Chapter 181: Both Shots Fired at Erebus

A wooden door, reddish-pink in color, suddenly appeared before Dante's desk, standing firm in the dim glow of the room's fire, diffusing faint crimson light.

Outside the window, a scarlet wound tore through the sky, yet in Dante's eyes, this reddish-pink wooden door was even more terrifying.

He snatched up the thermal pistol resting at his side—rapid, yet not without panic—a weapon forged in the technology of the Dark Age, capable of burning through the chitinous carapace of a Tyranid behemoth, yet offering Dante little sense of security.

He knew what lay behind the door.

A being of the Warp, not yet ascended, a devotee known as the Chosen of Death, the Primordial Force, and the Eternal Dragon.

Dante was unsure how much power this Warp entity had squeezed into its current physical form. If Mephiston stood beside it, perhaps he could make a more precise judgment.

But now, Mephiston might already have turned toward that Warp entity.

Click—

The wooden door opened softly within the room, and a hot desert wind howled in, striking Dante's face and causing the candles to flicker.

A man in a linen robe and a cowboy hat stepped slowly from behind the door.

His face resembled the ethnic type of the Eastern Dragon Kingdoms of Old Terra.

The instant he saw that face, Dante felt his thermal pistol trembling slightly—he could sense his old companion, who had served him for years, growing excited yet reluctant to fire upon the man.

The man stepped out into the desert wind, and behind him followed Mephiston, clad in scarlet power armor.

Mephiston's pale hair stirred in the wind, his ghastly face rendered even more horrifying under the crimson glow of the wound beyond the door, like a servant walking beside Death itself.

"Good evening, Lord Dante," the man said with a smile.

His smile perfectly conveyed sincerity, radiating warmth that instinctively inspired trust.

Dante's expression stiffened—he quickly suppressed the instinctive trust rising in his mind. Was this some Warp power? It didn't feel like it.

The man seemed to notice Dante resisting the charm of his smile, and shrugged, casually closing the wooden door.

A shift in air pressure stirred a small vortex within the room, sending papers swirling across the desk.

Dante's cheek twitched imperceptibly—those were the files he had just organized.

Damn, he'd have to work late again to tidy them up. Dante hadn't slept properly in days.

"How should I address you?" Dante carefully chose his words, slipping the mask of the Chapter Master back onto his face, burying all traces of the salt-boy from his past: "Zhou Yun? Doraemon? Laine Ruth? Neos? Or something else?"

"Call me Zhou Yun," the man calling himself Zhou Yun nodded slightly, his voice soft yet profound, like a deeply trustworthy elder: "In an almost-forgotten language of the Eastern Dragon Kingdoms of Old Terra, this word means 'a ring of clouds.'"

Indeed, connected to the Dragon Kingdoms—Dante had read scattered records of them in the Chapter's archives.

He knew that kingdom had once existed east of the Imperial Palace, a union of several ancient Terra nations.

It was said that during the final days of the Unification Wars, the kingdom vanished in a strange self-immolating fire. Later, the Adeptus Astartes had walked its lands, finding many ruins but unable to unravel the mystery of its disappearance.

According to Dante's knowledge, during the Great Crusade, the Primarch's Seal-Bearer, Macarthur, had once been accompanied by a swordsman from the Dragon Kingdoms—a man who had even dueled Lucius, the famed swordsman of the Emperor's Children.

Additionally, the White Scars and their Primarch had cultural ties to the Dragon Kingdoms, and the Traitorous Thousand Sons seemed to know certain secrets of that realm.

Dante studied the face before him.

Could this being's origin be tied to the Dragon Kingdoms?

Then he was not a newly born entity of the Warp—he must have existed for at least ten thousand years.

"Commander Dante," the man calling himself Zhou Yun lifted his lips slightly, continuing in that voice that inspired trust: "I have come to fulfill my promise to the Lord of Baal. You know what I mean."

The Lord of Baal?

Dante paused slightly, then understood—he meant Sanguinius.

So this was indeed connected to the prophecy brought by Mephiston—the return of the Archangel.

Dante's gaze fell upon Mephiston beside him, who shuddered faintly.

A flicker of embarrassment crossed his face—clearly he sensed Dante's suspicion and scrutiny.

At least in Dante's view, Mephiston had trusted this Warp entity far too quickly, for whatever reason.

After his moment of embarrassment, Mephiston gave Dante a slight nod—confirming Dante's suspicion.

"My Lord."

Mephiston spoke slowly, his voice still deep, yet now tinged with hesitation: "Let us dispense with formalities. Many things cannot be spoken aloud, yet we all know the future of the Blood Angels—and indeed all of the Imperium—hangs by a thread. You, as the Lord of Baal, could intervene."

"This gentleman is the object of worship of the Saint Doraemon Cult. You and I both know—I personally infiltrated both sects of Saint Doraemon, the death-worshipping one and the relatively mild one. I studied their behaviors, searched meticulously for signs of corruption and folly. Yet I found no taint."

As Mephiston spoke, his hesitation faded, replaced by resolve: "Likewise, I have found no taint in this gentleman. Khan Chagatai did not declare him our enemy—he warned us to choose for ourselves. And in this gentleman, I see hope!"

"He must be the hope Sanguinius spoke of. I have made my choice—I will trust this gentleman. This is the hope that can save us and the entire Imperium. Please, make your decision. Perhaps from your perspective, it carries risk."

"Risk?" Dante raised his voice. "We all know what happened the last time someone took 'some risk.'"

"I see hope—and I see the shadows that may lie beyond it. Will this decision bring hope… or something twisted?"

Dante's gaze rested on Zhou Yun and Mephiston.

Through Mephiston's words, Dante now understood what they wanted.

They wished to reach Sanguinius's tomb, to stand beside his remains.

And what would return from Sanguinius's corpse? Their gene-father? Or some twisted abomination?

Was all of this deception? Had it been planned since the Underworld?

Was this the scheme of the Changer of Ways—or another Chaos God?

Even if not, would the resurrected Sanguinius remain as pure as before, untouched by the corruption of this Warp entity?

Dante did not want to become Abaddon. He did not want Mephiston to be Erebus. He did not want Sanguinius to suffer Horus's fate. He did not want the Blood Angels to repeat the downfall of the Sons of Horus.

And remembering the blue wings and light he had seen multiple times, Dante felt doubt creep into his heart.

Would the resurrected one be Sanguinius—or a second Horus? This question demanded caution.

Zhou Yun noticed the doubt on Dante's face. He sighed inwardly.

It was all Erebus's fault!

Oh, and Fabius too!

These two old bastards have ruined the reputation of our Primarch resurrection business! The ones they bring back are either corrupted or inauthentic.

I'll drag Belisarius Cawl over to beat the hell out of them. Maybe twice.

These two old bastards have ruined the reputation of our Primarch resurrection business! The ones we resurrect are either corrupted or inauthentic,

As Zhou Yun grumbled inwardly, his fingers subtly tapped the thermal performance notepad and robot director's hat in his pocket, reactivating the acting enhancement they granted.

Instantly, Zhou Yun felt the accumulated skill of every great actor across forty millennia of human history flow into him.

He stepped forward slightly, his voice low and compelling: "Louis of Baal, son of the salt-merchant Areias, Saltie—Dante."

Dante's pupils contracted sharply; his body leaned back slightly.

Louis—many warriors knew that name. Areias—only Dante himself remembered it.

And Saltie—that was the nickname two companions had called him during his trial.

One died on the trial path; the other never became a true Blood Angel. That name should have been forgotten.

"Is this some Warp sorcery? Are you spying on my past?" Dante's face hardened with suspicion.

Zhou Yun's expression remained calm, as if entirely unmoved by Dante's accusation. He stepped forward again, closing the distance until he stood before Dante.

"Will you believe this is Warp sorcery—or fate, hope, and duty?"

"I met a girl in Asford. She told me—if all of this is the Emperor's design, then it is the best possible design."

A flicker of dread crossed Dante's face.

"We chose you, Dante," Zhou Yun whispered. "Long before you were a child, the moment you first killed to protect your tribe, and wept in the midnight hours over the loss of life—we chose you."

Zhou Yun's gaze upon Dante carried care and pity, like an elder who had watched him grow from infancy.

"No!" Dante's face betrayed a trace of panic—he sensed what Zhou Yun was about to say.

"We chose you, Dante," Zhou Yun said softly. "Long before you were old enough to remember, when you first killed to protect your tribe, and wept in the midnight hours for the lives that had passed—we chose you."

Zhou Yun continued, his tone still calm: "After your quarrel with your father Areias, on the night the lights went out, you slipped out of your family's walker and stole Oreni's desert motorcycle. That bike was the fastest in the tribe—the light-lumens alone cost Oreni half a year's wages."

Dante's expression grew more haunted; his body trembled slightly.

"But you still got lost in the desert. The Salt Rift consumed Oreni's motorcycle. You drank nearly all your water—you were about to die."

"Yet we were still watching you, Dante. Sanguinius watched you. And I smiled beside you."

"After you argued with your father Areias, on that night when the lights went out, you slipped out of your family's walker and stole Olini's desert motorcycle. That motorcycle was the fastest in the tribe—the light-bar alone cost Olini half a year's wages."

(End of Chapter)

But you still became lost in the desert; the Salt Rift consumed Olini's desert motorcycle, and you nearly drank all your water, on the verge of death.

But we were still watching you, Dante Saint-Gilles gazed upon you, while I smiled beside you.

Do you remember what you saw, and who guided you?

(End of Chapter)