I'm a magnetic field madman

"Looks like you're doing really well, this old bastard... he's truly become the perfect 'god' you need," Angron said mockingly, looking at the unmoving emperor.

"Do you still intend to use your venomous words to harm the people of the Empire?" Guilliman said coldly.

“Don’t put on this righteous indignation act, Guilliman,” Loka mocked.

"Why do you always look like this, deceiving yourself? Guilliman, I don't want to argue with you. Why don't you talk to him yourself?"

"Thinking about it carefully, how could I be here without his permission? How could I play the role he wanted me to play?"

Then He spoke.

In the words of light and fire, the Emperor converses with His returned Primitive, His final and most perfect creation. His preparatory plan, the son of His sacred numbers, Robert Guilliman.

"Offspring, Number Thirteen, Guilliman, traitor, liar..."

It was just a name, but to Guilliman it felt as if millions of people had simultaneously made the same mistake.

The living emperor is incredibly shrewd; he can read the minds of others as well as he can hide his own.

Now, His power is beyond imagination, but He has lost the subtlety He possessed when He was still walking among humans.

To speak with the emperor was like conversing with the stars. The emperor's words burned within him.

But what hurts most is what was left unsaid.

The Emperor welcomed Guilliman not like a father reuniting with his son, but like a craftsman finding his lost beloved tool.

He was like a prisoner locked in an iron cage, who was handed a file.

Guilliman had no illusions; he was not the one who handed the file to the Emperor, but the file himself, the Emperor's tool.

While the Emperor was still walking among mortals, He cloaked manipulation in the guise of love. He made the Primarchs call Him Father;

He made the Primarchs call themselves His Sons. Although He rarely used these words, Guilliman finally realized that when the Emperor said these things, He never meant them sincerely.

Impacted by the Emperor's powerful will, the sacred cloak that shrouded the corpses slipped away in Guilliman's eyes.

What he glimpsed was the most authentic version of that person with countless faces.

Angron was right. The Emperor was a madman, the biggest madman in the entire galaxy.

He went mad ten thousand years ago or even earlier. His will and soul have countless facets, and he only reveals them at the appropriate time.

He has played the roles of countless great figures in human history, and those figures were all quite different in character and behavior—was that a disguise? Not entirely; at least the emperor had deeply ingrained those aspects into his very being.

Did the former emperor have love? Perhaps it was just one aspect of his many facets, showing the qualities of a father to the Primarch.

But now, ten thousand years later, he can no longer show those versions of himself.

Perhaps those fragments representing love have been lost in the Milky Way, or perhaps they were destroyed by Horus and the gods.

The Emperor made them love Him and believe they would be loved in return. But He did not. His Primarch was merely a weapon, nothing more.

Although His divine power is boundless, perhaps even greater than before His ascension, the Emperor's humanity has been completely lost.

He can no longer hide His thoughts behind the mask of humanity.

The emperor's glory blinded him; all things were in chaos, but in the end—in the end—Guilliman was finally able to see the whole picture.

He had thought that his father could no longer hide himself.

Emperors do not love their own sons. They are merely objects. Guilliman, and his brothers, are nothing more than tools to achieve a goal.

The emperor is no longer human.

That ruthlessness and indifference was so pure, what a blow it must have been to Guilliman, who once felt that the Emperor was his father—but what about Angron?

"Hahaha!"

He was laughing wildly, laughing with unparalleled joy—the happiest he had ever laughed since birth!

There was no reason why, or rather, the only reason was simply because he had determined what kind of person the emperor really was!

Just take it as schadenfreude, a "if I can't have it, no one else can either" mentality.

The emperor, he really does see himself as a useless tool!

Once he realized this, Angron felt incredibly happy!

Look at you pampered Primarchs, Guilliman or Sangilius, in the end, we're all just tools!

Since they are all tools, what difference does it make whether they are good or bad, favored or despised?

Angron stared at the Emperor. Unlike Guilliman, he saw a more ruthless, colder, and more insane tyrant!

The biggest lie is that the Emperor loved us all, but the truth is that the corpse that has sat on the throne for thousands of years is about to completely lose even its last bit of love for humanity.

This is the cursed one, a madman whom even the four Chaos Gods consider a lunatic!

Angron understood why Loka was so convinced by such a thing.

Because this is the god that Loka longs for, this is the object of Loka's worship!

Cold-blooded, resolute, unchanging, and treating believers like dirt, they reside high above the cruel heavens.

Loka had finally found a god he could worship at will, a god whose expectations would never be disappointed.

That's why he was laughing so happily. He thought to himself, "Just like me."

He had long understood that the Emperor saw him as a broken tool, and Loka, on the other hand, happily accepted his existence as the Emperor's tool.

This is the sense of belonging that Loka has always sought, the feeling of being needed by the god he worships.

Guilliman ignored the hysterically laughing Angron and the smug Loga... As his thoughts intertwined with the Emperor's, he began to understand the Emperor's message.

There are far too many things to explain—as the son of the Holy Number and the Emperor's backup plan, Guilliman will undoubtedly always be the heir valued by the Emperor.

A great deal of secrets were instilled into Guilliman's mind, whether he accepted it or not.

After a ten-minute pause, time in the throne room finally began to flow again.

Guilliman was breathing with difficulty, like a person about to drown.

The look in his eyes as he looked up at the emperor had completely changed; there was no longer any expectation or disappointment, only sorrow and tranquility.

Yes, he has understood everything.

What does the emperor want to do? What will the emperor do?

Even though what remains on the throne today is a cold, indifferent, decaying corpse, Guilliman still admires him and feels even more sorry for him.

The time that belongs to the emperor and the empire... is actually running out.

Guilliman's breathing gradually calmed, and he turned his head away from the Emperor. He didn't want to see his father's miserable state any longer, and simply left the radiant golden throne without any hesitation.

"I was going to slap you right now," Angron mocked, looking at the ignorant corpse.

"But you're even more pathetic than I imagined. It's worse than death! I'll postpone slapping you for now, hahaha!!"

Having said that, he laughed wildly and followed Guilliman out of the throne room.

He would definitely slap the Emperor, but not now—he wanted to slap the Emperor's face, not the face of a rotting corpse!

He won't have to wait much longer.

As the morning prayers rang out once more and the lumens shone brightly, the doors of the throne room finally opened.

While a short time passed inside the throne room, nearly a week had gone by outside.

This time, what poured out of the gate was a shimmering mist, pale and white like silver moonlight. And from this cold radiance, two Primarch figures stepped out.

The maniacal laughter of Angron and the silence of Guilliman formed a stark contrast... and in these seven days, Terra had already gathered far too many survivors.

From the Imperial Guard to Astartes, from the High Lords of Terra to the commoners, and the war machine that completely surrounds the palace—

If it weren't for Trajan and the Custodians' resistance, the remaining forces of these High Lords would have already begun their assault on the Throne Room.

They looked at Guilliman and Angron with eyes that held both respect for the Primarch and intense hostility and hatred.

However, many ignorant people and soldiers, even when suffering, only yearn for divine revelation when facing the "Son of God."

Amidst the shock and fear, cries for enlightenment from the Primarch suddenly erupted. Guilliman looked at these people with sorrow, and he knew then that the poison of faith could never be eradicated.

The emperor carries the poison of faith, which brings him the power of protection, but also makes him suffer eternally.

He was right there.

Looking at Trajan and all the humans here, Guilliman simply uttered a message that sent shivers down their spines.

"He is coming back."

"My father, the emperor of mankind, is about to be resurrected."

146. Bai Wujie and the Emperor

The Eternal King gazed upon the human emperor.

The Eldar rulers and the human rulers stared at each other.

Alone in the throne room bathed in radiant light, Bai Qian Shuang stared fearlessly at the greatest tyrant in human history before her, and said with amusement…

"I guess you didn't keep me here just to 'cure' your illness, did you?"

He held the Star of Avalon in his hand, the emerald power of the Mother Goddess Isha resonating on the scepter, and without a doubt, this power was meant to revive this greatest tyrant.

Throughout the entire galaxy, only Isa's power can revive the Emperor from this wretched state and return him to his former body.

But the price to pay for this is undoubtedly enormous.

The cursed one's body, tormented for millennia, and his pitiful soul, dominated by pain and the tearing of psychic energy, reshaped his battered body. Even Isa had to pay a terrible price.

The cycle that could have been maintained with Nurgle might be broken, and Isa might even become part of Nurgle.

Even—the goddess of life, Isa, will completely disappear from the entire galaxy.

This is not an excessive price to pay, because if it is to awaken a dying Dark King and allow a being whose essence is no different from a Chaos God to walk among men, paying such a price is only natural.

The subspace is fair; you get what you give. Even gods cannot escape the cruel law of exchange within the cosmic current.

Moreover, even though Bai Qianshuang's body was the only material existence that Isa could find in the entire galaxy that could bear the most divine power she could, this was the limit of what she could do.

This was undoubtedly a terrible condition that the Spirit Race could not accept, so Isa kept it a secret from everyone except Bai Qianshuang.

The benevolent Isa may be the only truly kind deity in the entire galaxy, but even so, her sacrifices for the Emperor are conditional.

She demanded that the Emperor refrain from targeting the Elven race in the future.

If the two races go to war for their own reasons, that's a different story...

However, the Emperor must never use his own status or order his sons to slaughter the Eldar!

Is this request excessive? Not at all.

To Isa, who possessed perhaps the only remaining divine motherly heart in the entire galaxy, all she wanted was a promise from the Emperor.

Throughout the long period of suffering, Isa's tears never stopped...

She had long understood that if the entire galaxy continued its unrestrained fighting and boundless xenophobia, then chaos would never cease.

The Eldar were once part of that madness, slaughtering countless races during their rise to power, and even destroying the gods of many other races that once reigned supreme.

Now, it's humanity's turn, and humanity is even more extreme than the Eldar of the past.

That's enough; things shouldn't go on like this.

If neither side is willing to be tolerant anymore, then chaos will only grow stronger. If mortal life continues to decay in this way, then the mirror reflecting it will only become more terrifying!

Isa stared at the Emperor, pleading with this delusional human ruler, hoping he would offer even a sliver of rational choice.

And as he gazed upon him, the Emperor spoke.

"Intruders!"

"People from another land!"

"Evil!"

"It shouldn't exist in this world!"

Countless faces and countless voices burst forth along with the psionic illusions revealed by the rotting corpse!

The surging torrents of the soul reverberate ceaselessly in reality, scattering the ashes of the soul across this golden hall.

The emperor looked utterly terrifying! Under the cold sunlight, countless faces wailed in unison.

Its terrifying appearance was no different from those chaotic evil gods; it would drive an ordinary mortal with a normal mind crazy the moment they saw it.