was low and cautious.

The wizard who once made Magnus kneel before Abaddon and spread this message throughout the warp to promote the Chaos Warmaster has finally regained some sense of awe.

"As you can see, Lord of Iron."

Kayan gently fiddled with the floating cards with his fingertips and said.

"This will make victory yours, a victory of the expedition won by your command, not just by Lupecal as in the past. It is an immortal glory, a status that surpasses your brothers, the right arm of the new order."

“I understand what this means. Stop trying to flatter me and tell me why you're bringing this up.”

Peturabo replied somewhat irritably.

"Because I foresaw it, because I knew you desired it, a victory, the victory of this war."

"I have absolutely no interest in your vague and unfounded deconstructions of prophecy."

Peturabo looked at Kayan and began to sneer.

He roughly understood what the wizard meant.

Receive the blessing from the Four Gods, and then take this blessing to wreak havoc in the real universe. The Four Gods will use this to achieve their goals.

However, with five vivid examples before him, he did not want to follow in Birac's footsteps and seek small loans from the Four Gods, nor did he want to step onto the chessboard and become a clown for others to laugh at.

First, he doesn't have the physique of Birac, and second, his past experiences have made him realize that he can't beat the Four Gods.

If he could stumble against Forgrim back then, he might just stumble against the Four Gods.

Perturabo squeezed the Brokensmith Warhammer he had been holding, suppressing a surge of emotions in his mind as he began to ponder why he had started this war.

First of all, what does he want from this war?
The first thing, Danteok.

He needs to figure out how these children who should have died were resurrected, reclaim Danteok's soul, and find out if his father is hiding the souls of other children.

The steel giant's fingers unconsciously fiddled with the pendant on his fingertips.

This is his sister's soul.

Ever since he personally destroyed their home planet Olympia, his sister's soul has accompanied him, and has been resurrected and destroyed time and time again in his repeated attempts.

He has made profound progress in his research on soul implantation into bodies, which is why he is so confident.

The second thing is to win this battle.

He will settle old scores with the empire, then confront his brothers, who will fight each other as strategists.

Then he will triumph, proving to his wretched father that he is superior to his younger brothers, and he will build his own kingdom.

This is exactly what Peturabo wanted.

Peturab turned around. He stood there silently, staring into the murky darkness outside the observation post. He stared into the air as if he could see something in the darkness.

The air inside the cabin suddenly became viscous, as if countless invisible threads were taut in the darkness.

The thing was bright, distant, and ethereal, like a poison coated in honey, and only he could see it.

Secondly, what else does he need to win this war?
“I don’t need those so-called blessings. The gifts from the Four Gods are more like endless demands. What I need is an army, a group of generals, great demons strong enough to fight my brothers, or my other brothers.”

Peturabo slowly turned to look at Kayan and made his request.

The four brothers' combat abilities were extraordinary. Although Romulus was not entirely clear about it, the name of the Formless and Nameless Lord had already spread like wildfire throughout the warp.

Furthermore, they are capable of permanently killing certain warp entities to enhance their own power, and their development and power growth should be strongly correlated with the series of opponents they defeated during the Dawn Expedition.

Secondly, their subspace projections are undetectable, suggesting they are under the protection of the Emperor's Moment, making it difficult even for the Four Gods to interfere with them through the power of the Sea of ​​Souls.

Thinking of this, Peturabo felt a pang of bitterness well up in his heart again.

Since you can protect your offspring from the influence of the warp, why should I bear the pressure brought by the warp waves?
Am I really inferior to those four brothers?
He gazed at the waves of the subspace, as if he could see that eternally burning, cold sun.

"I don't think I'm qualified to make decisions."

Kayan shook his head.

“This is not a request—” Peturabo turned around abruptly.

Kayan suddenly realized that his body was already more than four meters above the deck, his feet were swinging with the sudden impact, and the Iron Lord's right hand was gripping his throat.

"This is a notice."

The malice contained within is palpable.

"Those rabble of the Black Legion will also be involved, right?"

"Petulab asked in a low voice."

He can choose not to move; he can afford to wait.

Kayan nodded with great difficulty.

Abaddon had planned to send those warbands who refused to obey him to the Iron Lord's forces to wear them down, and incidentally swindle some funds.

"Ah."

The Iron Lord was fairly satisfied with the answer, and then tossed him across the cabin like a broken doll.

Kayan slammed into a cargo container, creating a dent, before bouncing back up and falling onto the deck.

The spell has stopped working.

Kayan stared at the dark floor in front of him, his expression grave.

He certainly wouldn't use any offensive spells at this moment, as that would undoubtedly be a provocation that would cost him his life.

He slightly raised his body, small fragments of his shattered armor clattering off his body, his eyes fixed on the Primarch.

'It seems to be working.'

Perturabo paid no attention to the wizard, but looked at the reversal device made of black stone in his hand.

In his brief encounters and long period of getting to know his brothers, he was most wary of Arthur and Ramses.

The former's ability to seal off the influence of the warp can greatly hinder his projection of power in the real universe, while the latter, just like the legends he left behind in the warp, you never know what he can do to you.

So he kept trying to find a way to deal with it.

Peturabo knew very well that if he couldn't figure out a way to deal with his troublesome brothers, he would have a hard time handling them.

The biggest difference between him and people like Magnus is that he was constantly improving.

It was not the charity they received in exchange for pleasing the gods.

Rather, it is the analysis of one's own power, the understanding of the rules of the world, and the creation of new things.

Everyone thought that one of the originals was neurotic.

Arrogance, conceit, depravity, and self-abandonment.

Having never had a clear understanding of themselves is like a group of children holding swords, who are nothing but the intimidation brought by the swords.

But, is this the truth?

Peturabo pondered, casting aside his resentment and continuing to think calmly.

Learn to let go.

This is Dorn, he shared it with me—this is a skill he willingly and gladly shared with me.

Time is passing, and a being that no longer needs to submit to anything will grow.

He was neither a puppet subjugated by the four gods, nor a self-destructive waste.

He is not swayed by extreme emotions, nor is he influenced by those in higher positions.

Peturabo is a planner, has independent thinking skills, a determination to make changes based on the status quo, and a commitment to continuous learning.

This is where his strength lies.

This means that he will not be completely controlled by any one entity; they can only reach a consensus based on the status quo.

The moment Kayan realized that the Iron Lord was not as rumored, a card floating in front of him suddenly twisted and deformed, and the skull faces on the card suddenly came to life, emitting a powerful, maniacal laugh.

Amidst the furious laughter, Kayan's resentment at Perturabo's guaranteed minimum treatment dissipated like melting snow, transforming into burning rage.

His reason as a 'human being' almost vanished from his mind in an instant.

For a moment, Kayan was even confused by his surroundings; his vision was stained with blood, and he could hear his heart pounding like a war drum.

When he came to his senses, he saw that the first card in front of him had disappeared.

Accompanied by a roar of Angron's unwilling anger, the Crimson Wasteland appeared not far from Midgard.

The sky was like a gaping wound, with torrential rain of blood falling, each drop corroding the ground and creating hissing craters. Driven by their emotions, the Chaos Space Marines, who believed in Khorne, threw themselves onto the crimson earth.

Eighty-eight Khorne demons rose from the boiling sea of ​​blood, their bronze armor reflecting an ominous red light, and their demonic army surged forward like a tide.

Their blood was flowing, and the battle cries and the clanging of metal created a frenzied scene.

One reason was for the blessing of the Blood God, and the other was for the opportunity to travel to the real universe.

Blood God placed the first bet.

(End of this chapter)