Chapter 165: No Heretics, Only Loyal Subjects

The One-Eyed Old Man rubbed his last remaining eye, set down his pen, and stretched his stiff limbs.

Since arriving at Baer, mental exhaustion had been eroding him—far worse than when he was in Asford's lower nest.

As a sect leader, he faced too many problems, too complex.

The One-Eyed Old Man even regretted it; he should've followed Leina to Cadia from the start.

To serve the greatest fortress world of the Human Empire, to die as a soldier on the battlefield, was purer than leading a sect.

Perhaps, after hours on the battlefield, he could die for the Emperor, his soul returning to the Golden Throne.

The One-Eyed Old Man rose, walked wearily to the window, and gazed out at the Asford and Laixiao refugee encampments.

Outside, scattered low buildings glowed with flickering lights, like shattered stars in the desert.

This town was originally built by the Laixiao people, who called it Magda Town, named after the Battle-Sister who once protected Laixiao.

But that great Sister never came to Baer—she hurried away with the last of her Battle-Sisters and a few refugees, vanishing somewhere unknown.

Yet the Laixiao people never forgot the Sister's sacrifice; nearby stood another town, Ces, honoring the Meat-Tearer's warlord.

This town was simply too vast—the Laixiao lived beneath boundless skies, nomadic, and their architecture reflected it, sprawling and loose.

The One-Eyed Old Man, an Asford man, found it deeply unsettling.

Even now, he still found the open sky terrifying.

That fool Lag might be more comfortable on Baer-Two—it's mostly Asford-built outposts.

If he survived after the war, perhaps he should build an Asford town on Baer.

Saint Doraemon Town? Too much like a holy city's name—it couldn't be as cramped as a hive-city.

Flax Town? To honor the Viceroy family he once served? No—Augustus Flax's final rule wasn't worth commemorating.

Drostron Town? That would suit better—honoring the Astra Militarum general who defended Asford.

Or… Zhou Yun Town? The One-Eyed Old Man thought of his old friend.

"Zhou Yun, Lyne Rus, Neos, Saint Doraemon… old friend, if you're truly divine, come help us."

The One-Eyed Old Man muttered under his breath, pulled a box of Lho cigarettes from his pocket.

Baer had no industry; locals didn't smoke this addictive industrial byproduct.

They rolled tobacco from desert plants—the One-Eyed Old Man couldn't get used to it.

Whenever he felt weary, he'd pull out a Lho cigarette from Asford and smoke it.

He took one, put it between his lips—the box now held only three left. He wanted to save one for the battlefield.

And another, in case he met that old bastard Lag—he could give him one.

The One-Eyed Old Man couldn't help smiling.

And Zhou Yun—would he ever see him again? Nah, he didn't smoke.

The One-Eyed Old Man thought a moment, then pulled another cigarette from the box and walked to his desk.

On the desk sat a statue of Saint Doraemon.

The One-Eyed Old Man didn't truly believe in Saint Doraemon—not because he doubted his power; in fact, he was among the few who knew Zhou Yun *was* Saint Doraemon.

He simply couldn't imagine his old drinking buddy suddenly becoming a saint worshipped by others.

Almost like turning into a god.

He lit the cigarette in his mouth, then lit the one in his hand.

He stood the lit cigarette upright before the Saint Doraemon statue.

"Lho cigarettes are good stuff—why don't you smoke?"

"Now you're a saint—I'm offering you one."

The One-Eyed Old Man, cigarette dangling, muttered to the statue:

"If you're truly a saint—or a god—give your old buddy a sign."

The Lho cigarette burned, its white smoke—stimulating, faintly hallucinogenic—slowly rising from the upright stick.

The One-Eyed Old Man took a deep drag, savoring the drug's mild disorientation.

His eyes half-lidded, half-asleep, the smoke from the cigarette spread, turning the room pale white, shrouded in haze.

Suddenly, a breeze stirred before him, brushing his face—the white smoke surged toward its source.

The One-Eyed Old Man startled, snapped his eyes open—and saw a door of pink-tinged red wood standing before him.

"Holy shit." His Lho cigarette fell from his lips.

The door slowly opened, and Zhou Yun stepped through, his gaze meeting the One-Eyed Old Man's.

"Is this smoke that strong?" the One-Eyed Old Man blurted. "Or did I actually summon you?"

Zhou Yun's eyes fell on the Saint Doraemon statue.

Before it, the upright cigarette emitted pale smoke—Zhou Yun's face twitched.

In the cold, death-worshipping chapel, the pink-tinged red door opened, and Zhou Yun stepped out with the One-Eyed Old Man.

Almost the moment they stepped through, the One-Eyed Old Man caught the faint, lingering scent of blood.

He glanced around the darkened chamber—bodies hung in the shadows.

Human ones. And Chijie ones.

Dishi, clad in crude black leather, stood silently before a rough stone table, waiting for Zhou Yun. Clearly, Zhou Yun had met Dishi before coming to the One-Eyed Old Man.

The One-Eyed Old Man's nerves tightened.

Dishi and her sect worshipped Saint Doraemon—but their focus differed.

Dishi believed Saint Doraemon was the Death-God's Chosen, bringing equal death.

The One-Eyed Old Man believed Saint Doraemon wielded Primordial Power, was the Dragon that devoured swarms, bringing hope and salvation.

Their beliefs clashed outright; each called the other heretical. Had it not been for the Tyranids and Chijie as common enemies, Dishi's stiletto would've already slit his throat.

Honestly, sects denouncing each other as heretics wasn't rare—even within the Imperial Cult.

But the Emperor never walked among his faithful, never summoned sect leaders to meet, never spoke to them directly.

The One-Eyed Old Man worried—was his splitting of the sect right?

But Dishi's faith was too abstract—he and most Asfordians couldn't tolerate it; the Laixiao shepherds were already turning away.

"Our Lord," Dishi knelt on one knee, head bowed, her hostility subtly aimed at the One-Eyed Old Man.

"Since arriving on Baer, he and Lag rushed out, fractured our faith, committing heresy in Your name."

!. ead

The One-Eyed Old Man felt his throat tighten—he wanted to explain, but Zhou Yun waved him silent.

"No heretics. All are loyal subjects," Zhou Yun said, glancing between Dishi and the One-Eyed Old Man, sighing.

He sat beside the stone table, gesturing for them to sit as well.

Dishi bowed her head, sat silently opposite Zhou Yun without protest.

The One-Eyed Old Man sat down too.

Zhou Yun watched their silent, reverent postures—his eyelid twitched slightly.

Shit. In Baer. First time being a saint. Online tutorials needed. Urgent.

Zhou Yun took a deep breath, rubbed his temples, and spoke in a tone both gentle and commanding:

"Clouds drift in the sky, water rests in the bottle—you two are cloud, you are water. You do different things."

"No heretics. All are loyal generals. I see it."

The One-Eyed Old Man exhaled slightly.

Dishi bowed lower, her hostility toward him dissolving.

"Do you have no doubts, Dishi?" Zhou Yun asked her.

He couldn't bear to see Asfordians turn on each other, fracturing apart.

The swarms were coming—they all needed to bind together.

"In pure faith, how can doubt exist? Any questioning of Our Lord is the gravest sacrilege."

Dishi hurriedly knelt again, as if fearing Zhou Yun doubted her devotion.

The winged figure in white light trembled, murmured something—Zhou Yun couldn't hear it.

But he could guess what the white-light figure was muttering: Perfect City. pg.

Zhou Yun gestured for Dishi to rise, forbidding her to kneel.

"Do either of you have a map showing the location of Angel Fortress?" Zhou Yun asked them.

If they did, he could use the Gate of Anywhere to enter Angel Fortress directly, bypassing its outer defenses.

Currently, tens of thousands of Sons of Sanguinius gathered near Angel Fortress—the largest gathering of Sanguinius's sons since the Horus Heresy, nearly one-thirtieth of the entire Imperium's Astartes.

Angel Fortress, the Imperial Palace of the Second Empire, was now only slightly less fortified than the Imperial Palace on Terra.

A few items could grant Zhou Yun physical or psychological invisibility—but all had flaws or exorbitant prices.

For example, the Stone Hat, which made others completely ignore his presence, cost nearly one-tenth of his current savings to rent.

If he spent it, he wouldn't have enough left to acquire the item needed to resurrect Sanguinius.

The One-Eyed Old Man shrugged and sighed. "This task is too difficult for us."

"How could a bunch of refugee civilians get the precise map of Angel Fortress? Have you tried infiltrating?"

He looked at Dishi—he'd seen the Death-Worshippers' infiltration skills before.

"We tried two months ago," Dishi shook her head. "But we were discovered before the operation."

"That corpse-like Chief Librarian used his foresight to detect us and stopped us."

Still not enough winners. Two more missing...

(End of chapter)