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After that unnatural holy flame appeared, the scent of burning incense permeated the battlefield, and everyone could feel its divinity.
It was the will of the Master of Mankind.
"For the Emperor!" The warriors were instantly invigorated, as if they had gained some sort of buff.
They roared as they launched a counterattack against the daemons.
"Only through the Emperor do we endure, under His shelter all humanity thrives…"
The priests performing exorcism rites in the rear fell to their knees in tears, praying fervently.
The divine will had descended – Iax was saved! (TL: Sorry for the mistranslation, the world was Iax)
The plague miasma that had ravaged the area was also burned away by the holy flame, turning into harmless vapor.
Father Nurgle's foul energies were restrained, and many daemons caught within the poisonous fog were instantly reduced to ashes or left on the brink of death.
But the Emperor's true target wasn't the daemons. It was Nurgle himself. The two were engaged in a fierce clash.
Billowing divine flame and virulent corruption gathered at the heart of the battlefield, gnawing at each other.
The struggle between these two Warp entities was not a material battle, but a conceptual confrontation, manifesting in the material universe as apocalyptic catastrophes.
The power was so terrifying that all beings nearby temporarily withdrew.
They had no ability to intervene in a war fought at such a high dimensional level.
Eden and Guilliman retreated to the edge of the battlefield, gazing at the swirling vortex of flame and corruption at the center, both with shock in their eyes.
Both Primarchs could feel its sheer dread.
"So this… is the power of the Warp?" Guilliman's gaze held a trace of apprehension as he pondered how humanity could ever counter such forces.
Perhaps… humanity was simply powerless against them.
Eden sheathed his legendary power sword, Glory, and sighed in awe. "Old G, your dad sure is enjoying himself. Imagine how much faith energy he's burning through right now… must be making all his joints feel loose and relaxed."
Guilliman glanced at his brother, feeling the urge to correct him. All Primarchs carried the Emperor's blood; He was the father of them all.
But after thinking it over, he decided to remain silent.
After all, he himself didn't particularly want to acknowledge that "cheap father." The Emperor had never truly called them sons.
From the day He was entombed upon the Golden Throne until Guilliman's return ten millennia later, the Emperor had barely spoken a word to anyone.
That being was always silent and inscrutable, rarely revealing His thoughts, and even more rarely showing affection.
In truth, the Emperor had allowed His sons to love Him, to call Him father, to identify themselves as His children – but He almost never said those words back.
This made the Primarchs feel like they were nothing but weapons, mere creations of the Emperor.
Guilliman pondered this. When he had reached the Golden Throne, the Emperor had spoken to him – but what He said was spoken to a creation, not a son.
The Emperor's greeting to him had not been a father welcoming his child home, but rather a warrior finding a long-lost blade.
A blade He hoped could cut away the darkness and save His failing Imperium.
"Perhaps… the Emperor never loved us…"
The voice of the Primarch, the Regent of the Imperium, was low and tinged with bitterness.
"Huh?"
Eden blinked in confusion. Why was Old G suddenly getting all emo?
Looks like the Emperor really hadn't treated his sons very well… classic case of childhood trauma. Then again, maybe it was just a fundamental communication breakdown.
Some traditional parents simply don't know how to express affection.
And the Emperor definitely seemed to have social anxiety.
Maybe they needed to start a family group chat, or hold a family therapy session, to talk things out and resolve their issues.
"Hiss… and the Emperor himself is right here today too."
Eden frowned and raised his voice a little. "How about we go ask him later? See if your dad really loves you or not?"
He genuinely wanted to know the answer to that – and he wouldn't mind some juicy gossip either.
His words drew subtle sideways glances from Calgar and the others, but they all forced themselves to maintain natural postures, pretending they heard nothing.
Guilliman, however, became visibly uncomfortable. His expression hardened with determination.
"Perhaps there are… issues to resolve. But now is not the time. We must focus on eliminating the enemy's advantage on Iax."
He really didn't want – or dare – to face the Emperor directly, so he quietly changed the topic.
"Ah, this is an important issue though. Conflicts like this can't just be ignored forever. Avoidance solves nothing."
Eden patted the Regent's shoulder, but Guilliman fell silent and said no more.
"Sigh… Old G chickened out."
Eden shook his head slightly. The Emperor's whole family was so awkward. Like father, like son. Old G was no different.
Of course, among the Primarchs, Guilliman's personality was actually one of the better ones.
Forget it. Another time, perhaps.
He wasn't just meddling for the sake of gossiping about father-son drama.
Because the Emperor's family relationships directly impacted the entire Imperium – just look at the Horus Heresy.
In the past, present, and future, whether rulers had harmonious families and stable successions determined the fate of the common people.
Any small ripple would spark countless speculations among those beneath them.
Especially for Primarchs – each one commanded vast armies.
If their conflicts ever became irreconcilable… if they truly fought, it would shake the heavens and burn the entire galaxy.
Even a single impulsive act could cost countless lives.
Such historical examples were recorded in the Eastern Empires of Old Terra's 1K era – like how Cao Cao's single cannon shot cost the lives of three sages.
Above Iax' Grand Cathedral, the clash of flame and corruption reached a fever pitch, still locked in stalemate.
More visions appeared: golden-winged angels and warriors wreathed in holy flame battling phantoms of Nurgle daemons representing plague and rot.
Guilliman's gaze held deep worry.
"Relax. It'll be fine."
Eden wasn't worried at all. He explained, "The Emperor just woke up. He's still warming up, but soon he'll start going all out."
He didn't mention how he himself had punched the Emperor awake – Old G probably couldn't handle hearing that.
Just as he finished speaking, the vibrations from the distant Holy Spire grew ever more violent. A surging tide of power flooded forth.
The holy flame almost became tangible, and within it one could glimpse an illusory Sacred Sun.
This sight drove the faithful on the battlefield into an even greater frenzy.
Eden was overjoyed. The Emperor had fully entered the fight, and He was going all in!
The blazing energies of the Sacred Sun were pouring out like there was no tomorrow, instantly reversing the situation.
Within mere seconds, the sticky, malicious plague miasma covering the battlefield was completely suppressed.
But that wasn't the end.
The golden flame surged directly toward the rift in the void – the source of the plague fog, connecting to Nurgle's Garden within the Warp.
Good grief, the Emperor's fire was burning through to the other side!
Eden drew a sharp breath, eyes fixed on the titanic clash before him, not wanting to miss this historic scene.
He could even sense the Emperor's excitement – His Majesty was having the time of His life.
In the past, when the Emperor used faith energy, He had to possess a living saint and stingily release tiny portions, barely purifying a small region.
He'd make a few angels appear, or have some pretty girl purify Chaos corruption into clean water.
And even that process was extremely difficult. Cultivating a living saint was no easy task, involving complex soul contracts and rituals.
More importantly, mortal vessels simply couldn't withstand much of that energy.
But now, with the Holy Spire and the Prism Tower capable of channeling His power, He could finally release the faith energy that caused Him so much pain.
As much as He wanted, for as long as He wanted.
It was practically therapeutic.
In Eden's words, it was like "detoxifying and rejuvenating" while also burning away foul abominations – a win-win situation.
"No…"
On the other side of the void rift, before his Black Manse, Father Nurgle saw the flames approaching and seemed to panic.
Gurgle-gurgle—
His Garden began to boil, foul swamp gases bubbling furiously.
Nurgle suddenly thrust out a rotten hand, trying to block the searing flames.
The next second—
A gargantuan hand slammed toward the rift, attempting to seal it off and prevent the flames from invading.
"Holy shit?!"
Eden's Warp-sense was sharper than anyone else's.
Others might only see burning flames and churning plague fog, but he could clearly see that colossal rotting hand reaching out from the void – it was at least the size of a planet.
Its surface was covered in plague-blistered rot, and within its boils writhed countless chaotic lifeforms.
Fortunately, that rotten hand could not cross the boundary between reality and the Warp – it could only block the rift connecting Nurgle's Garden to the material world.
Even so, Eden felt deeply shocked and awed.
Such overwhelming might… it was nearly irresistible.
But that terror quickly faded.
Because Eden suddenly remembered: his own Warp-self, the Little Sun, was no small thing either. It was at least bigger than the planet Iax.
If he ever pulled a stunt like that between reality and the Warp, it would scare the living daylights out of anyone too.
In the void, Father Nurgle's hand pressed against the rift, trying to seal it and restore the boundary.
But the Emperor didn't give him the chance. The flames burned ever hotter, slicing forward like divine swords.
That rotten hand began to emit a strangely fragrant smell as it burned, and the flames traveled further along its flesh.
It was scorching hot!
Father Nurgle held out for a moment, but then let out a howl and instinctively pulled his hand back to avoid further injury to his true body.
And with that—
The holy flames surged through the rift, spreading further into the surrounding regions.
In an instant, the outskirts of Nurgle's Garden were ablaze with raging fire.
The foul swamps dried up, the bloated, rotting plants ignited, and plague-born lifeforms writhed in agony within the inferno.
Moreover, the flames kept advancing, reaching into the shadowy winding paths at the edge of Nurgle's Garden, forcing more of the daemons to flee deeper inside.
These Nurgle daemons desperately tried to escape the catastrophe unleashed by the Cursed One.
Eden even spotted his old backstabbing Nurgle daemon spy, Barra, rolling up its bedding and scuttling away as fast as it could, even though it was still quite far from the flames.
"Cursed One!"
Father Nurgle let out an earth-shaking roar, shaking the entire garden. He raised tidal waves of rotting sludge, surging to drown out the spreading flames.
He was trying to extinguish them.
But the holy fire just kept growing stronger.
"This is a huge win…"
Eden was excited as he watched. If the Emperor could burn deep into Nurgle's Garden, this Plague War might end far earlier than expected.
Through his psychic sight, he saw that the holy flames, after encountering resistance, shifted strategy, focusing into a concentrated spearpoint.
They burned a path into Nurgle's Garden, pushing ever deeper.
Facing this terrifying invasion, Father Nurgle's responses grew increasingly desperate, blocking the flames again and again.
After all, this was His domain, where He could draw upon boundless corruption.
Fortunately, the Sacred Sun within the Emperor burned with even greater faith energy. The Emperor raised His onslaught's intensity yet again, and the flames surged upward.
He was going all out now!
This time, Father Nurgle could no longer hold back the advance, and soon vast swathes of the Garden were at risk of being consumed.
At that tense moment—
Crack—
Eden heard a strange sound nearby and turned his head.
It came from the Prism Tower. The special alloy constructing it was creaking, and screws were bursting from their sockets in some areas.
Clearly, these mechanical constructs were overloaded, pushed beyond their limits, and could collapse at any moment.
"This is bad…"
He inhaled sharply. "The Emperor's pushing too hard. It's gone beyond what the Prism Towers can handle!"
If this continued, the towers would shatter under the strain, crippling the entire energy conduit network.
Immediately, Eden sent out a psychic message to the Emperor:
"Ease up, please! You can't keep pushing like this. The holy machinery can't withstand such overwhelming energy!"
He hoped the Emperor would moderate His output, burning steadily instead of recklessly.
Otherwise, once the Prism Towers were destroyed, there would be no channel left to transmit His power.
The Emperor received the psychic message and emitted a faint sense of disappointment – He clearly hadn't burned to His heart's content yet – but He promptly reduced the flow of holy energy.
Unfortunately, it was too late.
BOOM—
One by one, the Prism Towers exploded under the pressure, erupting into violent blasts.
With fewer transmission channels available, the output of divine psychic energy inevitably weakened, making it impossible to sustain the invasion.
Realizing this, the Emperor flared His power one last time, scorching the Garden further, before withdrawing.
This final burst caused the remaining towers to explode and collapse entirely.
"Looks like the Mechanicus needs to upgrade their infrastructure again…"
Eden gazed at the wreckage of the towers, feeling slightly regretful.
If these towers had been a little sturdier, the Emperor could have burned for far longer.
Still, these holy defense structures were designed as expendable assets. They had fulfilled their mission well.
In the fading images in the sky, the flames within Nurgle's Garden were dying out.
The inferno had scorched its outskirts to ashes and carved a narrow scar deep inside.
Eden's sharp senses noticed that this scar led toward both the Black Manse and the Garden of Life – something that could be exploited in the future.
It might allow them to reach the heart of Nurgle's Garden far faster.
Above Iax Cathedral, the holy flames dimmed as the Emperor's will began to withdraw from the planet.
But before He departed—
He approached the Regent and the Savior.
"Father…"
Even with his psychic sense dulled, Guilliman could feel the Emperor's presence in such dense divine radiance.
His father was watching him. He could even vaguely see the Emperor's golden-armored figure.
But the father and son simply locked eyes for a moment, saying nothing.
The Emperor's gaze soon shifted to Eden.
He raised a hand and patted Eden's shoulder through psychic projection, transmitting a message of praise – roughly meaning "Good job, kid."
It seemed that, for once, the Master of Mankind felt unburdened, the strain of faith energy lightened, and His entire being felt freer.
Then, the Emperor's projection turned to leave.
The residual energy couldn't sustain His manifestation in the material world for long.
Guilliman watched his father depart in silence. In these rare moments of reunion, there had still been no words exchanged.
"Emperor…"
Eden let out a faint sigh.
He suddenly sent a psychic message to the departing Master of Mankind, his tone solemn:
"Perhaps your sons aren't as strong as you imagine. They don't possess your unbreakable endurance.
They too have moments of vulnerability – this has been proven countless times over ten millennia.
They are Primarchs, yes. But they are also human. Like all sons, they long for their father's recognition.
In this age of darkness, perhaps they need more of your care and encouragement.
Otherwise… you risk becoming nothing but a failed father."
The Emperor's projection froze. For the first time in ten thousand years, He had been chastised so candidly.
His massive frame trembled slightly, as if something long lost within Him was stirring.
He nodded, then turned toward Guilliman, His son.
"Didn't think the Emperor would actually take advice…"
Eden watched with quiet satisfaction. As for what the father and son said to each other, he didn't care.
That was their business.
What mattered was that they had finally shared a real conversation – the beginning of a healthier relationship.
Soon, the Emperor's projection faded.
Eden's sharp eyes caught Guilliman secretly wiping away tears – an extremely rare gesture for a Primarch.
This Ultramarine Primarch and Imperial Regent had endured the death of his father, the betrayal of his brothers, the near destruction of the Imperium, and had seen countless humans die before him.
He had suffered endless assassination attempts and political machinations.
For ten millennia, he had faced humanity's deepest pains and darkest hours, always wearing an unbreakable mask to inspire hope in others.
Never had he revealed a moment of weakness.
But now, the tears fell, unbidden.
Yet this was a good thing. Repressed human emotions needed release, or else they would fester into corruption for the Chaos Gods to exploit.
Eden didn't disturb the Regent.
After a while, he finally walked over slowly.
"Thank you."
Guilliman had regained his stoic composure, speaking quietly without any change in expression.
But in his heart, he was deeply grateful to this brother of his.
Eden nodded and looked toward the cathedral's central battlefield. Under the purifying flames, all corruption and Nurgle's daemons had been cleansed away.
This defensive war had exhausted all of Iax Hospital World's stockpile of sacred cremation rounds, and every last Prism Tower was now gone.
But they had repelled Nurgle's invasion and shattered His corruption network.
This was the beginning of a new future – a world that should have been lost was saved.
Now, only ruins and rubble remained on the battlefield. Fragments of weapons, armor, and bones sparkled faintly, infused with high concentrations of holy energy.
The priests and scholars eyed these eagerly.
To them, these were sacred relics that could be forged into weapons or armor to grant blessings and power.
Even the bones could be displayed as relics or ground into powder to make special ammunition.
Or simply enshrined to bless humanity.
"Stay back!"
Eden sensed something amiss. He stopped everyone from approaching and activated his power sword. The danger was not yet over.
The Blade of the Emperor ignited.
Guilliman sensed the threat as well, stepping up beside the Savior, ready for battle.
The two Primarchs prepared to fight side by side.
"That's my sword," Guilliman said with a faint smile, recognizing the power sword named Glory.
Eden shrugged and offered it over. "How about we trade for a while?"
He'd been eyeing the Blade of the Emperor for ages.
"You might be able to ignite it."
This time, Guilliman didn't hesitate. He took back Glory and handed the Blade of the Emperor to his brother.
This gesture signified absolute trust.
"Of course I can."
Fwoosh—
Eden grasped the Blade of the Emperor, and in an instant, the blade ignited. Roaring flames bathed his handsome face in golden light.
This sword felt… just right.
He glared coldly at the distant rubble and sneered.
"Come out, you rat lurking in the gutter. Time to die!"
(End of Chapter)
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