This is our Warhammer journey

Chapter 393 Locking the target
The enormous dome of the Gate of Giant Insects plunges deep into the earth from the distorted sky, almost completely obscuring the light.

Tyrell Pregg, the great demon symbolizing the plague of tears, is diligently stirring the cauldron.

Almost every great impure being has such a pot. They are the most beloved children of Nagued. The only difference between them and the loving father is that they lack the loving and generous body of the loving father.

"Gulu, Guru."

The enormous crucible creaked under the weight of the large amounts of material being brought in every moment, and the unclean man laboriously stirred the wooden stick.

This is one of the three arteries leading to Dawn Star, through which the lifeblood of the Plague flows from the High Heavens to those regions beyond the reach of the Father's power. Beneath its surface lies a torrent of souls formed from the condensed spirits of Nurgle's followers, surging down from an invisible river.

wow~
The stirring of the wooden stick stopped.

"Oh, oh, my friend, you mustn't fall in."

"Tyl Preger said gently, catching the Nurgle spirits that were watching from the edge of the pot and nearly slipped," he said.

In the past, their fall was merely a sign of family expansion; even in failure, it didn't matter, as the Plague Garden family would still cheer for the losers.

But it is different now.

You'll die if you fall.

Those four ruthless beings have no regard for these lovely lives; extinction is all they care about.

Watching the Nurgles lick the cracks in its palms before skipping away to relay its message to others, tears welled up in its eyes on its swollen face.

This territory belonging to Tyree Preger continues to expand, and as its influence grows, more and more dead trees and branches around it are oozing murky liquid.

The pressure from the Dawn Sector was immense, and it and its two other colleagues had to exert every effort, even as the expansion of their own domains encroached upon the Father's garden.

However, the loving father remained silent, simply offering them tender support.

They are the most important part of the great deeds of the loving father.

Stirring the soup pot vigorously, Tyrell Preger looked up at the sky.

hum~ hum~ hum~
The bulky and obese Nurgle warship flew overhead, its massive engines no longer leaving dazzling blue trails, but instead trailing oily streaks of light that buzzed like greenbottle flies and rippled strangely.

Seventy-seven ships, and yet another seventy-seven, roared as they hurtled into the distance from the abyss.

"If you're going to prove something, I suggest you go and compete with the Dawn Fleet."

Magnus commented, fiddling with a dagger in his left hand.

The Pale King has fulfilled his promise; the targeted dagger has been forged, but it requires the cooperation of other factors to be effective.

Mortarian shifted his massive body, turned his head, and glared at Magnus.

A thick layer of ash covered Mortarion's armor and face, and the massive scythe leaned against a nearby cracked, withered tree, but Magnus knew that the enormous weapon could return to the Pale King's hand in an instant and attack him.

Because of his rude words.

"It's unwise to urge me on."

"Motalian said."

"It's not encouragement."

Magnus replied.

But that's actually what it is.

"This is not an encouragement."

Magnus repeated, a smile in his eyes.

"This is just stating the facts."

"Humph."

The Primarch of the Fourteenth Legion muttered, then let out a sneer.

"Yes, they are there. Those guys took everything that should have been mine. It was only right that I had it. The Emperor has always been biased, and we all know that."

"But there will eventually be a result."

Mortarian exhaled poison gas: "It's coming soon."

"The last person to say this is no longer one of our brothers."

Magnus seemed to be alluding to something.

"Petulabo? Ha, I'm not him."

Mortarian's arrogant response.

Magnus knew where the Pale King's attention lay.

Mortarian was almost scornful of everything. He was arrogant and believed that his abilities had never been fully utilized or recognized. When he was rescued from his home planet by the Emperor from his adoptive father, and that golden figure was basking in the cheers of the Barbarus, he felt that the Emperor's actions had taken away everything that he should have had.

This fueled his intense hatred for the Dawnwing, who had seized control of the empire.

The brief encounter planted a deep-seated hatred in his heart for the Wings of Dawn and all their creations, and this hatred escalated into a complex obsession, a desire to wage a protracted war against them.

If used properly, this will be very helpful.

“You and Kugas had better hurry. We need to bring our dear Guilliman back as soon as possible so he can see how his legacy has fallen into someone else’s hands.” After his sarcastic remark, satisfying his vanity with a dose of didactic wisdom, Magnus couldn’t help but remind him.

To be honest, everything Mortarion possesses now is indeed quite meager compared to the Dawn Sector.

Although Magnus's brain function was essentially paralyzed, he could still see that such an army would have a hard time defeating the mobilized Dawn Wings on the front lines.

Those demons are inherently chaotic, and no matter how much you try to suppress their nature, they can't be as hardworking and dutiful as humans.

If you could really do that, you wouldn't be a demon.

"The farthest point in the extreme star field, running north-south, is 100,000 light-years away."

Mortarian exhaled green mist.

Magnus avoided it with disgust.

"Even if they escape now, they won't make it to Makulag."

The Pale King gave a resolute response, and then gradually disappeared from this world.

He needs to go see Kugas to see how the preparations for the plague are going.

The concoction of this plague requires a sacrifice from the real universe; they need to find another planet relatively close to Macurag.

It must be completed before the Wings of Dawn notice, then head straight for Macragge.

Tyrell Preger saw his most beloved brother walk into the shadows, and from the joyful shouts of the Nurgles around him, he could hear the sounds of rotting wood breaking and maggots being reborn.

A deep sense of unease enveloped it once again.

It doesn't want to stay, but it will stay anyway.

It felt uneasy, not because the toxic gases surrounding it stung its skin—these toxins were excellent nourishment for it, and it had never been so powerful.

But ever since it began unleashing the plague, on countless nights, whether it was sleeping or traveling, whenever there were no other creatures around, a hallucination would appear that almost constantly plagued it.

The sound of breathing; someone is approaching, very close, but no one is in sight.

A shadow is approaching it; this illusion has existed since the beginning of the plague.

This hallucination had been bothering it, and it had always been unable to perceive what was watching it. It asked Hepes Simplex and Felix Brokenbone, the two companions who spread herpes and dengue fever, but to no avail.

They were completely unaware.

Now these hallucinations have returned, and soft breathing sounds are coming from behind its head.

Now, what is the imagined threat in its mind?
Tyrell Pregg stood alone, its rotting flesh trembling, and the Nurgles around it swarmed forward, trying to merge with the decaying flesh.

All the demons told it that it was an illusion.

It looked back again.

The Pale King has completely left its sight.

"Go away."

"Tyr Preger whispered, scaring away a large number of Nurgles."

Ignoring the discontent of the Nurgles, it then cried out in its thick voice, "Or come out and face me, Father, who welcomes every member who wishes to join this family."

The sound of breathing did not change its gentle rhythm. Tyl Preger wanted to leave, but it knew that wherever it went, the sound of breathing would accompany it.

Tell me where you are.

It whispered.

no answer.

This is just an illusion.

Tyrell Preger waited for the breathing to fade away, and terrifying tales from the warp surfaced in his mind.

It's definitely being watched.

Those are shadows lurking beneath the waves of the sea of ​​souls, and flocks of crows tearing their prey apart in an almost cruel manner.

They come without a trace and leave without a trace.

No way!

Thiel Preger dismissed the idea almost instantly.

'They wouldn't dare; this is the realm of the Father, how could they possibly...'

Hu~hu~
The plague-ridden forest began to sway again, as if urged by a loving father. It rose shakily, endured the fear, and continued to diligently stir the cauldron.

Thick pus began to flow from the surrounding branches again, and the flow expanded as the pus was stirred.

Ga~ga~
On the layered branches of decaying wood, an invisible crow flaps its wings.

Leave quietly.

(End of this chapter)