Chapter 312: Dang Dang Dang! Earth Destruction Bomb! (6,500-Word Chapter)

Zhou Yun cheerfully stuffed the black sword seized from the Heretical Blade of the Black Sanctum and three virus bombs into his fourth-dimensional pocket.

Adding the black sword reclaimed from Abaddon—once belonging to Marshal Amalrich's expeditionary force—Zhou Yun now possessed two black swords in his fourth-dimensional pocket.

According to Saint Sanguinius's earlier words, Sigismund, though dead, harbored such profound hatred toward Abaddon and Chaos that fragments of his consciousness merged with the machine-soul within the black sword.

If half or more of the black swords could be collected, combined with the authority Zhou Yun acquired from the Domain of Malicious Arts, perhaps Sigismund's consciousness might awaken from the machine-soul.

This was why Zhou Yun had never sold the black swords.

A mechanical body housing a machine-soul, Sigismund would theoretically be immune to the suppression of the demonic blade Drakonion.

That blade was born from humanity's first murder, suppressing all humans—it was one of Abaddon's greatest advantages.

Zhou Yun wondered: without Drakonion's suppression of humanity, who would prevail between Abaddon and Sigismund?

Hmm, probably three-seven? Sigismund three, Abaddon seven—after all, Abaddon was chosen by all four Chaos Gods, while Sigismund would need at least three swords to chop Abaddon into seven pieces.

Zhou Yun took the black swords and informed the three Black Templar priests aboard the Heretical Calamity of his plan to revive Sigismund.

The three priests were ecstatic, praising Saint Doraemon endlessly—never had they imagined Saint Doraemon could resurrect Primarchs, even Imperial Coronation Warriors.

Unfortunately, the Black Templars remained a decentralized organization; their duty was solely to escort this black sword and verify loyalty—they could not deliver other black swords to Zhou Yun.

These three priests could only promise Zhou Yun that after completing the deployment of five hundred Black Templar warriors, they would seek out other expeditionary forces scattered across the galaxy, attempting to recover additional black swords and bring back the founder of the Black Templars, the first Imperial Coronation Warrior, Sigismund.

After leaving the Heretical Calamity, Zhou Yun visited Guilliman, who was still immersed in overnight administrative duties.

Upon learning the Black Templars maintained at least five thousand members—possibly even ten thousand—Guilliman praised them profusely, commending them as worthy descendants of Dorn.

Though their extreme devotion to the Emperor and the near-destruction of Macragge made Guilliman slightly uneasy, over ten thousand years they had maintained this scale and waged ceaseless crusades against Chaos—they were, without doubt, the most active Chapter during his ten-thousand-year slumber.

Guilliman desperately wished for the Black Templars' aid, but after the Great Rift opened, most of their expeditionary forces lost contact.

After Guilliman returned to his tedious duties, Zhou Yun returned alone to his quarters.

After the Doraemon Chapter's plan began, Guilliman expanded the area allocated to Zhou Yun within the Hera Fortress.

Surrounding the central zone were the Doraemon Chapter's barracks; the center housed Zhou Yun and the Doraemon Chapter's command officers.

Upon returning, Zhou Yun heard thunderous roars emanating from the training ground behind his quarters, punctuated occasionally by lightning and explosions.

Curious, Zhou Yun headed toward the training ground.

The training ground was a Roman-style small arena, built from rough stone blocks, with tiered stone bleachers surrounding a pit filled with fine sand.

Inside the sand pit stood four figures—apparently a 2-vs-2 duel.

Zhou Yun silently stood beside a marble pillar, looking down upon the battle.

One side consisted of Saint Blood Angel First Company Captain Calain, clad in Terminator armor, and Saint Blood Angel Chief Librarian Mephiston.

The other side was Leina and the Jester Shadow Prophet Hilarion the Veilwalker.

Hilarion the Veilwalker was reclaimed by Zhou Yun from Xigaoqi.

"The Laughing God, Hilarion is my beloved! You cannot steal my love!"

"Understood! Understood!"

Though Hilarion the Veilwalker had looked utterly bewildered, Xigaoqi immediately appointed her as Ambassador of Friendship between Eldar and Humanity, tasked with facilitating communication between Himself and Zhou Yun—and kicked her straight into Zhou Yun's lap.

Hilarion the Veilwalker was, in a sense, a rare talent; Zhou Yun genuinely needed her for certain underhanded tasks.

He just hadn't expected her to end up in this arena.

Leina's roar snapped Zhou Yun out of his thoughts.

She wore a portable pyramid on her head—a device that could unlock latent potential.

Previously, Leina had used Memory Bread, forcibly memorizing vast theoretical knowledge about psychic powers—but she had never truly learned them, forgetting everything after one trip to the latrine.

Helpless, Zhou Yun gave her the portable pyramid, hoping it might stimulate her mental potential.

The result: Leina's psychic power surged under the pyramid's influence, and her resistance to the whispers of the Warp also increased.

Yet her learning ability remained unchanged—her saintly incompetence as pronounced as ever.

Her eyes blazed with pale-white psychic flames, her entire body enveloped in a shimmering, semi-ethereal arc of energy, floating midair.

As she roared, the veil between reality and the Warp tore open in an instant; the arena's air froze violently, crystallizing into glittering frost.

A bolt of High Heaven energy, condensed into psychic lightning, glowed azure in her palm.

The hurricane arced through the air in a trajectory defying physics, hissing as it slammed down upon Captain Calain.

Calain raised the holy relic, the Hammer of Bal, and the iron halo behind his head hummed.

The blue energy field stored within the Hammer of Bal erupted in a thunderous blast; the iron halo projected a deflection field that collided with Leina's psychic lightning.

Lightning and energy fields ionized the surrounding air, releasing the scent of ozone; stray currents melted and blackened the fine sand.

The bamboo propeller atop Calain's head spun silently, granting him immense lift.

Clad in Terminator armor, he shot upward like a crimson cannonball, swinging his humming Hammer of Bal toward Leina in midair.

Leina raised one hand; her psychic energy coalesced with her will, instantly forming a thick protective field before her—one of the few psychokinetic spells she could still use.

The Hammer of Bal struck Leina's protective field; she attempted to redirect it with her will.

But Calain gritted his teeth, countering her will with raw flesh strength, the Terminator armor's auxiliary power, and the Hammer of Bal's divine force.

In contrast, Hilarion the Veilwalker's battle against Mephiston was far simpler.

Hilarion lunged at Mephiston, her form instantly fracturing into hundreds of shattered color blocks, flickering across the sand pit—nearly vanishing from sight.

Mephiston did not rush; he merely lifted his hand slightly.

A psychic field instantly engulfed the entire sand pit; every grain of sand rose from the ground, dragging Hilarion the Veilwalker—whose form had vanished—with it.

Mephiston clenched his fingers; her body was instantly restrained midair. With a flick of his fingers, Hilarion the Veilwalker was flung like a ragdoll into the stone-carved spectator seats, crashing heavily between them.

The sparse Astartes and Cadia 184th Regiment soldiers seated in the bleachers erupted in cheers.

"What did you do to provoke them?" Zhou Yun couldn't help laughing, plopping down beside the dazed Hilarion the Veilwalker.

The Jester Shadow Prophet stared blankly, lips trembling, looking utterly wronged.

Before he could speak, Fen, a Sixth Company warrior of the Saint Blood Angels and now one of Doraemon's chosen, who had once retrieved the Bi Gong Spear for the Saint Blood Angels, spoke first: "We were conducting routine sparring, when Veilwalker suddenly joined in."

"We're ashamed—our strength couldn't match hers; most warriors were laid out by her."

"Later, when we met opponents we couldn't defeat, Veilwalker dragged Leina Commander into the fight, using her psychic power for a 2-vs-2 match."

"Eventually, Captain Calain and Librarian Mephiston noticed the commotion, and Mephiston invited Veilwalker to a first-blood duel—he wished to witness the true skill of an Eldar Jester."

Veilwalker wanted to refuse, but the Leina Commander wished to test her psychic powers against Mephiston's and accepted first.

"I just wanted to mess with ordinary Astartes," Hilarion the Veilwalker muttered weakly. "Who knew there'd be a monster like Mephiston—even among Eldar, he's a psychic lunatic."

Zhou Yun sighed and shook his head.

Hilarion the Veilwalker's strength was indeed formidable—most Chapter captains couldn't match her.

But Mephiston, Chief Librarian of the Saint Blood Angels, was among the top two or three psychic beings in all of humanity and the galaxy.

Among those still considered human and capable of moving freely in the material universe, only a handful—like the Chaos Sorcerer Ariman, chosen by Tzeentch—could reliably surpass him.

On Macragge, excluding the two Primarchs, only the currently overworked Diggles could challenge him.

Hilarion the Veilwalker came for fun—and became the fun.

In the sand pit, Leina noticed Hilarion the Veilwalker had been instantly defeated; her expression froze.

She had witnessed Mephiston's psychic power at Asford, where he had faced the Hive Mind, obliterated a swarm of Alpha-class Brain Spiders and Psyker Beasts, and sustained serious injuries.

Leina gritted her teeth; the portable pyramid on her head flared green, violently amplifying her psychic potential.

Instantly, every cell in her body seemed immersed in psychic energy, sinking deeper into the Warp, becoming something non-corporeal.

She opened her mouth in a silent roar; psychic flames and light howled from every orifice.

She swung her arm violently, forcing her will upon the fabric of reality; Calain stared in shock as the space around him twisted and warped under Leina's command.

Leina hurled Calain—along with an entire patch of surrounding space—toward the spectator seats.

A thunderous explosion erupted among the bleachers; everyone scrambled to dodge. Zhou Yun grabbed the drained Hilarion the Veilwalker and yanked her aside.

Calain was embedded deep in the thick rock, writhing—his Terminator armor damaged by Leina's psychic energy, rendering him temporarily immobile.

In the sand pit, Mephiston noticed Leina had subdued Calain. Slowly, he raised one hand.

Beneath his flesh, something beyond the fabric of reality writhed; a black shadow spread outward from him.

The Saint Blood Angels' Chief Librarian unleashed his psychic power, contesting Leina for dominion over reality.

Their psychic energies clashed midair; reality itself screamed under the crushing weight of Warp forces.

The surrounding Saint Blood Angels murmured in awe—Leina had not collapsed immediately before Mephiston's psychic might.

But after several minutes of this psychic duel, Leina felt her limits.

The psychic power amplified by the portable pyramid exceeded her body's capacity; she could not gauge its exact level, but it was undeniably beyond her physical limits, dragging her relentlessly toward collapse.

Mephiston's psychic power also terrified her—her control over reality weakened, his force effortlessly overwhelming hers.

Ultimately, Leina could not resist. She raised her hand in surrender, withdrawing her psychic energy and landing in the sand pit.

"When did you start enjoying duels?" Zhou Yun stepped into the sand pit and pulled up Leina, drenched in sweat.

"Ever since I realized studying won't improve my psychic skills," Leina tried to wipe her brow with psychic energy—but accidentally slashed her own skin.

She attempted to heal the wound with psychic energy, but the flesh overgrew, forming a fleshy tumor on her forehead.

Leina let out an irritated grunt and ripped the tumor off with her own hands.

The portable pyramid had boosted her psychic power—but this artificially amplified energy was far harder to control; she could barely use most psychic spells, relying purely on raw psychic pressure.

"So I joined the dueling pit, trying to improve my combat skills." "It's been useful. Want to try?"

Leina pointed at the sand pit. In her mind, Zhou Yun's combat skills—aside from his gunplay and the famed blade Denkoumaru—were mediocre.

Before Zhou Yun could respond, Mephiston stepped back in alarm, as if trying to slip away unnoticed from the dueling pit.

The Saint Blood Angels in the bleachers wore similar expressions, hastily covering their Chapter relics—memories of some dark recollection stirring.

"Fine. Can I bring my own weapon?"

Zhou Yun reached into his fourth-dimensional pocket and pulled out a revolver.

"This is a battle rifle; one shot can destroy a tank."

Before anyone present could react, Zhou Yun reached into his pocket again and pulled out a gun with a distinctly sci-fi appearance.

"This is the Overlord Gun; one shot can level an entire building."

Leina swallowed hard and took a small step back, a flicker of fear in her eyes.

She could destroy a building too, but this was a gun—Zhou Yun's marksmanship was flawless, never missing a shot.

"And this—"

Zhou Yun suddenly thrust out his hand; his fourth-dimensional pocket expanded, and he raised high a deep green airdrop bomb.

"Ta-da! The Earth Destruction Bomb!"

A collective gasp echoed around them; everyone stared at the bomb in Zhou Yun's hand with growing dread.

Every single detail was visible!

Leina was drenched in sweat; she now realized she never should have suggested Zhou Yun join the Duel Pit.

"Boss Zhou!" At that moment, Cilandri the Veil-Walker flipped backward and stepped up to Zhou Yun.

"What? Are you challenging me to a Blood Duel?" Zhou Yun smiled at Cilandri the Veil-Walker, the Earth Destruction Bomb in his hand tilting slightly toward her.

Cilandri the Veil-Walker jumped back in alarm: "Please hold it steady!"

She hesitated, then leaned closer to Zhou Yun and whispered:

"The Laughing God is ready. He has issued an invitation to Inard."

"To meet in the Black Library and discuss the future of the Eldar."

Efriné stood atop the Eldar Embassy on Macragge, gazing at the distant Temple of Guilliman.

During this time, she had spoken with the Lord of the Space Wolves on several occasions.

What a perfect being he was—simultaneously childish and mature.

Childish, because he had walked among mortals for barely two or three centuries—shorter than Efriné herself.

Mature, because he had existed for ten thousand years. Of course, this childishness and maturity were most evident in his soul.

Childish in the sheer impossibility of his ideals; mature in the strength and wisdom that drove him relentlessly toward realizing them.

Efriné had never before felt such admiration and respect for a human, despite the many conflicts of interest between them.

Of course, this did not mean there were no other humans worthy of Efriné's respect.

Saint Guilliman was one; Zhou Yun was another—both were equally noble beings.

But Saint Guilliman felt more like an entity of the Warp—exalted and divine.

Zhou Yun, however… well, Efriné didn't know how to describe him. The man's aura seemed utterly alien to this era, as if he belonged to a different reality entirely.

Even when they passed each other in Guilliman's command chamber, Zhou Yun suddenly spoke up, suggesting that for the sake of human-Eldar cooperation and deeper ties between the two races, he proposed a marriage alliance between himself and Guilliman.

The proposal sent the Thousand Faces into a rage—he cursed and called it an insult.

But Efriné herself felt no offense—only mild surprise at Zhou Yun's erratic train of thought.

Though the Eldar often called humans "monkeys," or in Eldar speech, "monkeigh," in truth, humans were fundamentally different from the true monkeigh—the savage species that once enslaved the Eldar.

In fact, the Eldar and humans were physiologically quite similar—a fact acknowledged by the most rational scholars of both races.

Broadly speaking, both humans and Eldar were bipedal, psionic hominids, with DNA as their genetic basis; humans had two strands, Eldar had three.

Though direct mating rarely produced offspring, biological technology could easily create hybrid children of both races.

Moreover, Guilliman lacked the self-pitying, twisted nature common among most Eldar males, and the perverse repression hidden beneath enforced celibacy—he carried a unique sense of dignity.

Efriné seriously considered Zhou Yun's proposal. After all, Guilliman had not been resurrected by the Death God's army; relations between the two races had grown thin.

At that moment, footsteps sounded behind Efriné. The Thousand Faces, clad in red armor, stepped silently up behind her.

"Girl," the Thousand Faces said gently.

Efriné felt goosebumps rise from the hot wind of Macragge; she instinctively took a small step away from him.

The Thousand Faces had once been her teacher on the Craftworld; she respected him.

Had he not shown her those feelings, she would have respected him even more.

"You know the Laughing God has issued an invitation to Inard," the Thousand Faces said.

The Thousand Faces was Inard's Chosen; though blessed less than Efriné, he could still hear Inard's murmurs in sleep.

The Laughing God had invited Inard into the Black Library to discuss the Eldar's future.

This was the first time. Since Inard's initial awakening, the Laughing God had always been wary of him.

Though Inard's birth was aided by the Laughing God's own Jesters, He had always communicated with Inard indirectly—through the Jesters and Efriné.

He had never fully opened the Black Library to the Death God's Army or to Inard, preferring to hide within it alone.

But why now?

Efriné frowned slightly: "Is the Laughing God playing some trick?"

Inard had only just awakened; he thought largely by instinct, his intellect inherently limited.

The Thousand Faces was a capable warrior, but his intellect was hardly high—she wondered what he was thinking with his multi-lobed Eldar brain.

Of the three pillars of the Death God's Army, only Efriné thought and planned.

"What trick could there be?" the Thousand Faces shook his head. "Girl, you think too much."

"The Laughing God is the last Eldar deity, and Inard is the emerging Eldar god. How could the Laughing God trick his own brother?"

"Broken Caine, Inard, and the Laughing God could form a new minor Eldar pantheon. For the Laughing God, who now rules the pantheon and mediates divine order, this would be immensely advantageous—his power and authority would grow."

"Besides," the Thousand Faces added with faint disdain, "the Laughing God has always been the marginal deity in the pantheon. He only seized control through luck and flight. His position is inferior to Inard's. How could he possibly scheme against him?"

Efriné said nothing.

She understood the Laughing God better than the Thousand Faces, who had spent his life in the Craftworld temples. Many Craftworld shrines had revived worship of the dead gods, mourning their shattered glory—just like the Eldar lost in their past splendor. They had never worshipped the Laughing God, never revered this last surviving deity.

But Efriné, who walked the galaxy, knew the truth: the Laughing God was a great deity—perhaps the greatest of all Eldar gods.

He cared for the Eldar pantheon, for his other brothers, for his power—but none of these were his truest concern.

What he truly cared for was…

Efriné shook her head.

"No, I must be overthinking."

"How could the Laughing God… betray Inard, another Eldar god?"

"What benefit would that bring him? Another collapse of the pantheon would only harm him."

(End of Chapter)