The Oathbreaker Kossolax tapped on the Bone Throne, looking at his four subordinates before him.
Kovien the Dark Apostle, Butcher Surgeon Lorek, Moghaliva the Warp-smith, and Decapitation Master Shalok—four warriors so excellent they could be called great—faced Kossolax.
He was no longer the obscure Third Company Lieutenant Solaq he once was.
He added a 'K' to the beginning of his name, symbolizing the Blood God, symbolizing that he had received Khorne's blessing, symbolizing that he had cast off the past and embraced the honor of the future.
The Butcher's Nails churned in his brain, sending throbbing tremors through his mind.
No one had left more suffering and a more bitter legacy for his Legion than the despicable, laughable, and weak Angron.
The Butcher's Nails, implants Nuceria used on the brains of pathetic slaves, were brought into the Legion by Angron and implanted into the minds of the World Eaters.
But there were still many secrets to these creations of the ancient Golden Age, and no living person understood what they were originally designed for. This led to different brains reacting differently to the Butcher's Nails, creating different neural connections, and producing different effects.
Some would be more severely affected, completely becoming slaves to the Nails' rage.
Others were luckier, establishing relatively minor connections with the Butcher's Nails, allowing them to maintain a degree of sanity.
Kossolax was one of the lucky ones; his mind remained rational for ten thousand years, never consumed by rage.
The foolish Khârn, the mad Angron—if he had been a high-ranking officer in the Legion back then, he would never have allowed the Legion to get these damned Nails. Hmm, lower-ranking warriors could have them; they didn't need to think, only to rage.
However, thanks to the Butcher's Nails, most World Eaters fell into madness, and Khârn, in his frenzy, shattered his own Legion, foolishly abandoning the chance to seize supreme command of the World Eaters.
And so, Kossolax made his move.
He gathered the scattered World Eaters; a full eight warbands of World Eaters submitted to him, crowning him Regent.
He even recovered the ancient Gloriana-class Battleship, the mighty Conqueror, from near Armageddon.
Although that one-eyed commissar with the Ork bionic arm and laser-shooting bionic eye almost killed him, it was all worth it.
The Conqueror was truly a magnificent ship; she even solved all problems encountered during voyages herself.
Whether it was crew rotation, fuel replenishment, ammunition resupply, macro-cannon reloading, hull repairs, or even route planning—the Conqueror could handle all these tedious and complex tasks on her own. Kossolax didn't need to bother with them at all—in fact, Kossolax didn't know how to do these things and was too lazy to care about such trivialities.
But gradually, Kossolax began to understand.
Firstly, as the owner of the Conqueror, Kossolax had never set foot on the bridge, or rather, was not allowed on the bridge. He didn't even know where the bridge was—as a junior officer during the Great Crusade, Kossolax had no right to board the bridge, and now that the Conqueror was highly warped by the Warp, he couldn't find the bridge's location.
Secondly, there was a damn ghost on this ship. Kovien the Dark Apostle, who served Kossolax, tried to exorcise her many times but never succeeded. The most infuriating thing was that the ghost even imperiously commanded Kossolax, as if she were the true Mistress of the Conqueror—to show his disdain, Kossolax nicknamed her the "Mistress."
Finally, Kossolax discovered that the Conqueror sometimes refused his commands and tried to obstruct his actions, which made him even angrier. If he couldn't even control a ship, how could he be the Regent of the World Eaters?
So, Kossolax had an idea.
He ordered his other ships to bombard the Conqueror, enraging the Mistress residing within.
As soon as the Mistress showed her anger and caused the Conqueror to shake, his Warp-smith Moghaliva would be able to locate her.
They did find her. Moghaliva the Warp-smith cheered as he delivered the news to Kossolax: they had found the Mistress' location, pinpointing the bridge.
This was indeed joyful, and he would have been even happier if the ship hadn't started trying to kill Kossolax.
Scalding steam erupted from the deck, rushing towards Kossolax's face, and rivets shot from the walls, aimed directly at Kossolax's neck.
The highly mutated crew members, who had bred for three hundred generations within the Conqueror, shrieked as they crawled out and attacked the Astartes of Kossolax's warband.
But Kossolax was well-prepared. Although he lost many valuable warriors, he still reached the bridge's door.
It was an adamantium blast door, brass-framed, ancient and covered in constantly intertwining flesh, looking exceptionally terrifying.
This was it, the bridge he had longed for.
Ten thousand years ago, he had not set foot here; ten thousand years later, he was finally about to claim this honor.
He would sit on the Conqueror's command throne, crowned as the true Regent of the World Eaters Legion.
"Lieutenant Solaq."
A cold voice came from behind him, piercing his mind like ice, making him shiver.
That was his original, obscure name. No one had called him that for a thousand years; he had killed everyone who knew it.
Before Istvaan III, he was just an ordinary warrior, promoted to lieutenant by chance because there was simply no one else, but that was all—not even a Company Captain.
The name Solaq made him recall that damned part of his life. He turned his head in anger, only to see—
Only to see the "Mistress" standing behind him, shrouded in grey, not appearing solid. Her cold female face stared at his own.
It was the first time Kossolax had seen the Mistress so closely, and he felt she looked somewhat familiar, as if he had seen her from afar.
Did she know him? Or had she used some method to see through his heart? To see his past?
Kossolax suddenly felt alert.
"Woman," Kossolax said with a dismissive tone.
The Mistress seemed confused, puzzled as to why Kossolax wasn't obeying her commands.
"You are only a lieutenant; you are not allowed on the bridge."
But the Mistress still spoke to Kossolax:
"If you have any objections to this mission, you are welcome to discuss them with Khârn."
Kossolax laughed aloud, believing he was close to success; otherwise, why would this Mistress try to scare him with the name of the traitor Khârn?
He must have found the right place.
Kossolax ignored the Mistress' obstruction and continued towards the brass-inlaid adamantium door, which made the Mistress somewhat angry.
"Or we can just summon Lord Angron," the Mistress said, somewhat annoyed.
Summon Angron? Summon Angron again! Ridiculous! Who did she think she was?
Angron's non-biological mother?
Kossolax burst into laughter; this woman was mad.
These ghosts lingering in the world were all like this, full of dead men, madmen, and fools, only remembering the dusty follies of the past, unable to see the glory of those in the present.
Only Kossolax knew how much power he had gathered.
Only Kossolax knew what kind of crown he wore now.
He was about to command the Conqueror; he had gathered the strongest power of the World Eaters in ten thousand years; he was even close to catching up with the great Warmaster Abaddon, leaving Angron and Khârn far behind.
He wasn't afraid of Khârn, and he certainly didn't fear Angron.
Even if Angron stood before him today, he was confident he would no longer be his slave.
He would sit on the Conqueror's command throne, on the World Eaters' Regent's throne.
Perhaps not just the Conqueror's command throne.
He could even lead such a powerful Legion, pierce the Solar Segmentum along the Great Rift, return to Terra, kill the False Emperor, and then sit on the Golden Throne himself. This was not impossible.
"Sergeant, you will learn the price of disobeying orders," the madwoman said to Kossolax.
Then she vanished into the dimly lit ship's interior.
Kossolax scoffed. His Warp-smith used melta weapons to burn open the door.
And so, he successfully stepped onto the Conqueror's bridge.
This was an honor he could not have enjoyed ten thousand years ago; as a lieutenant, he was naturally not allowed on the bridge.
The bridge was pitch black, everything around was so profound, blood, chunks of flesh, and twisted, exposed cables intertwined here, converging towards the command throne at the very center.
That monstrous female creature was perched on the command throne, sitting in the place that should have belonged to Kossolax.
She was an old woman, as pale as a blood-drained corpse, her once-white uniform now extremely filthy. A bloody red handprint swayed on her limp chest, and various twisted steel cables pierced into her body, completely engulfing her lower half, fusing her with the command throne, allowing her only to make minimal movements with her two slender arms.
This was clearly the Mistress' true form, frail and pathetic.
"Woman, submit to me, or die," Kossolax said coldly, raising his axe and pointing it at the pale woman on the command throne.
"You?" The Mistress slowly raised her weak head, looking at Kossolax with a mocking gaze: "Who do you think you are? Do you even deserve to kill me?"
"Tell me, Lieutenant Solaq, who fed the crew on this ship? Who maintained the crew's population balance? Who refueled this ship? Or rather, where was the fuel replenished? You don't even know where the ammunition comes from."
"Who do you think you are? Khârn?"
"I am Kossolax! I have surpassed Khârn! Surpassed Angron!"
The Butcher's Nails buzzed, and Kossolax roared in anger:
"Submit, or die!"
Cold silence filled the air, and finally, the Mistress quieted down.
"Lord."
The Mistress said in a hoarse voice, her gaze shifting to Kossolax as she spoke:
"The Conqueror belongs only to you."
Kossolax smiled, an incredibly happy smile. Finally, he had obtained this honor—
Suddenly, Kossolax felt an intense heat on his back and heard the terrified howls of his four subordinates.
He suddenly noticed that the Mistress wasn't looking at him, but behind him.
"I have been waiting for your return."
The Mistress said so—not to Kossolax—but to that scorching fire:
"Lord Angron, you have returned."