Warhammer 40K in a box

Chapter 473 The Debate on Primitives, Part Three

“In ‘his’ eyes,” Hathor’s tone suddenly sharpened, tinged with barely suppressed sarcasm, “those people! Have they ever shed a drop of blood for the Empire? Have they ever faced the claws of aliens or traitors on burning battlefields? No!”

"Yet they comfortably and greedily enjoy every drop of blood and sweat that the soldiers earned with their lives and sacrifices!" Her words were like the sharp edge of a cold knife.

“Especially… when Father left the front lines and assigned those so-called ‘Executors’—those tax vampires in gorgeous robes—to collect the tithes…” Her voice lowered, carrying the suppressed tension before a storm: “This discontent, this feeling of betrayal, reached its peak!”

Hathor recounted history, his tone no longer that of reading a report, but rather one of cold indignation as he recreated the scene.

She relayed what "he" had said to his confidant, Gavial Loken, her voice laced with a chilling mockery: "'If it were up to me, Loken, I would kill every single executor in the Empire. But I reckon... we'll still be getting tax bills from hell when we have breakfast the next day.'"

Hathor then emphasized, his tone suddenly turning cold: "Loken laughed until he saw the chilling killing intent deep in 'his' eyes, which was no joke."

This statement is a blend of dark humor and chilling unease.

Hathor let the chill of history permeate the air, his voice tinged with restrained excitement, like a suppressed volcano: "This is 'his' truest thought! Naked, undisguised!"

At the heart of that belief was the conqueror's ownership: "The galaxy was conquered inch by inch by 'him' and his brothers, leading the Space Marines through blood and fire! Therefore, the right to rule rightfully belongs only to the Primarchs and Astartes!"

Finally, she almost spat out a sharp question to the mortal bureaucrats through clenched teeth, her deep-seated contempt bursting forth: "Those people... what right do they have to point fingers!"

The obsession and arrogance that belonged to Horus back then can still be clearly heard through her voice, like an ember that has never been extinguished.

Chen Xi listened intently, holding his breath; the heart of the storm was beginning to emerge.

Hathor's chest heaved slightly, as if she were forcibly suppressing the old anger that had been ignited. Her voice became low again, but more tense, like a fully drawn bowstring, ready to be released: "And all of this... the ultimate trigger point for all this discontent and prejudice... is Makado."

The name she uttered carried a heavy, almost suffocating weight, as if she were reciting a curse.

Hathor's voice trembled almost imperceptibly: "When the Second and Eleventh Legions... along with their Primarchs... encountered that unspeakable... 'change'..."

She suppressed the onslaught of hazy memories, her voice suddenly rising, filled with unbelievable anger and pain: "Macado—that mortal sitting beneath the throne of Terra! How dare he take such extreme measures—annihilation! Utter annihilation!"

“Erase all traces of the two Primarchs’ existence! From the cold archives… to the memories in the minds of us brothers!” She clenched her fist, her knuckles turning white from the immense force.

Continuing the narrative of that deadly conflict, every word seemed to burn: "When Horus, as the warmaster! As their brother! questioned Macado with the fury of betrayal and the agonizing confusion of unrequited love... that mortal..."

"He actually used vile psionic energy! Forcefully! Like wiping away stains! He cleansed Horus's mind of everything about those two brothers!" "Their names, too! They were erased! As if they had never existed!" Hathor's voice was hoarse with suppressed rage.

After a brief pause, her voice was icy cold, as if tempered by fire, proclaiming the utter death of something: "At that moment... the last shred of respect for mortal authority, even the faintest bit... was utterly crushed! Completely vanished!"

“In that confrontation filled with psionic pressure and furious roars, ‘he’ roared those words buried deep in his heart at Macado and at that damned Imperial system: ‘Since we have conquered the galaxy, then the right to rule should belong to the Primarchs and the Space Marines! Mortals—have no right—to point fingers at us!’” Hathor’s gaze was sharp as a hawk’s, fixed on Chen Xi, and he said decisively.

“Governor Chen Xi, you must understand this! This idea of ​​‘conqueror’s rule’ is by no means a poison that Chaos has shoved into ‘his’ mind out of thin air!” Hathor’s tone was resolute and left no room for argument.

"It is a realization that has long taken root in Horus's own heart! It is a conclusion that he naturally came to after witnessing the way the empire operates and personally experiencing how mortals seize high positions and reap the benefits without sowing!" Her tone was somber, as if she were peeling away layers of gorgeous skin that covered the rotten core to reveal a deeper truth that originated from within.

“The Four Chaos Gods? They simply… found this seed buried deep in the fertile soil of ‘his’ soul with unparalleled precision—” She paused for a moment, as if gazing at the invisible, deadly root system.

"—That poisonous seed nourished by anger, arrogance, and the pain of his brother's annihilation!" Every word carried a heavy weight.

"Then water it with all your might! Amplify it! Twist it! Until it swells into a vine of destruction that devours reason, devours loyalty, devours everything!" The scene of destruction seemed to materialize in her eyes.

Hathor took a deep breath, his voice filled with immense weariness and profound remorse, as if carrying a cross that had stood for millennia: "Those ordinary nobles... in 'his' eyes, they usurped their positions, reaped the benefits without working... and even dared to so coldly and ruthlessly erase the existence and memory of 'his' brother..."

Her voice was low and hoarse, filled with the pain of self-analysis, as if scraping bone with a knife: "This deep-seated disdain... this complete denial of 'rule by mortals'... this is the most fatal, most primal crack in 'his' soul..."

This is the sheer cliff that the vine of destruction was able to cling to.

Finally, her voice was cold and resolute, as if delivering a verdict: "Erebus... that scum who deserves to be torn to pieces... he simply found this crack and then... drove that poisonous wedge deep into it." Simple, direct, and deadly.

As she finished speaking, Hathor seemed to have exhausted all her strength. Her weary gaze fell back onto the mountain of documents, the cold reality pulling her back from the scorching flames of history.

Her fingers unconsciously tapped heavily on the hard tabletop, producing a dull but rhythmic knocking sound.

It's as if they want to nail that past, which was led to the abyss of destruction by prejudice, anger, and folly, to the pillar of historical shame.

Each strike was like a heavy hammer blow.

(End of this chapter)