“Hand over that tin can!
You think you can hide something the Iron Skull Gang has laid eyes on?” A two-meter-tall cyborg grinned savagely as he closed in.
Rusty gears embedded in his flesh ground together with grating creaks, and his chainsword spewed acrid black smoke.
A dozen thugs wielding autoguns were tightening the circle step by step.
Kaelen gripped his grease-stained wrench with all his might, his back pressed tight against the cold metal hatch door behind him.
He had transmigrated to this brutal Warhammer 40K universe three months ago, and now he was actually about to go down in flames!
*System!
Are you done salvaging yet?!* Kaelen roared frantically in his mind.
*Just summon anyone who can fight!
Even Leman Russ will do!* “Die, brat!” The heavy cyborg bellowed.
His chainsword whipped up a foul wind, sweeping straight down toward the space between Kaelen’s eyebrows.
Only three centimeters away!
In that split second between life and death, a blinding golden light violently burst through the seams of the hatch door behind Kaelen!
[Ding!
Salvage successful!] [Due to a severe retrieval deviation caused by a slip of the hand, intercepted the soul node from the Davin altar!] [Deployment Target: Warmaster Horus Lupercal (Dying / Uncorrupted state)!] BOOM!
The multi-ton metal hatch door shot outward like an artillery shell, blown away from the inside!
The heavy cyborg leading the charge didn’t even have time to utter a sound before he was flattened into a splash of bloody paste against the wall by the flying iron hatch!
The chainsword shattered, spraying shrapnel and bloody mist in all directions.
A violent shockwave flipped Kaelen onto his back.
He scrambled up in embarrassment and stared fixedly at the cluster of golden light.
Inside the ruined chamber, a man as towering as a god was slowly standing up.
He wore cracked artificer Terminator power armor.
The moon-white plate was covered in fissures, and through his chest ran a massive, bloody wound pierced by an evil blade.
He was bald, but lacked any nauseating Chaos taint.
Though his face was pale and his breathing sounded like a heavy, rusting bellows, the mere act of him standing there made him feel like the center of the universe, capable of quelling all existence.
“Is this…
Davin?” The man’s voice was raspy and deep.
He lowered his gaze to look down at Kaelen.
“Mortal, did you save me?
Where is my Legion?” Kaelen froze completely.
He stared wide-eyed at the massive Eye of Horus emblazoned on the man’s pauldron, his scalp tingling as if struck by electricity.
*This isn’t Leman Russ!* *This is the arch-traitor who punched through half the Imperium, placed the Emperor upon the Golden Throne, and kicked off ten thousand years of darkness—Warmaster Horus!* Even if the System stamped him as an “uncorrupted,” low-health version who hadn’t been corrupted by the Four Gods yet…
this was still Horus!
Talk about taking things to a whole new level!
*System, fuck you!
Just say it if you want me dead!* Kaelen spat blood internally in his mind.
*I asked for a bodyguard, and you summoned the rebel chief?!* [Ding!
Host has successfully witnessed “The Return of the Warmaster,” altering canonical tragedy!] [Initial Reward: 100,000 Points!] [Store Unlocked: Dual Soul & Body Restoration Fluid.] Just as the notification for the massive fortune hit his mind— “You look very…” Horus frowned slightly.
But the moment he tried to take a step, he violently vomited a huge mouthful of dark blood.
Seeing the colossal frame of the Wolf God sway dangerously, Kaelen jumped up instinctively and lunged forward to hold him up with all his strength.
“Holy shit, big bro, don’t move!
Sit down and rest first!” Only now did the dozen or so Iron Skull Gang thugs snap back from the shock of seeing their companion plastered on the wall.
Facing that tower-like body alone made their very souls tremble violently.
“M-Mutant!
Kill him!” a thug shrieked as he suffered a breakdown, pulling the trigger down frantically.
BANG!
BANG!
BANG!
A dense hail of autogun rounds slammed into Horus’s armor like rain.
Sparks flew, but it wasn’t even enough to scratch the paint, let alone break his defense.
Horus’s eyes turned ice-cold in an instant.
Without the slightest hesitation, he took a step forward, using his massive Terminator frame to completely cover Kaelen behind him.
The severely wounded Warmaster, who could barely stand, flared with a deep, burning wrath at the bottom of his eyes.
“A mortal…
dares to open fire on a Primarch?” His voice wasn’t loud, but every word sounded like an iron hammer striking the floor.
“Has the law of the Imperium decayed to such a state?” A wounded tiger retains its authority.
Even covered in blood, even as his soul and body were being gnawed by the lingering poison of the Anathame— A demigod was still a demigod.
Horus forced a breath, taking a single step forward.
Fast.
So fast that mortal eyes couldn’t track him at all.
He didn’t even draw a weapon.
He simply raised his right hand—encased in a lightning-haloed power gauntlet—and casually swiped it toward the crowd.
BOOM!
No screams.
No resistance.
Not even the process of “falling over.” In the narrow corridor, a fan-shaped crimson curtain of blood detonated out of nowhere.
The gunfire ceased instantly.
As the warm mist of blood slowly settled, Kaelen stood dazed amid the wreckage.
The ground beneath his feet was warm and sticky, but he didn’t dare look down.
Well…
this battle was an absolute win.
A bit *too* absolute.
After dealing with the threat, Horus propped one hand against the wall.
His shoulders heaved violently as he gasped for air.
That burst of power just now had practically drained whatever little strength he had left.
“Uh…
Horus?
Can you hold on?” Kaelen approached cautiously, unable to hide the concern on his face.
The Wolf God saw the genuine care in the mortal’s eyes.
He was truly worried about him.
Not out of fear, not out of awe, but purely the worry of one person for another.
The corner of his mouth twitched slightly, and he waved his hand.
“It is fine…
I am merely tired.” “You better sit down quickly,” Kaelen said earnestly.
“If you collapse directly, I don’t have the strength to pull you back up.
Between your body and this armor, you must weigh at least three tons.” Horus fell silent for a second.
The mortal made a great deal of sense.
And so, the Warmaster of the Imperium, one of the greatest commanders in human history, obediently sat down against the wall.
He rested his back against the cold metal surface, the bloody hole in his chest still slowly oozing blood.
Every breath he took sounded like a rusted bellows being dragged across iron.
Kaelen crouched in front of him, a ten thousand questions burning in his mind.
But the most pressing issue right now wasn’t chatting.
It was the wound on Horus’s chest.
Around the rim of the Anathame’s wound, dark purple lines were spreading inch by inch.
With every fraction they expanded, Horus’s brow furrowed tighter.
That thing wasn’t just wounding his physical body—it was gnawing at his soul.
*Wait—* A spark of inspiration flashed in Kaelen’s mind.
*Didn’t the System just give me a bottle of restoration fluid?
The kind that repairs both soul and body?* He fumbled through his inventory interface and produced the tube of restoration fluid.
Kaelen quickly stepped in front of Horus and crouched down.
At this moment, the Wolf God’s lips were completely devoid of color, his eyes had begun to lose focus, and his whole being resembled a flame that might go out at any moment.
“Do you trust me, Horus?” Kaelen held the restoration fluid up before him.
His voice was light, but dead serious.
The Wolf God’s gaze fell upon the tube of liquid.
An unfamiliar substance.
Of unknown origin.
However— He looked down at his bleeding chest wound and the dark purple poison lines creeping across his skin.
“Inject it.” He had no choice, did he?
Without wasting another word, Kaelen found a small patch of exposed skin between the neck joints of Horus’s armor and plunged the needle straight in.
The moment the restoration fluid was injected, Horus’s body stiffened slightly.
And then— His unfocused pupils began to regain their clarity, bit by bit.
The expansion rate of the dark purple poison lines visibly slowed down.
Around the edges of the bloodied hole in his chest, new flesh could be faintly seen wriggling and slowly regenerating.
By the time the entire tube of liquid was pushed through, Horus’s breathing had finally stabilized.
His face remained pale, but it was no longer the deathly white of someone about to draw their last breath.
“My thanks to you, mortal.” Horus raised his head, his gaze once again clear and sharp.
“How should I address you?” “Kaelen.
A scavenger from the underhive of Planet Rhys.” “I am Horus Lupercal.” Even when injured to such a degree, this Warmaster did not drop his basic manners in the slightest.
Kaelen thought to himself, *Damn, the Imperium’s top traitor is actually pretty polite.* “I know you,” Kaelen nodded.
“Warmaster of the Imperium, First-Found Son of the Emperor, Master of the Luna Wolves.” The Wolf God wasn’t surprised by this and offered a slight nod.
After all, his name ought to be a household word throughout the Imperium.
However, his gaze shifted, falling upon the mangled remains of the gang members scattered across the corridor.
His brow creased slightly.
“Why did they attack me?” He paused for a moment before adding, “And you.” “They didn’t recognize you,” Kaelen shrugged.
“Seeing a massive guy like you wrapped in an iron shell, they mistook you for a mutant.” “…A mutant?” Horus froze for a moment.
Then, he laughed.
It wasn’t loud, but it was genuine laughter rumbling from deep within his chest cavity.
How could anyone confuse a Primarch with a mutant?
What an absurd joke.
However, Kaelen’s next words— Word by word, drove into his ears like ice picks.
“Horus, you need to brace yourself mentally.” Kaelen looked him straight in the eyes without flinching.
“It is currently the fortieth millennium of the Imperium of Man.
Ten thousand years have passed since the era you knew.” “Ten thousand years…
is more than enough time for mortals to forget many things.” “Furthermore—” He paused, choosing his words carefully.
“Furthermore, you were the arch-traitor who launched the Great Heresy after the Great Crusade.
The Imperial government spent ten thousand years thoroughly erasing your very existence…
from the memories of the vast majority of its people.” Silence fell over the corridor, cold as a tomb.
Horus sat there, the light in his eyes slowly freezing over.
Like an entire glacier collapsing in absolute silence.