When the pinkish-red wooden door burst open, Erebus was initially stunned.
But upon seeing a hand reach out from the door and throw something at him, a sudden fear welled up in Erebus' heart, like a mouse seeing rat poison, Lorgar seeing Horus holding a wig, or the Emperor seeing Magnus about to call him.
The terrifying scene he witnessed on the planet Heresyma immediately resurfaced in Erebus' mind. For a moment, he even lost his reason, instinctively grabbing the ritual dagger hanging around his neck.
The experience of having his arm severed by Khârn, which caused his ritual dagger to fly away, had taught Erebus a lesson. He now tied the ritual dagger to his neck with a short rope; unless Khârn cut off his head, the dagger could never be removed.
He held the dagger in a comical posture and fiercely slashed at the void before him, attempting to tear open reality and create a portal to escape to a distant place.
As for Be'lakor, who stood by — Erebus wished him good luck.
Erebus actually hoped Be'lakor would make a rational decision, using his ability to freely traverse shadows to throw the item tossed from the door outside the Blessed Lady, preventing the Blessed Lady from being damaged.
As for why Erebus, who possessed the ritual dagger, didn't do so himself? Erebus had offended so many people in the galaxy and still managed to live for a full ten thousand years precisely because he was best at shifting risks to others, fully utilizing his comrades, partners, and collaborators while minimizing his own risks.
Then, Erebus' mouth twitched.
Because out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Be'lakor's movements were even faster than his; he directly wielded his shadowy blade, summoning a chilling mist within which the horned demon's figure became ethereal, seemingly about to vanish.
Be'lakor didn't know what was thrown from the door, but since Erebus was running, he naturally had to run too.
Bastard!
Erebus cursed inwardly.
Doesn't this idiot realize the importance of the Blessed Lady?
Without this Abyss-class Battleship, meticulously corrupted by Erebus, how would they withstand the attacks of Saint Doraemon?
Then Erebus got his answer from Be'lakor's cunning gaze: It's simple, I'll just run away, won't I?
Erebus' expression stiffened as he quickly pondered where he could escape to.
Preferably a sufficiently sturdy fortress, with enough weapons, and powerful enough allies...
Erebus quickly thought of one person: Perturabo.
He had no close relationship with Perturabo, but Erebus was confident he could persuade Perturabo to side with him, which was one of Erebus' greatest strengths.
Swiftly, the ritual dagger opened a crack in the void. The other side of the crack reflected a brightly lit, steamy, and sparking room.
A figure with numerous cables plugged into his head, his flesh-and-blood body almost entirely replaced by steel, resembling an Iron Wall, with hot steam and electric sparks constantly erupting from him.
And before this Iron God was a table, on which lay a broken female corpse—no, it wasn't a corpse, it was a machine.
It was an android modeled after a woman's appearance. The android's neck seemed to have been snapped by a giant hand, shattered into pieces, with steel scattered around.
And that Iron God was meticulously repairing this mechanical woman. The mechanical woman's size contrasted sharply with his massive physique, as if he were toying with a miniature model.
Perturabo, the Primarch of the Iron Warriors.
The Primarch seemed to notice Erebus, turning his head to look at Erebus with an expression of sullen anger, seemingly displeased by Erebus' interruption.
Erebus, however, was not afraid. He quickly prepared his speech in his mind and hurriedly took a step towards the rift, then—
Bang!!!!
Erebus felt dizzy and disoriented, as if he had run into a hard and solid wall.
Just then, a lock the size of half a head appeared out of thin air, firmly securing the crack before Erebus.
"Huh?" Erebus was startled, dazed, not understanding what had happened.
His unfailingly effective ritual dagger, the ritual dagger that had saved Erebus from danger countless times, had failed at this moment?!
Be'lakor also gasped in surprise, looking somewhat confused at the lock before him that had secured his shadowy weapon.
"Welcome to the Real Escape Room Game."
"The rules are very simple."
"Answer the questions on the lock, solve the puzzles, and reach the bridge to complete the game."
"During the game, you cannot leave the game area, and you cannot proceed to the next room without solving the question."
"Good luck with your challenge, everyone."
Erebus then realized that what was thrown from the pinkish-red wooden door was not the kind of bomb he remembered, but a square box with buttons.
His expression shifted slightly, still unwilling to give up, he reached out to touch the lock on the crack created by the ritual dagger.
A burst of electricity sparked from the lock, and a light screen appeared on it out of thin air.
"Please answer: What is the Emperor's true name?"
Huh?
Erebus' expression froze for a moment.
Is this even a question a human can answer?
First, setting aside whether anyone in the galaxy even knew the answer, even if Erebus did know, he wouldn't dare say it.
Who knew what fate would befall him after uttering the Emperor's true name?
Almost as soon as Erebus was certain he couldn't answer, the lock flickered, and a bolt of lightning struck Erebus directly.
Intense pain surged through Erebus' body, electricity coursing through every cell.
Erebus' eyes rolled back, his skin scorched black from the electricity, and he collapsed directly to his knees.
"Incorrect answers will result in a random penalty."
Erebus wanted to ask why it wasn't mentioned earlier, but only a puff of white smoke escaped his mouth.
Seeing this, Be'lakor let out a cold laugh.
"The so-called Hand of Fate is nothing more than this, Erebus. Let me show you the infinite wisdom accumulated as the first daemon Prince."
Be'lakor had existed since before the Eldar became an Imperium, existing in this galaxy for tens of millions of years, and his knowledge was terrifyingly vast.
There was almost nothing in this galaxy that Be'lakor didn't know—though Be'lakor indeed didn't know the Emperor's true name either.
But Be'lakor didn't touch the lock that secured the rift; instead, he touched the lock that secured his own shadow.
Logically, the question on this lock should be different.
"Please answer: Where did the Dragon States go?"
Be'lakor's expression froze.
He really didn't know that! Who the hell would know that!!!