Alexander looked at the item whose price was almost identical to Angron's.
[Item Name: Three years neet pillow]
[Origin: 22nd Century Earth — Future Department Store]
[Production Date: 231.M3]
[Function: By sleeping on this pillow, one can find solutions to any problem. The time required varies depending on the problem's difficulty; the harder the problem, the longer one needs to sleep, ranging from three seconds, three minutes, three hours, three days, to even three years, thirty years, or three hundred years.]
The three years neet pillow, a pillow that can answer all questions simply by sleeping on it.
However, the more difficult the problem, the longer the required sleep time.
Angron's price was just enough to exchange for this item. Theoretically, Alexander only needed to sleep on this pillow to find a way to save this galaxy and discover the path forward for the future.
However, for such a significant problem, it was unknown how long he would need to sleep. Even with a time-adjusting item like the Mad Clock, it would likely take a considerable amount of time to get an answer.
"So it's the Neet Pillow," Emperor Nobita, standing beside Alexander, momentarily seemed lost in thought, then showed an expression of understanding.
With the appearance of this item, the future of the galaxy, as foreseen by the Emperor, gradually became clearer. He vaguely saw Alexander's figure sleeping on this pillow.
This item could indeed solve Alexander and the Emperor's problems and find a way to save this galaxy.
However, the cost was that Alexander would fall into a long slumber for a period of time.
It wasn't impossible for others to use this item, but compared to Alexander, others using it wouldn't be as reassuring.
Even if the users themselves were reliable enough, they still had the potential to be influenced by the power of the Chaos Gods.
Even excluding the Chaos Gods, a part of the Emperor himself was not so eager to see the galaxy saved.
He was, after all, still the Dark King, the destroyer of worlds.
Even the Emperor could only suppress, not completely eliminate, that part of his will.
Only Alexander could resist the erosion of the Four Gods and that part of the Emperor's will, bringing back the correct, untainted answer.
This could not be risked; the Four Gods, especially Tzeentch, were most adept at such tricks.
Tzeentch only needed to alter a small part of the answer to potentially steer fate in a completely different direction, as exemplified by Magnus' Psyker telephone and Ahriman's red word.
However, before using the three years neet pillow, Alexander still needed to make some preparations.
There were still things in the galaxy that required him to prepare for.
He was, after all, an important member of the Imperium of Man, and he couldn't just disappear without a word.
At the very least, he had to inform Guilliman and Sanguinius.
Moreover, a large number of starships and Astartes were currently crammed into Alexander's four-dimensional pocket. They couldn't just stay in the pocket during Alexander's slumber, could they?
Thinking of this, Alexander nodded slightly to the Emperor, then pulled out an anywhere door from his pocket and stepped through it.
After Alexander left, the Throne Room returned to silence.
The Emperor also withdrew his will from the Throne Room, re-projecting his will across the boundless stars, silently contending with the will of the Chaos Gods, and linking a series of events to develop in a direction beneficial to the Imperium and humanity.
And, to fight those voices…
+Your Majesty, do you still hold onto hope?+
+Do not immerse yourself in illusory hope, Your Majesty. +
+Your Majesty, destruction is the destined end. +
+Your Majesty, rise up.+
+We implore your coming, Dark King. +
Billions upon billions of desperate human souls resonated within the Emperor / Dark King / King of Ages.
They urged the Emperor to accept the fate of destruction.
Compared to hope, wasn't destruction simpler and more complete?
They were tired of this world and unwilling to make any more effort to save it.
The weary middle-aged man gritted his teeth.
"No,"
He said, just as he had said for the past ten thousand years.
The Cicatrix Maledictum,
A very difficult and cumbersome high gothic name, so much so that initially only scholars and officials on Terra used it.
But later, because this name was not only difficult to pronounce but also extremely hard to write, containing nearly thirty high gothic letters, and appearing with very high frequency in various Imperial administrative orders, the impact on administrative efficiency was too great.
Eventually, Imperial Chancellor Tieron, dragging his aged body, severely whipped the scholar who invented the term, and then strongly demanded that all documents use the low gothic name "Great Rift," which was then barely corrected on Terra.
And across the boundless galaxy, different races and factions on different planets called it by a myriad of strange names:
The Crimson Path, the Maw of Destruction, the Warp Scar, Gork's Grin or Mork's Hook, Twilight, the Hope Devourer…
This rift tore the galaxy apart in both realspace and the Warp, and according to information from the Eldar, even the Webway was greatly affected.
Aside from using the power of Saint Doraemon's tools or relying on the guidance of the Harlequins to navigate the chaotic Webway, crossing the Great Rift could only be done by finding those narrow corridors.
The Nachmund Gauntlet was one of the more stable of these narrow corridors, and Watch Station was a critical node in this corridor, now coveted by various factions.
How to describe Watch Station now?
It was a grand gathering of almost every notable faction in the entire galaxy, from genestealers to Orks, from the Adeptus Mechanicus to the Craftworld Eldar, from the Harlequins to the Ultramarines, from the White Scars to the Night Lords, from the Imperial Fists to the Iron Warriors, from the Death Guard to the Dark Angels.
One day, the patriarch of the genestealer Pauper Princes cult started a rebellion, and the next day the Harlequins hung his head on a hive city spire. The day after that, the Harlequins were backstabbed by the Craftworld Eldar, greatly infuriating the Harlequins who then brought in the Ultramarines to fight the Craftworld Eldar. But their battle accidentally attracted the attention of the Orks, and a large group of Orks on motorcycles tried to pick a fight with them, only to crash head-on into the trench warfare of the Imperial Fists and Iron Warriors. Eventually, the Orks and the reinforcing White Scars began a wild race, while the Harlequins and the Night Lords, invited by the Iron Warriors, engaged in a back-and-forth assassination war. The Death Guard's plague Raven warband and the Death Guard's Purge plague warband fought amongst themselves nearby, while the Dark Angels inexplicably launched indiscriminate orbital bombardments, and the Adeptus Mechanicus took advantage of the chaos to excavate ancient relics within Watch Station.
But he, the herald of the great Warmaster Abaddon, Star Reaver Harkon, would end the chaos on this planet.
The Hellforged Spear, accompanied by lightning, plunged into a hive city spire. Star Reaver Harkon's vox-caster array broadcasted blasphemous words to the surroundings:
"I am Star Reaver Harkon, herald of Warmaster Abaddon's dominion, the vanguard of apocalyptic disaster bringing ruin to this world."
"In the name of Warmaster Abaddon, I swear to conquer this planet within eighty days and offer it to the esteemed Warmaster Abaddon!"
Star Reaver Harkon roared, delivering his blasphemous declaration, which, through the vox-caster array, spread across half the planet, but no one paid him any mind.
the genestealer were still infighting over the next patriarch, the Craftworld Eldar were hunting the Harlequins who had sided with humanity, the Ultramarines were fighting on multiple fronts, the Imperial Fists and Iron Warriors were desperately trying to kill each other, the Death Guard were arguing whether annihilation or plague was the true path of Nurgle, the Dark Angels were hunting Fallen Angels, the Adeptus Mechanicus were digging up graves, and even the Orks were too engrossed in racing with the White Scars to bother with Harkon.
Just as Harkon was feeling angry, a flash of teleportation light suddenly appeared before him, and a deep blue fist smashed out from it.