Chapter 224: I! Chu Mu Dante! Love My Job!

"The Warmaster will come to accept your surrender."

Garvael Lokan, or the chicken thief who claimed to be Garvael Lokan, said this.

Zhou Yun and Melphiston exchanged a brief glance.

In human history, only a handful of men have held the title of Warmaster, especially after the Horus Heresy, when the title seemed to carry some ominous connotation—the Empire nearly abandoned it entirely.

And the Warmaster mentioned by this "Garvael Lokan" could only be

A faint bead of sweat trickled down Melphiston's brow beneath the clay.

Even knowing it was fake—merely the collective emotional projection of mortals onto a chicken thief—Melphiston still felt tense.

He had once seen Horus's form firsthand in his Black Fury, and knew what manner of monster it was.

"Don't panic. Saint Guilliman assured me none of these chicken thieves can harm me." Zhou Yun glanced at Melphiston and spoke casually.

Melphiston's body twitched slightly.

"Did my Lord say these chicken thieves won't harm me either?" Melphiston couldn't help asking.

"Hmm… maybe he did?" Zhou Yun pondered, looking slightly confused: "I was too busy plucking his feathers to hear clearly."

Melphiston gave a stiff, awkward laugh.

Zhou Yun no longer paid attention to Melphiston—this was Melphiston, after all. He could certainly take care of himself; no need for Zhou Yun to watch him closely.

He turned his gaze to the chicken thief Lokan, continuing to observe the scene.

Zhou Yun had a faint sense that everything unfolding before him felt like a play, giving him a strange sense of familiarity.

These three chicken thieves seemed merely to be acting out a prewritten script, unaware of it themselves.

"Will he come now?!" the old man in purple cried urgently.

"I've already sent a signal to the Warmaster," Lokan said, rubbing his temple.

He had reported the situation to the Warmaster.

The Warmaster respects those who surrender and is willing to grant them final honor, and is also curious about that strange Astartes.

Lokan gritted his teeth; his hallucinations grew worse.

He no longer stood in the Emperor's opulent palace, but in an inverted black iron tower, its central throne now a grotesque, massive assembly of scrap iron.

He faintly saw shifting lights and shadows upon it.

All these illusions vanished in an instant, yet he gasped sharply, suddenly understanding why the man in purple demanded to see the Warmaster.

"You're not the Emperor!!!" Lokan roared. "It's a trap!!"

He whirled around, his power sword aimed at the invisible entity seated upon the throne.

The true Emperor had always sat upon that throne, remaining invisible, never revealing his form.

He was waiting for the Warmaster's arrival to ambush and kill him.

A bestial roar echoed as Lokan's hallucinations and reality twisted together, lights and shadows flickering wildly, powerful psychic forces howling through the chamber.

Suddenly, he felt as if a troop transport had slammed into his chest—he was lifted like a blade of grass in a hurricane and hurled hard against the black iron wall.

Lokan spat blood, his body collapsing like a rag against the corner.

He saw the shifting lights upon the throne, as if a monstrous beast, five or six meters tall, crouched within the gaps of the glow.

The Astartes in unknown livery and the psyker Ogryn stood within the psychic storm stirred by the beast, a faint psychic barrier shielding them both.

"Help—"

Before Lokan could finish, a torrent of teleportation light erupted in the room, mere inches from him.

"Wolf God!" Lokan roared, warning his gene-father.

From the teleportation glow, a towering godlike figure emerged.

It was a giant, far taller than Lokan, clad in power armor between pale gold and bone-white, like the first radiance of the sun rising over Terra—fiery, brilliant, instantly filling the chamber with light.

Runes glowed across its armor, the Eye of Terra on its chest adding solemn majesty; its cloak of beast pelts stirred with the wind of teleportation, radiating authority without a word.

It was the embodiment of human might, the perfect warrior.

The moment it appeared, the grotesque hallucinations hovering before Lokan thinned and nearly vanished.

But in Zhou Yun's view, it was entirely different.

He saw no glorious, majestic warrior—only a strange gene-thief chieftain or proto-chieftain.

It was a six-meter-tall creature with a completely bare, triangular head, no chitinous carapace covering it, bald.

Its entire body was sheathed in thick, interwoven chitinous plates, which somehow resembled a power armor.

The gaps between these chitinous plates slowly twisted into complex runes, gradually forming a broken Eye of Terra shape over its chest.

Its grotesque alien face twisted toward the shifting lights upon the throne.

The invisible beast upon the throne let out a roar and lunged at it.

It remained expressionless, raising its claws sheathed in sharp chitin—

Boom!! Boom!!! Boom!!!

The roar of the meltagun came faster than its claws.

The invisible beast's head exploded in a burst of melt-sparks.

Precise, swift, casual—as if it had no doubt where its bullets would land.

Lokan was stunned—he had never seen such flawless marksmanship.

It was as if he weren't shooting at enemies, but the enemies were fated to pass through his bullet paths.

Lokan even noticed a flicker of barely perceptible surprise in the Warmaster's eyes—this shooting had clearly startled him too.

"I swear to destroy all tyrants and deceivers."

The Warmaster looked at the Astartes in unknown livery:

"But someone beat me to it this time."

"No problem, Warmaster. I believe you'll one day personally cripple the greatest tyrant and deceiver in the galaxy."

Zhou Yun set down his meltagun and looked at the massive chicken thief with a cheerful expression.

Whether it was an illusion or not, after the invisible chicken thief on the throne died, its body seemed to grow even larger.

Was this competition among gene-thief chieftain candidates?

As candidates dwindled, the survivors grew stronger under stimulation.

Zhou Yun had long noticed the invisible chicken thief crouched on the throne—it was clearly the true Emperor, the gene-thief chieftain candidate among these invisible thieves.

But it had remained motionless and invisible on the throne, so Zhou Yun and Melphiston had ignored it.

Upon hearing Zhou Yun's words, the gene-thief proto-chieftain, its body sheathed in chitinous plates resembling power armor, let out a loud laugh and fixed its gaze on Zhou Yun.

"Fine flattery. Your mouth is as dangerous as your gun. Which of my brothers' sons has such a sharp tongue? Guilliman's?"

As he spoke, the proto-chieftain's gaze hardened as it studied Zhou Yun:

"Warrior, I am the Lord of the Shadow Wolves, appointed by the Emperor, beloved by all mortals, the Primarch entrusted with the Great Crusade."

"I am Horus. I am the Emperor's firstborn son."

As he spoke, the self-proclaimed Horus's gaze sharpened, as if scrutinizing Zhou Yun:

"Now, reveal your identity and your reason for intervening in this war!"

Melphiston took a slight step back, his expression uneasy.

For Melphiston truly sensed Horus's presence on this chicken thief.

Though it was false—a hallucination forged from the emotions and faith of the Warp—it felt utterly real to Melphiston.

Even more, he felt the Black Fury he had long suppressed deep within his soul suddenly stir, as if the monster's body housed it.

Melphiston faintly saw a pair of pitch-black wings behind the chicken thief, as if the Black Angels of old Bal were gazing at him.

He hastily sent the vision to Zhou Yun's mind through psychic transmission.

Zhou Yun merely pressed down his cap and smiled faintly, reaching into his fourth-dimensional pocket.

Lokan nearly thought he was drawing a weapon—but the Warmaster stood motionless, watching Zhou Yun.

Then Lokan held his breath.

A light brighter than the Warmaster's flooded the chamber in an instant.

The Warmaster stepped back sharply, staring at the object Zhou Yun held aloft.

It was a feather, as long as Lokan's arm, pure as snow, tipped with a faint blue hue, bathed in warm, sunlike radiance.

The moment the feather was drawn, a clear, holy bell rang out—Lokan's vision sharpened, mist and illusions dissolving.

In the feather's glow, Lokan glimpsed the Warmaster transformed into a monstrous six-meter-tall creature—but only for an instant.

For the Astartes in unknown livery gently lowered the feather, withdrawing its light from the Warmaster and Lokan.

"So Saint Guilliman sent you," the Warmaster's voice softened slightly.

The Astartes in unknown livery nodded slightly and murmured: "I am a guard of Saint Guilliman, a member of the Blood Angels. You may call me Chu Mu Dante!"

Instantly, Lokan's eyes seemed to clear—the Astartes calling himself Chu Mu Dante now wore golden power armor inlaid with bloodstones, his shoulder plates bearing the Blood Angels' insignia.

Lokan felt a pang of shame—he had only now recognized a Blood Angel.

"So you are a Blood Angel."

Horus's lips curled into a faint smile. The Blood Angels were Saint Guilliman's personal guard, sometimes assigned as bodyguards to other commanders to signify the Archangel's favor.

Horus clearly took this as his brother's gesture of friendship. He had just assumed the title of Warmaster and enjoyed good relations with Guilliman—this was natural.

"Then, by the authority of the Warmaster, I grant you entry into the 63rd Expeditionary Fleet and appoint you as my personal guard. You will board the Vengeful Spirit with me."

(End of Chapter)