Chapter 293: Now the Laughing God Is the Real Jester

"I am Slaanesh!!!"

A shrill, bone-chilling aria echoed throughout the corridor, even causing the Exalted Avatar, who stood as this jester's companion, to shudder.

The title of the Dark Prince was spoken directly within the material universe, a profane, lewd voice reverberating beneath the veil of reality.

The jester's body writhed with fleshy undulations, tentacles wriggling beneath his skin, his once voluptuous form swelling further.

It was a single horn.

Zhou Yun slightly narrowed his eyes.

The Exalted Avatar's role in the jester's play was to portray Slaanesh himself—the embodiment of Slaanesh.

The horn's role was to portray the Dark Prince, Slaanesh. No Slaanesh demon would dare do such a thing.

This meant the horn directly faced the corruption of Slaanesh's true self.

Though he gained power through direct exposure to Slaanesh's corruption and became Slaanesh's avatar, his mind would continuously decay and erode until he descended into utter madness, and after death, his soul would inevitably belong to Slaanesh's true self.

Unless Sighorich tricked Slaanesh into returning his soul, there would be no redemption.

The horn standing before Zhou Yun was clearly on the edge of total madness; the corruption he suffered was so intense that his power had become terrifying.

"The Exalted Avatar of the Laughing God, the nearly insane horn, and a hidden Yín Gǔ Zhě unwilling to reveal himself?"

Zhou Yun stood in the center of the corridor, surrounded by two jesters, a faint smile curling at his lips:

"Does Sighorich really think this can trap the two of us? At least let his true self crawl out of the Black Library?"

"You are indeed confident," the Exalted Avatar bowed slightly to Zhou Yun. "Your authority in the Warp truly frightens 'me,' but how much of your power has you squeezed into this mortal vessel?"

"To merely trap you—the Dark Prince and the Laughing God's avatars—is still possible—wait, what did you mean by 'two people'?"

The Exalted Avatar's expression froze slightly, as if sensing something—

Scorching flames tore through the darkness, the immortal blaze of the Emperor's psychic power roaring forth and slamming directly into the Exalted Avatar's chest.

Sighorich's avatar was flung backward, crashing heavily against the bone wall.

The horn let out a piercing shriek and lunged toward the spot where the flame had just burned.

Guilliman, concealed by the Blindspot Star, swung his Emperor's Sword with speed surpassing the horn's.

Solar-flame arcs cut through the air, colliding with the two writhing blades in the horn's hands; the clash of metal and void rang endlessly.

But the fire vanished abruptly; Guilliman instantly circled behind the horn and brought his blade down in a devastating slash.

The horn staggered, rolled, and scrambled to absorb the full force of Guilliman's blow.

"I'm beginning to understand what Khorze and Corax felt," Guilliman's unseen form remarked.

"What?!" The Exalted Avatar let out an incredulous scream, staring toward the source of the voice: "Roboute Guilliman?!"

His voice carried the jester's signature exaggeration and comedic flair,

but the shock was genuine—he clearly had no idea why Guilliman was here.

Sighorich had somehow briefly foreseen Zhou Yun's future, seeing him alone boarding this freighter.

But Sighorich had not detected Guilliman, whose form was hidden by the Blindspot Star, beside Zhou Yun.

To prevent psychic Kuishi from the Warp from ruining the plan, Guilliman, besides wearing the Blindspot Star, had been granted unique protections by the Saint Guilliman Alliance and the two strongest human Imperial Zhiku, Magphyston and Digris, shielding him from Warp entities.

Even replacing Guilliman with Fatty Tiger and relocating Saint Guilliman were part of the plan to lure and trick Fulgrim.

Yet before Fulgrim could be baited, Sighorich had already bitten.

"Hold them off as long as possible!"

The Exalted Avatar shrieked at the horn and the hidden Yín Gǔ Zhě:

"Even if they are Primarchs and the Death of Mankind—"

Before the Exalted Avatar could finish, Guilliman's Emperor's Sword erupted again in roaring flame.

Zhou Yun also snapped on his psychic cap, and dozens of thermic pistols floated around him at once.

"AAAAAAHHHHHH!!!"

Shilandelie the Veilwalker screamed in agony inside Zhou Yun's residence.

The Lockheart Sacred Beetle inside her was relentlessly stimulating her nerves, flooding her with intense pain.

The jesters surrounding her moved swiftly, pinning her limbs without hesitation to prevent her from being controlled by the Lockheart Beetle and attacking them.

"Don't worry, sis, we're saving you right now!"

"Don't fear! The Death of Mankind is trapped by Sighorich's trickery!"

"Just hold on a little longer—we'll safely remove the Lockheart Beetle from you!"

The jesters chattered around Shilandelie the Veilwalker.

Shilandelie's face showed a look of deep emotion.

Sighorich hadn't abandoned me after all!

Praise the Laughing God! How great! Laughing God!

"Really?" Shilandelie's voice brimmed with hope.

"Of course it's true—ah?"

Before the jesters could finish, their expressions suddenly changed.

A vision flashed through their eyes; Shilandelie faintly glimpsed something terrible.

"It's a lie!"

"Sighorich's plan collapsed!"

"The Death of Mankind and Guilliman are beating the avatar and the horn to death!"

"Before they get killed, we've got to run—now!"

"No time for safe methods! Plan B!"

The jesters surrounding Shilandelie the Veilwalker discarded the safe removal instruments.

These instruments were safe, but far too slow.

"What are you doing?!"

Shilandelie's voice carried fear; her psychic senses sensed danger:

"You don't have to save me. You can just run."

"Don't say that, sis!"

"Jesters never abandon any Eldar!"

"We've staked the horn and the avatar—how could we not save you? That'd be a blood loss!"

As the jesters chattered, they stepped aside.

A gaunt, pale Eldar slowly entered, smiling gently, his fingers long and sharp as blades.

"Don't fear, kin—I will heal you."

The gaunt Eldar smiled.

Behind him, a cascade of twisted, malformed limbs sprouted, as if drawn from a dozen different species.

Shilandelie's expression froze.

He was a Bloodletter, a Bloodletter from Ghar!

"Don't come closer!"

"I won't run! Don't come near me! Sighorich, I curse your eight generations of ancestors!"

"Boss Zhou! Boss Zhou, come save me!!!"

A piercing wail erupted from Shilandelie the Veilwalker.

On the marble dais of the Grand Procession, Zhou Yun's consciousness dwelled within the Fatty Tiger Daemon, disguised as Roboute Guilliman.

He hadn't expected his trap to catch not just Sighorich, but Fulgrim too—two big fish.

Now aboard the orbital transport, Zhou Yun's true body and Guilliman were beating the horn and the Exalted Avatar to a pulp.

The Laughing God and Slaanesh's avatars might indeed trap Zhou Yun.

But trapping Zhou Yun plus a Primarch? Then the Laughing God has truly become the real jester.

Even Fulgrim, the Slaanesh Demon Prince, if he faced Guilliman aided by Zhou Yun's gear, might well be killed in return.

Meanwhile, through the Lockheart Beetle, Zhou Yun knew jesters were rescuing Shilandelie the Veilwalker.

He could sense her state was a bloody mess, and hear her screaming for him to save her—she wouldn't run anymore.

But how could she not run?

Zhou Yun had waited this long precisely to make her run—to make her return to the Black Library with Sighorich's help.

If she didn't run, how would Specialist Zhou find the Black Library?

She must run—and she must succeed.

Precisely for this reason, Zhou Yun had not ordered Saint Guilliman to return for support.

He even deliberately slowed his movements, delaying the defeat of the horn and the Exalted Avatar to give Shilandelie the Veilwalker a chance to escape.

Zhou Yun silently prayed to the long-dead Eldar god, the Phoenix King Asuryan, hoping the old god would watch over him from within Slaanesh's belly and make the horn and the Exalted Avatar hold out a little longer—otherwise, his actions would seem too deliberate, and Sighorich might notice.

After his prayer, Zhou Yun slightly refocused his mind on the procession.

The entire procession had nearly reached its peak; the citizens screamed themselves hoarse in celebration, and some frail human women fainted from the sheer fervor.

Every human, every soldier, every Astartes burned with honor—they felt pride in this moment, wishing this glory would last forever.

These emotional surges stirred the Empyrean.

Footsteps echoed on the marble dais.

The human governor of Macragge who had proposed the procession for Guilliman ascended the platform.

He bowed with elaborate, elegant ceremony to the Fatty Tiger Daemon disguised as Guilliman, his pure gold amulet gleaming brightly under Macragge's scorching sun.

My Lord! My Lord, full of honor, glory, and radiance!

The Viceroy spoke in an exaggerated tone, cradling in both hands a golden, exquisitely crafted laurel crown, its surface engraved with intricate and elaborate patterns, as if every glory of the Milky Way from ancient to modern times had been carved upon it with the most exquisite artistry,

"We, mere mortals, beg you to wear this crown of honor—only this diadem befits all your glory!"

(End of Chapter)