Chapter 240: Scare Abaddon

Lag listened to Zhou Yun's words and couldn't help but widen his eyes slightly, staring at his old friend.

But in the end, he only offered a slightly ugly smile and shook his head on the bed.

"Zhou Yun brother, do you know how old I am?"

"Eighty-seven. I'm thirteen years away from turning a hundred."

"How many people in Asford's lower nest have lived as long as I have? Forty or fifty is considered long life in our part of the world."

"For a nest rat like me, eighty-seven years is too long. I've already started forgetting things from the past."

As he spoke, the wrinkles on Lag's ugly face deepened, revealing every trace of age:

"And lately, I simply can't handle it anymore. Those things exhaust me. I can't hold on any longer."

"Zhou Yun brother, I spent most of my life thinking only about how to survive—how to keep myself alive, and how to keep you brothers alive. But when the swarms attacked Angel's Keep, I was the one who had to urge everyone to stand in the most dangerous places."

"I know it was necessary, but I can't bear it. I watched them die one by one. I truly can't take it."

"They were all better, more valuable, younger than this old man I am."

Lag fell silent for a moment, then began gasping heavily, his chest rising and sinking weakly.

Speaking so much at once had drained much of his strength.

He faintly extended his hand, as if trying to grasp something, then pulled it back in fear.

Then Lag slowly closed his charcoal-black eyes, his eyelids swollen and red from illness.

Zhou Yun picked up a pillow from the bed and placed it behind Lag's back, making his posture slightly more comfortable.

"I'm not afraid of dying, Zhou Yun brother."

Lag's eyes glowed red as he whispered:

"I'm afraid I won't return to the Golden Throne. I'm afraid the brothers who died with me won't return to the Golden Throne either."

"Zhou Yun brother, please tell me—is the Golden Throne real? Will the Emperor protect our souls?"

"I fear it's just a lie—that the souls of all the dead brothers are left unprotected in darkness and chaos."

Lag extended his bony hand again, like a drowning man grasping for a straw, but once more he grasped nothing.

This time, Zhou Yun reached out and wrapped his flesh-filled hand around Lag's emaciated one.

"Forgive me," Lag murmured almost inaudibly. "God… don't leave our souls unprotected."

Zhou Yun gently clenched Lag's palm and said softly: "I am not a god."

"But I promise you will return to the Golden Throne, alongside the souls of those who fell in Asford, at peace."

In that instant, Lag's face twisted with the cunning unique to a nest rat.

"So you've made all the arrangements?" Lag's voice was hoarse, his tone sly.

Zhou Yun couldn't help laughing: "I promise I'll go to the Emperor and confirm whether your soul has returned to the Golden Throne."

"If he lets you slip through, I'll kick his hook so hard he'll regret it."

"And everyone else's too—all of them. They were good people."

Lag urgently extended his other hand, gripping Zhou Yun's sleeve tightly:

"Please…"

Lag's charcoal-black eyes were filled with pleading, as if Zhou Yun truly could protect their souls from the chaotic, mad entities of the Warp.

Zhou Yun looked down at Lag and lowered his gaze slightly.

"I promise you."

Lag's eyes widened, gazing at Zhou Yun with gratitude.

"Forgive me, Doraemon God."

His voice was as thin as a spider's thread. Zhou Yun wasn't surprised that Lag had realized his identity—

From Lag's reaction earlier, Zhou Yun had already sensed that the cognitive distortion placed by Leina had been lifted.

Perhaps something had happened on Leina's end. Perhaps the effects of the Great Rift. Or both.

"Doraemon God… please help us."

"Protect the dead souls. Protect them."

"Alright." Zhou Yun held Lag's hand, now growing cold, and whispered.

On the high walls of Angel's Keep, Zhou Yun gently swirled the bottle in his hand, pouring himself a glass of crimson wine.

This was not Baal's red wine.

Baal's red wine ranked alongside Fenris mead as one of the two extinction-level beverages of the Human Imperium—tasting like swallowing a virus bomb or a cyclone torpedo.

This bottle was the wine Old One-Eye had brewed in Asford, which Zhou Yun had taken with him before leaving—it was one of the few remaining bottles.

He was thinking about Lag.

Lag had begged Zhou Yun to confirm whether his soul, and the souls of those who died in the battles of Baal and Asford, had returned to the Golden Throne.

This stirred Zhou Yun's curiosity: how exactly did the souls of the faithful return to the Golden Throne?

The sound of wings slicing through the air came from behind Zhou Yun.

He turned to see Sanguinius, his wings trembling, landing gently before him.

Sanguinius's gaze fell upon the wine glass in Zhou Yun's hand.

Zhou Yun said nothing, simply pulled a glass from his fourth-dimensional pocket, poured Sanguinius a drink, and handed it over.

Sanguinius held the small glass—tiny for his hand—and leaned beside Zhou Yun against the high wall.

"How is Lag?" Sanguinius asked softly.

Zhou Yun gathered his thoughts and recounted Lag's words to him.

"I suspect the Emperor is manipulating me into going to Terra," Zhou Yun said bluntly to Sanguinius.

For the Emperor, the Master of Mankind, making Lag unconsciously utter words to lure Zhou Yun to Terra would be simple.

Sanguinius's expression flickered oddly, then he nodded slightly in agreement: "That sounds like something my father would do."

"But it's too crude. Perhaps his longing has seeped into the entire human population, causing Lag to say those things."

"You know—he's bound too deeply to the entire human species."

Zhou Yun nodded slightly in agreement with Sanguinius's guess.

"But not now," he said.

The Emperor's condition remains unknown. If Zhou Yun and Sanguinius went alone, who knew what misfortune might strike? At the very least, they needed to bring Guilliman.

If the Emperor truly had problems, and Guilliman was already with him, Zhou Yun and Sanguinius could barely imagine the horror.

War, after all, is fought on logistics—and Guilliman's logistical prowess borders on divine.

Having him on their side was a tremendous advantage; having him on the enemy's side would be utterly nauseating.

Sanguinius naturally shared Zhou Yun's view.

"I've ordered the void ship returned from the Forge World. One thousand elite Blood Angels have already been selected."

"We can depart at any moment—eh?"

Sanguinius's words were abruptly cut off. He let out a faint hum, as if sensing something.

Zhou Yun turned a curious gaze toward him.

"Someone is performing divination in the Warp's current, seeking information about the Primarchs."

"Risk of detection?" Zhou Yun raised an eyebrow.

Sanguinius shook his head slightly: "No. This is primarily aimed at Guilliman."

"But I played a little joke—I scattered some amusing false rumors through the Warp's current."

As he spoke, Sanguinius's lips curled into a mischievous smile:

"Scare the hell out of Azeckel Abaddon."

Zhou Yun couldn't help but cast him a curious look.

(End of Chapter)