Chapter 148: Doraemon, Help Us

What are you stare at?

I picked all this up!

Anarakel watched the blue figure clutching his pocket and speaking such nonsense with utter self-righteousness, leaving him utterly stunned.

How could such a shameless person exist in this world?

I don't know who you are, but the Star God shards are not something your young race can control!

Anarakel snapped urgently, his war scythe pointing at Zhou Yun.

He despised most of all young races who stole the precious relics of the dead, those naive, foolish brats who plundered the tombs of the dead—Anarakel responded to such acts with nothing but war.

Though he did not know how this unknown entity had trapped the Star God shard inside that pouch,

Anarakel would not permit the dead's wealth to be stolen!

Zhou Yun sized up the Death Lord before him,

Traveler Anarakel, one of the most famous Death Lords.

Though not as valuable as the Star God shard, if he could stuff it into his fourth-dimensional pouch—Zhou Yun's eyes flickered slightly brighter, his gaze toward Anarakel growing eager.

You still look quite fetching.

Saint Gilenno remained silent, gently flapping his wings as he circled Zhou Yun.

Anarakel noticed Zhou Yun's unsettling gaze,

his metallic body trembling slightly, for Zhou Yun's eyes brimmed with hunger and greed,

the same look a higher-tier Tyranid would give humans—just one glance revealed his ravenous appetite.

Yet even the Tyranids, those space pests, would never look at a Death Lord's metallic body with such eyes.

No normal lifeform would wear such a look!

Anarakel glanced at Saint Gilenno circling Zhou Yun, then at his own broken metallic arm,

finally settling again on Zhou Yun's greedy stare.

This situation seemed unfavorable to him.

And there were countless human fleets nearby—possibly allied with him.

"Brother, let me pick up a bit too!" Zhou Yun grinned, extending his round hand toward Traveler Anarakel.

Anarakel shuddered, instantly raising his war scythe to strike.

But Saint Gilenno moved faster—his silver blade flicked out in an instant, knocking Anarakel's fluorescent green war scythe aside.

Without hesitation, Anarakel spun and retreated into deep space.

A network of fluorescent green lines, like circuit boards, emerged behind him.

These lines intertwined and converged, crackling as they formed a hyperdimensional portal.

"Wait, young race—I will return one day to reclaim the dead's wealth!"

Anarakel threw down his threat and vanished into the portal.

"Is that really necessary? I was just joking." Zhou Yun scratched his round head.

He'd only tested it casually—he hadn't seriously considered capturing Anarakel to sell him off.

After all, among Death Lords, Anarakel was relatively decent—a rare one who could communicate normally, with no petty thieving habits.

Zhou Yun faintly sensed a look of disdain.

He glanced at Saint Gilenno, hovering midair.

"Are you some wild great demon?" Zhou Yun blinked and asked.

He was curious about this being, seemingly a living saint of the Blood Angels,

not the same as the winged figure in his corner of white light, yet bound by countless invisible threads.

Saint Gilenno merely fluttered his wings, flying close to Zhou Yun, and spoke in a low, nearly imperceptible voice:

"Within the Crimson Scar, the Blood God's gaze is everywhere."

"Stalker." Zhou Yun's lips twitched involuntarily.

The Crimson Scar region contained roughly a thousand planets, whose stars emitted a toxic crimson radiation.

The Underworld System and the Bal System both lay within this region—it was said to be the wound the Blood God Khorne carved into the material universe.

Saint Gilenno offered only silence in response.

Meanwhile, the winged figure in Zhou Yun's corner of white light had grown faint, nearly invisible—he could barely hear the voice, and not clearly.

It seemed he had temporarily lost the strength to project his power across the barrier between the Warp and the material universe.

Zhou Yun watched Saint Gilenno give a slight nod before flapping his wings toward the nearby Blood Angels fleet.

He turned to look at the Vengeance Blade, the Blood Angels' flagship, standing still in the void—he faintly sensed a gaze from the ship.

Perhaps it was Chapter Master Dante's, or maybe Chief Librarian Mephiston's.

Whoever it was, Zhou Yun was not yet ready to speak with them face to face.

The Blood God still watched the Crimson Scar—both the winged figure in the white light and Saint Gilenno had warned him.

And the Blood Angels bore even more of that gaze; moreover, Zhou Yun knew one of Khorne's Greater Daemons had long watched over Saint Gilenno's descendants.

If the Blood God learned Zhou Yun's purpose, more than one Greater Daemon would attempt to invade the material universe—perhaps even drawing down Saint Gilenno's brother, elevated to daemonhood by the Blood God.

He shook his head slightly, glancing down at Asford—this planet had become a charred shadow from the shockwave.

Zhou Yun stared at the planet for a moment, then pulled out a Door of Anywhere from his fourth-dimensional pouch.

The map he'd taken from General Drostron roughly recorded the positions of planets near the Underworld System.

The pinkish-red Door of Anywhere stood firm in the void. Zhou Yun placed his hand on it and whispered: "Bal Prime." The door opened, revealing crimson sunlight; a wave of blood-red heat struck his face as he stepped through.

Commander Dante stood on the bridge—the events just now had left him bewildered.

But he must remain resolute, guiding the Blood Angels to keep faith in their Chapter Master.

Of the Astartes who had followed Dante to the Underworld System—Blood Angels and Flesh Tearers alike—nearly half had died in this system.

The number of mortal dead who had held this system was even greater.

Dante grieved for these deaths, even though he had no doubt that if he ordered his warriors back into battle, they would obey without hesitation.

Yet within himself, Dante was filled with doubt and hesitation.

Have we paid enough sacrifice? Have we inflicted enough damage on the Tyranids? What exactly was that strange blue figure?

Can Bal survive this war? Can the Blood Angels survive? Will the warbands that split away years ago answer the call?

Have I betrayed the blood of Saint Gilenno?

Dante felt weary and pained.

Suddenly, a cold wind swept across the deck of the Vengeance Blade.

A faint glow of white tinged with blue shimmered in the void, drifting gently through the bridge.

In an instant, Dante nearly believed it was the Hive Mind or that strange blue figure launching an attack.

His hand instinctively went to his sidearm.

Then the white-blue light thinned, revealing the winged figure and golden mask within.

Wings of white tinged with strange blue gently unfurled.

Dante stared in astonishment at the figure before him.

Saint Gilenno—this was the first time, ever, that he had not departed after battle.

Even Dante had rarely faced this legendary warrior face to face.

All activity on the deck ceased—even the proudest Blood Angels knelt on one knee, paying homage to this legendary warrior.

Only Dante remained standing, gazing at Saint Gilenno with pain and sorrow.

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Why has this ancient warrior come?

To condemn his failure? To accuse him of leading the Blood Angels into a quagmire? Or had he truly betrayed Saint Gilenno's blood?

Or would the Primarch show him the way?

Dante almost smelled the faint incense clinging to Saint Gilenno.

Saint Gilenno's wings, tinged with blue, unfurled slightly, sweeping gently over every bowed head of the Blood Angels.

He walked calmly and slowly to Dante's side.

Both he and Dante wore golden masks carved with the face of Saint Gilenno.

They stood face to face, the air thick with silence.

Dante slowly reached up, removed his mask, revealing the weary face beneath.

This face belonged to Louis Dante of Beta-Bal, a warrior who had served for a thousand years, a weary Chapter Master, the son of the salt miner Areias.

Dante rarely removed his mask—he did not wish his pain and exhaustion to be seen by his Blood Angels.

He hated the weariness and sorrow he showed—deep inside, he knew he had grown weary of his endless life.

But he knew his duty remained—he must face this legendary warrior with his true face and ask the question.

Dante looked into Saint Gilenno's golden mask, into the face of the archangel.

"Is it enough?"

Dante asked, his voice hoarse, barely a whisper:

"Is it enough to save Bal?"

Silence. Saint Gilenno answered only with a long, endless silence.

It nearly made Dante believe the question would never be answered.

Then, for the first time in the Chapter's history, in ten thousand years,

The Saint Blood Angels heard Saint Gilenno's voice for the first time.

Dante nearly held his breath, listening to the words of this sacred being.

"Hope still remains," Saint Gilenno whispered.

A faint glimmer of light sparked in Dante's eyes.

Hope—so long as there was still hope, it was enough.

Saint Gilenno turned his head toward the endless void behind him.

He spoke in a voice so faint Dante could barely hear it:

"He will bring us hope—Doraemon, please help us."

Done, done—this volume is nearly over.

(End of Chapter)