Chapter 319: You know, 'human' is a broad definition, so the Necrons

Zhou Yun repeated to Guilliman the exact same explanation that Xi Gaoqi had previously given him.

The entire room fell silent; nearby Adeptus Astartes servants cowered in the corners, clutching their ears and refusing to listen further.

Qian Mian and Yefreni exchanged glances, their faces filled with confusion and bewilderment.

Are we human? So we're human? Monkeys are me?

Mortarion and Diggory stared blankly; they wanted to refute Zhou Yun's argument with their knowledge, but opened their mouths and found no words.

Guilliman's gaze shifted from the human skull to the Eldar skull, as if carefully examining them.

The only difference was that human skulls were composed of calcium, while Eldar skulls were made of some translucent, semi-liquid-like substance.

He took a deep breath and pointed at the Eldar skull toward Zhou Yun:

"If we follow your logic, wouldn't the Necrons counting their metallic skulls shaped like human skulls as human too?"

"Not impossible." Zhou Yun considered for a few seconds, then nodded to Guilliman.

Since they'd accepted the Eldar as a human subspecies, the Necrons didn't seem entirely out of the question either.

Though many Necrons had gone mad from the passage of time, quite a few still remained reasonable.

The Imperium had cooperated with the Necrons nearly as often as it had with the Eldar.

"Your definition of humanity is too broad," Guilliman said, feeling a headache coming on.

"That's not my definition," Zhou Yun waved his hand. "The Emperor said to judge by the skull."

"If you won't use skulls, I propose recognizing the Fenris Wolves as Imperial citizens—I guarantee their ancestors were human."

Guilliman's expression grew abruptly horrified.

Fenris Wolves are human descendants? Zhou Yun had casually said something terrifying.

He rubbed his temples; the skull-based criterion for humanity had always struck Guilliman as overly simplistic since the Great Crusade.

But back then, it had been the most practical solution for the Imperium, so he hadn't objected.

Now, ten thousand years later, it had come back to bite him in the face.

Guilliman didn't truly object to the Eldar being classified as a human subspecies.

Humanity spanned the entire galaxy, its bloodlines wildly diverse; many sub-humans were even racially segregated, and adding the Eldar wasn't inherently problematic.

But this wasn't a racial issue—it was a political one.

Guilliman could already foresee how certain people would exploit this to launch attacks.

In Ultramar, in Macragge, Guilliman could rule unchallenged.

But across the entire Imperium, on Terra, many still resented the Primarchs' return and refused to accept their political involvement.

This was a lingering relic of the Great Crusade; even before Horus's betrayal, the Imperium had deliberately excluded the Astartes and Primarchs from governance. After the Horus Heresy, suspicion toward them deepened—even Guilliman himself had dismantled the Astartes and severed them from the ruling structure.

Ten thousand years later, these accumulated grievances had hardened into an unyielding stone, even a Primarch could not easily dissolve it.

Coupled with Zhou Yun's proposal to classify the Eldar as human subspecies, Guilliman felt the political pressure was overwhelming.

Zhou Yun silently reached into his fourth-dimensional pocket and pulled out a scroll written on papyrus, placing it on Guilliman's desk.

"This is the Emperor's personal journal, explicitly documenting the kinship between humans and Eldar."

"The Emperor believed humans and Eldar both originated on Terra, and gained wisdom and civilization after being uplifted by the Old Ones."

"This also explains the Eldar's completely unknown origins."

Guilliman stared at the journal, comparing its handwriting to his memories of the Emperor's script—it truly seemed to be the Emperor's own hand.

Yet something felt off.

Guilliman gestured for Diggory to approach.

Diggory was wrapped in thick shadows, stepping forward slowly; his psychic phenomena were visibly terrifying.

Even the Astartes servants, who had never shown any psychic talent, seemed to faintly hear whispers beneath the veil of reality.

Guilliman gently rubbed his ears.

"You look exhausted. I know your workload is heavy, but in your assigned duties, I trust only you."

Guilliman patted Diggory's shoulder:

"This is a critical moment. I'm as busy as you are—even just now, I heard phantom voices. Come, help me authenticate this journal."

Diggory gripped the papyrus, glancing helplessly at Mortarion as if asking why the techniques he'd taught weren't working.

Mortarion could only shrug helplessly.

Diggory wondered if his psychic aura wasn't strong enough.

But if he pushed it further, it would resemble uncontrolled manifestation—he might get his head chopped off by the Primarch's defensive instincts.

Diggory steadied himself and examined the papyrus.

He frowned.

"This does resemble the Emperor's handwriting, but there's no residual psychic energy—strange."

His expression was like someone holding a priceless ancient Terran porcelain: every detail confirmed its authenticity, yet the base bore an inscription reading "For Heating Corpse Starch."

The texture of the papyrus, the ink, the brushstrokes—all screamed genuine Emperor's journal.

Yet the Emperor's psychic power was so immense that anything he touched retained traces of his energy—yet this scroll bore none.

Diggory and Guilliman both turned to Zhou Yun.

Without hesitation, Zhou Yun took the journal from Diggory's hands and drew the Emperor's Sword resting beside Guilliman.

He held the unlit blade close to the papyrus and held his breath.

A golden glow erupted—suddenly, the Emperor's psychic energy stained the papyrus.

"There." Zhou Yun returned the Emperor's Sword to Guilliman and handed him the journal.

Guilliman stared at the journal, his face twitching. "This is a temporary forgery by Xi Gaoqi—his forgery skill is so advanced he deserves a godhood as Patron of National Treasures. But he couldn't fake the Emperor's psychic residue."

Zhou Yun smiled.

"But now it's fixed."

Guilliman stared at the freshly energized journal and sighed.

Even if fake, it would fool most people and silence many critics.

Thinking this, he handed the journal to Diggory, signaling him to store it properly in the Ptolemaic Library.

"My lord, the Ptolemaic Library already holds too many forgeries," Diggory blurted out.

Lately, he'd produced countless forged historical documents to fill the gaps in the Second Empire's history.

Diggory no longer wanted to stay in the library—he longed for the frontlines, to use his psychic power to blow his enemies' heads into the sky one by one!

That's where a Librarian-General belonged!

Hearing this, Guilliman's expression froze.

Noticing the Primarch's shift, Diggory immediately realized his mistake and clamped his mouth shut.

Zhou Yun looked at Diggory's weary face and patted his shoulder. "In a couple days, I'll find you two clowns—you can swap forgery tips and make the Ptolemaic Library surpass the Black Library in fake-history production."

Diggory opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out.

Guilliman exhaled slowly. "Classifying the Eldar as human subspecies is too shocking."

!

"I can't announce it in Ultramar. Let's push this after we return to Terra."

Zhou Yun nodded in full agreement.

Announcing this in Ultramar, the High Lords would do something predictable.

Not that they wouldn't oppose it on Terra either.

But in Ultramar, you can only suppress dissent; on Terra, you can eliminate dissenters outright.

"Yawn——————"

At that moment, a yawn suddenly echoed.

Instantly, everyone in the command room turned to Leina.

Leina, caught off guard, blushed slightly.

But the others in the room understood.

It was deep night; Leina's human biology was even stronger than Zhou Yun's, and she'd expended considerable energy tonight—fatigue was natural.

"Go rest?" Zhou Yun asked.

Leina wiped the tear from her eye, rubbed her eyelids, and said: "I'm going to check on the Saint Doraemon Sect again."

"They're holding their first gathering—I'm worried about conflict or schism."

"No need to worry. Astartes wearing the Blind Spot Star are already monitoring them."

Zhou Yun shook his head.

"Besides, Kaul returned from the Black Library and headed straight there."

Grellina had never felt so energized—she felt as if her soul had been purified.

The twenty-two temple leaders held a gathering; as Grellina feared, disputes arose over Doraemon's divinity.

Some claimed Doraemon was so humble that only a true god would deny his own divinity.

Others argued it was a temporary strategy to protect followers from the Ecclesiarchy's persecution.

Some insisted Doraemon wasn't a god at all—he was a supreme saint, infinitely close to divinity.

Fortunately, at the critical moment, the Grand Sage Belisarius Cawl arrived and delivered the orthodox doctrine.

"The Emperor of Mankind once denied his own divinity—there must be a reason, though His great wisdom is beyond our understanding."

"His divinity is objective—it does not change because of our mortal opinions, nor vanish because we worship or refuse to worship."

"Not praising Doraemon's divinity is following Doraemon's guidance."

"To praise the divinity of Doraemon arises solely from one's own desires and cravings, and violates Doraemon's guidance."

"Whatever my Lord says is true; Doraemon must have His reason for doing this."

Those words full of wisdom stirred Grelinna's soul, dissolving the confusion within her heart and filling her with a profound spiritual comfort.

Praise be to Saint Doraemon. Grelinna could not help but silently chant in her heart.

At that moment, she heard sobbing.

The sound echoed between the marble buildings beneath the night moon, sounding eerie.

Grelinna hesitated slightly, then saw the source of the sobbing.

It was a man leaning against a marble pillar, clad in the uniform of the Outrema Auxiliary Forces.

Grelinna paused, then called out across several meters to the weeping Outrema Auxiliary soldier: "Are you well? Do you need help?"

The man leaning against the marble pillar slowly raised his head toward Grelinna.

His tear ducts were swollen, tears gushing forth like a spring—and with them swarmed countless tiny mites.

(End of Chapter)