Noticing the Primarch’s reaction, Lancelot finally felt reassured about whether his Emperor’s gene-blood was genuine.
It seemed he had still underestimated the system’s power.
For a transmigrator like some WNs, the old-school systems always started by drawing a Dragons’s blood.
In essence, that was no different from drawing blood from some weasel spirit.
The main problem was that Warhammer, this cesspit of a universe, had forced Lancelot to be suspicious.
And now that the truth had been verified, he needed to think carefully about what he could gain in this mirror world…
As Lancelot thought this, his gaze abruptly shifted to the vial of blood in his hand.
If one had to name the strongest being in Warhammer 40K, it would unquestionably be the Emperor of Mankind.
True, Lancelot had been horribly unlucky and transmigrated into not one, but two Warhammer universes.
But from another perspective, did that not mean the two Warhammer universes could benefit each other?
In a single universe, the Emperor of Mankind was forced to prop everything up alone.
But…
what if Lancelot existed to connect the power of the Emperors of Mankind from both universes?
The Imperium of Man in the Warhammer universe was already half-crippled, but if two half-crippled universes helped each other, perhaps the whole situation could be reversed.
As this thought rose in Lancelot’s mind like a raging storm, the way he looked at the Twelfth Legion’s Primarch, Angrona, changed slightly.
Then the most important matter now was how to make the Primarch before him believe him.
Fortunately, that was simple.
He would openly commit perjury.
With that thought in mind, Lancelot looked straight at the Primarch before him, put away the Emperor’s blood, then planted his sword upright and spoke.
“Whether you believe me or not, in the 1st Millennium, when human civilization first began to sprout from Terra, I already knew of the Emperor of Mankind.”
“At that time, he was not yet the Emperor of Mankind, but he was still willing to dedicate himself to the human species.
I witnessed him take the form of Saint George and defeat a shard of the Void Dragon.
I witnessed him take the form of Leonardo da Vinci and paint masterpieces upon paper.
I witnessed humanity’s rise and fall, and I likewise witnessed him launch that magnificent Great Crusade.”
“He once asked me to help him realize his dream.
I did not agree immediately, choosing instead to observe.
But at that time, I promised him one request: that I would leave behind a seed of hope for his future, and for humanity’s future.”
“So he gave me a vial of his blood, then erased all memory of my existence from the root.
And I did not fail in my duty.
I preserved it until this day.”
Lancelot said all this without the slightest blush or hitch in his heartbeat.
He had already said these words once before, so now they came out with remarkable fluency.
And the moment he finished…
Across the entire arena, every loyal Astartes battle-brother of the Twelfth Legion, including their gene-sire Angrona, looked at Lancelot with a clear, bewildered blankness in their eyes. This chapter is updated first at novelping(.)com.
Because the way they looked at Lancelot had already changed from the way one looked at a mysterious Astartes to the way one looked at a mysterious ancient fossil.
What did he mean, he had known the Emperor as early as the 1st Millennium?
What did he mean, the Emperor of Mankind had once asked him to help realize his dream?
People like that were not unheard of in the Imperium.
The Imperial Regent who had long since died, the Perpetual Malcador the Sigillite, had been one of them.
And now…
Malcador the Sigillite was dead.
Yet this man had suddenly appeared and told the Primarchs and Astartes of the present that he was a Perpetual just like Malcador?
If Lancelot had not just produced the Emperor’s blood, Angrona would only have considered the man before her a reckless madman.
But once the Emperor’s blood had appeared in Lancelot’s hand, Angrona’s perception as a Primarch had been countless times sharper than that of an Astartes.
The resonance almost engraved into the depths of her soul told her an undeniable answer.
That truly was the blood of her father, the Emperor of Mankind.
And what did that mean?
Even the Primarch felt dizzy.
Now…
the Emperor sat grievously wounded upon the Golden Throne.
In his game against the Four Gods, he had already placed his entire body, all his blood and flesh, even his very soul, upon the gambling table.
Now he had lost almost everything, and could only sit upon the Golden Throne, maintaining the Imperium of Man’s shattered hope.
And this vial of the Emperor’s blood…
what was it equivalent to?
For a destitute gambler, it was like having an old friend he did not recognize suddenly appear inside his broken little hut.
That old friend held a gold brick engraved with the gambler’s own name, then said to the gambler that this gold brick was something he had once entrusted to him, and now he would use that gold brick to help rebuild the battered Imperium of Man.
Perhaps that comparison was a little exaggerated.
After all, how could the Emperor’s blood today be compared to a mere gold brick?
Thoom, thoom, thoom!
Inside the dueling arena, thirteen pillars of golden light began to roar and erupt with radiance.
This cage itself had, in fact, been built with the Emperor’s power involved.
And after sensing that a vial of his own blood had suddenly appeared in the Materium, the cold sun in the Warp surged and burned furiously at that very moment.
The daemons and Dark Gods within the Warp also sensed, in that instant, that the Emperor had been violently stirred by something.
“!!!”
Khorne, the Blood God, cast his gaze over, only to find that the place was Nuceria, homeworld of the Twelfth Legion.
As for anything more, it was concealed by the shadow of the Anathema and some mysterious power, leaving him unable to glimpse even the slightest detail.
He did not consider why his gaze had been blocked, nor why the Anathema had been drawn there.
“Launch a crusade against Nuceria!”
The Blood God prepared to investigate the situation in the most direct way possible.
Eighty-eight daemon armies, led by eight Greater Daemons of Khorne, began advancing toward Nuceria.
And elsewhere, the same thing was happening.
Within Slaanesh’s Palace, even the Dark Prince, sunk in pleasure, reacted to this disturbance.
When Slaanesh discovered that the source was the planet Nuceria, a terrifying, treacherous laugh drifted out from behind the Seven Veils.
Lord of the Red Sands.
What a steadfast and unyielding existence.
Slaanesh had long wanted to drag her into the palace and lavish affection upon her at will, to see what kind of delightfully fallen expression the Imperium’s hope would reveal beneath such favor.
Sixty-six daemon armies led by six Greater Daemons of Slaanesh likewise began advancing toward Nuceria.
But even so, for the Warp, this was still an ordinary day.
The newborn Slaanesh had never been obedient, while the Blood God was a Dark God whose very purpose was war.
No matter the time, he thirsted for blood, and it was only natural that he would wage war.
What truly set the entire Warp into agitation were the two other places that had originally been considered calm.
Within Nurgle’s domain, amid those foul-smelling spore clouds, the Plaguefather who represented rotting life had originally not intended to get involved.
But…
the Warp turbulence stirred up by the others caused the Warp power surrounding that planet to surge abruptly.
As a result, through his divine portfolio, he vaguely sensed that a life force had appeared upon Nuceria: one that should never have appeared, and one that filled him with incomparable craving.
That was the life of the Anathema.
Even the usually placid Lord of Plagues grew excited in that moment.
Seven Greater Daemons of Nurgle, together with seventy-seven armies of Nurgle, likewise surged toward Nuceria.
In the Warp, three Dark Gods had already acted.
And at that moment, Tzeentch, known as the Changer of Ways, was twitching in his palace with excitement, almost as if seized by convulsions.
“A change never once foreseen!
What in the world has happened upon Nuceria?
Why is there not a single thread of fate upon that planet?
Magnificent.
This is magnificent!”
The Changer of Ways shrieked.
He was, by nature, the god who governed all variables and fate.
Yet in this moment, he had caught hold of a change beyond his own prophecy.
Naturally, that left him unable to suppress his delight.
The daemon armies representing his sacred number of nine also began to assemble.
The Warp churned with unimaginable turbulence.
Any psyker could sense it: the gaze of Chaos across the entire universe seemed to have fixed itself wholly upon the planet Nuceria.