Chapter 171: Nice to Meet You, My Good Erebus

A blasphemous, incomprehensible joke was placed before Mephiston.

Mephiston's mind instantly filled with confusion.

Usually, it was he who used riddles wrapped in prophecy to leave others bewildered and lost.

This time, it was his turn to guess the riddle.

As Mephiston pondered, the four-armed gene-thief owner served Zhou Yun a steaming plate of salt-baked fire scorpions and hot tea steeped in bloodroot stems.

The fire scorpions were baked whole in rock salt, mixed with herbs grown in the Barren Desert to serve as seasoning.

Zhou Yun brushed off the coarse salt, cracked open the shell, and used his utensils to extract the snow-white, tender flesh, shoving it into his mouth.

The salt-baking preserved the ingredient's natural flavor: the sweet, succulent scorpion meat carried a faint saltiness; normally, this rock salt contained impurities that added bitterness.

But the restaurant's owner used a spice Zhou Yun did not recognize, suppressing the bitterness and unleashing a peppery, pungent aroma that tingled and teased his tongue, leaving his lips and teeth numb as if struck by lightning.

Zhou Yun's face showed a hint of approval—this restaurant's shrewd owner truly knew his craft.

He picked up the hot tea steeped in bloodroot stems beside him.

It was a tangle of brown-red roots, shaped like snakes, washed clean and soaked in hot water, their essence leaching out to dye the entire cup red.

Zhou Yun took a tentative sip; the clean sweetness quickly dispelled his prejudice against its appearance.

A faint herbal aroma, a whisper of sweetness and bitterness, combined with a caffeine-like fragrance, invigorated his spirit.

Across from him, Mephiston sifted through Zhou Yun's words and quickly extracted the two most vital and consequential pieces of information:

Guilliman was about to be resurrected. Sanguinius was about to be resurrected.

Mephiston had already learned this from the Khan, but since Zhou Yun had spoken it again, it meant.

"You?" Mephiston forced his voice low, yet could not suppress his shock.

Yes, it had to be.

On present-day Bar,

the only person likely capable of resurrecting a Primarch and returning him to the mortal realm was the Saint Doraemon before him.

He was one of three candidates for a tripartite position in the Warp, and worshipped as a god of death by the refugees of the Underworld.

"Yes," Zhou Yun wiped his mouth, casually saying: "Brother, you finally recognize me!"

"I've missed you so much! Don't you remember? Your father and I were close brothers! I held you when you were a child!"

Hearing Zhou Yun's words, Mephiston's cheek twitched slightly, then he tasted the deeper meaning within.

The man before him had ties to his gene-father—this made Mephiston's face twitch again.

For he knew his gene-father, Sanguinius, had deep ties with the Necrons' Silent King, an alien.

And now another Saint Doraemon appeared—a candidate for a Warp position.

Aliens and the Warp were the two greatest categories of humanity's enemies.

If his gene-father had deep ties with aliens and the Warp, Mephiston would have furiously denounced it as slander—if it weren't standing right before him.

Mephiston's mind churned with turmoil.

Father, why are all your friends so... unorthodox? This doesn't match your image in the Chapter's records.

Shouldn't you have hated aliens and Warp entities with every fiber of your being?

"Call me Uncle," Zhou Yun said, a radiant smile on his lips.

Mephiston's expression stiffened—"Uncle" was an alien term to an Adeptus Astartes.

Most Astartes' uncles were employed by the Four Chaos Gods.

". ncle, it's rare to see you. Let's go somewhere else to catch up," Mephiston hesitated.

Too many gene-thieves here—some things couldn't be spoken openly.

But Zhou Yun shook his head: "Nephew, wait a moment—Uncle's going to eat another round."

Before Mephiston could react, Zhou Yun waved to the owner behind him.

"One portion of oil-braised desert rat, one of fried dryroot stems, and two more cups of bloodroot tea."

The gene-thieves of Bar operated like the blood-clan tribes of the desert's depths, upholding collective hunting and shared food—so food within the Shellkeep was generally free.

Still, Zhou Yun didn't feel he was eating for free—he'd given the gene-thieves a fire scorpion he'd picked up by the roadside.

Mephiston stared, dumbfounded, as Zhou Yun devoured a portion meant for three men in a single, sweeping feast.

Two angel statues hung suspended in midair.

Both forged from the black metal that built this alien city.

One remained in its raw metallic hue, the other gilded in gold.

The Dark Angel spread his wings as if to embrace the Golden Angel, his face bestial, fangs piercing his upper lip and pressing against his lower, crimson bloodstone set in his eye sockets like a drop about to fall.

The Golden Angel's wings hung behind him, as if he had just descended from the sky; his face was pure as the most innocent infant, lips sealed, radiating a melancholy beauty of compassion for all beings, his eye sockets also set with bloodstone—but pure as filtered grape wine in summer red.

The Dark Angel gripped a longsword, poised to sever the Golden Angel's neck.

The Golden Angel held a spear in one hand, its tip aimed straight at the Dark Angel's chest.

In the next instant, both would destroy each other.

The statue was originally meant to depict the Golden Angel descending from the heavens, overpowering the Dark Angel.

But now, the entire city had been inverted—the Dark Angel now overpowered the Golden Angel.

Mephiston and Zhou Yun stood beside the two angel statues, on a small plaza made of suspended metal plates.

The Chief Librarian of the Blood Angels glanced at Zhou Yun—he dared not use psychic sight to spy on the man's Warp projection.

His psychic intuition warned him it was dangerous. Yet his physical appearance was false; through mortal eyes, Mephiston saw nothing. Even if this were his true face, it might merely be a material shell of a Warp entity—proving nothing.

What Mephiston truly wished to know was: how much of this Warp power had entered the material universe? How much could this physical shell contain? If destroyed, would he be banished back to the Warp?

Mephiston weighed his words carefully, then spoke:

"Pleasure to meet you, Lord of Death." "Pleasure to meet you, Lord of Death."

Zhou Yun and Mephiston spoke simultaneously.

They stared at each other; Mephiston's face flushed with embarrassment first.

Zhou Yun's eyebrow twitched slightly.

That phrase—"Lord of Death"—was what Thor Hakan of the White Scars had said to Mortarion.

And Mephiston's own title matched Mortarion's: Lord of Death.

Zhou Yun had simply wanted to utter that famous line; Mephiston had no idea what he was thinking.

Mephiston's face twitched slightly too.

Opposite him stood the one called the Chosen of Death, one of the Khan's strongest contenders for the title "Lord of Death."

Mephiston could not bring himself to claim that title before this man.

"No, no, no—you are the true Lord of Death," Mephiston hurried to say.

Zhou Yun's lips twitched—Mephiston's tone made Zhou Yun feel he was about to stand and offer him a ceremonial toast.

!. ead

Silence fell again between them—many things could not be spoken aloud.

"How will you proceed?" This clearly asked how Zhou Yun intended to resurrect Sanguinius.

"I have a pact with the Lord of Bar," Zhou Yun chose his words carefully: "Before I meet him, I will not reveal its contents."

Zhou Yun's tone was perfectly controlled—genuine, with a subtle urgency beneath, as if he desperately wished to revive his friend Sanguinius.

The winged figure within the white light seemed to sense the performance; its wings twitched slightly.

Lord of Bar? Dante? Mephiston paused, then realized Zhou Yun meant the true Lord of Bar:

the remains of Sanguinius, slumbering in a stone sarcophagus beneath the earth.

Indeed, he was the key to Sanguinius's resurrection—here by Sanguinius's own pact.

Mephiston's reason warned caution, yet his psychic intuition and observation convinced him every word spoken was true.

But for any reason, Mephiston could not make a promise.

"I cannot pledge this—I am only Chief Librarian."

"I trust you, and will do all I can to assist you."

Mephiston sighed and spoke:

"But in the eyes of my Chapter brothers, my reputation is poor—if I forcibly lead you there, they will think I am Erebus."

"Please believe me: the over twenty thousand Blood Angels now dwelling on Bar are resolved to protect their gene-father's remains."

"Only Dante can make this decision. Only if he agrees can I take you there."

Zhou Yun nodded slightly—he understood Mephiston now trusted him, and he slightly reined in the theatrical flair of his stage manager and robot director.

The performance blended with truth so well, even Mephiston, with his immense psychic power, was affected.

As for what Mephiston said—it was no surprise to Zhou Yun.

Honestly, if Mephiston hadn't just appeared before him, Zhou Yun wouldn't have bothered making contact at all.

The pairing of the two was far too likely to spark wild speculation.

Mephiston's reputation among the Blood Angels had always been poor—he was the kind of figure who could stop newborn Astartes from crying at night.

Many Astartes believed Mephiston was a sorcerer-vampire, nearly fallen to Chaos, and should have his head chopped off with a power axe to honor Sanguinius's spirit.

Even Chapter Master Dante feared, distrusted, and suspected Mephiston.

And Zhou Yun himself—Zhou Yun himself was the object of worship for a new cult on Bar, and likely entangled with the Warp.

A being suspected of being from the Warp, a sorcerer suspected of being a Chaos cultist—this combination screamed "Chaos God and Erebus."

Zhou Yun was the Chaos God. Mephiston was Erebus.

"My good Erebus—no, wait." Zhou Yun quickly corrected himself: "My good nephew, do you have a map of the main planet Bar? Give me one."

Melphiston hesitated, wrapping part of the information in spiritual energy and transmitting it to Zhou Yun.

Then he swiftly severed his connection to that information, fearing his will might accidentally intrude into Zhou Yun's.

Watching Melphiston recoil like a cat that had nearly been shocked, Zhou Yun raised an eyebrow slightly, then turned his gaze to the information that had surfaced in his mind.

Gratitude to weentesla's patron, endless thanks.

An extra chapter might, perhaps, maybe, roughly, possibly happen?

(End of Chapter)