Chapter 331: Drink It All—or I

No wonder I felt an inexplicable danger when I entered this command room—even deeper than when facing Nurgle.

The Imperial Codex replacing the Codex Astartes?!

Roboute Guilliman once destroyed nine Astartes Legions with nothing but the Codex Astartes, achieving what Horus and all of Chaos together failed to accomplish.

If he truly writes an Imperial Codex, won't he set the entire galaxy ablaze?

Worse still, Zhou Yun glanced at Guilliman's completed outline, which depicted the political structure Guilliman envisioned for the entire Empire.

He designed a rational administrative system where every human is a screw or gear on a bureaucratic assembly line, where personal preferences, fatigue, even sudden death cannot disrupt the system.

This administrative system, this bureaucratic assembly line, even includes Guilliman, Sanguinius, and Zhou Yun himself.

Zhou Yun scanned it left and right, and finally saw the words hidden in the margins—the entire document was filled with just two characters: "overtime!"

If Guilliman completes this system, Zhou Yun and Sanguinius will both have to work overtime.

Close call! Close call! Thank goodness we discovered it in time!

Without hesitation, Zhou Yun tore the document into shreds and shoved them into his pocket.

"I just found the corpse of this document—it happens to be one of the things I need."

Guilliman opened his mouth slightly, his raised Hand of Dominion freezing mid-air.

His expression made Zhou Yun almost feel guilty.

After all, Guilliman, clad in the Armor of Fate, finds reading and writing extremely difficult, and normally relies on Chapter servants for assistance.

These drafts were clearly written by Guilliman after immense effort, overcoming countless obstacles.

But then Zhou Yun thought—if not for the Armor of Fate, Guilliman's efficiency might already have finished this Imperial Codex.

Instantly, Zhou Yun felt genuine admiration for the Archmagos Belisarius Cawl, who designed this power armor.

It was the Archmagos who deliberately omitted auxiliary mechanical arms—thus restraining Guilliman's dangerous behavior.

The Archmagos is virtuous! The Archmagos should've been named Doraemon!

Guilliman sighed, but quickly regained his composure.

"Dircris told me you entered the Warp, went to the domain of the Plague God?"

Guilliman immediately assumed a work posture and asked Zhou Yun.

"Yes. I need some things. If I succeed, Nurgle might side with us." Zhou Yun nodded.

Though wary of cooperating with Warp deities, Guilliman still nodded.

"What do you need?"

Guilliman had already prepared himself for Zhou Yun to request something blasphemous, dangerous, or horrific.

"I need minced meat, pickled radish, salted fish, jam, dried fish, mochi, instant coffee, cicada shells, and wooden clogs."

Zhou Yun said this with perfect seriousness to Guilliman.

"." Guilliman blinked, then stiffly nodded: "Welcome to Robert's Convenience Store. Happy to serve you."

In Nurgle's Garden, the Father of Plagues watched curiously as Zhou Yun stepped out through a red-pink wooden door, carrying a pile of goods from the material universe.

Zhou Yun kicked the iron pot from the material universe into the Warp, and under Nurgle's intrigued gaze, set it up in Nurgle's Garden.

To assist Zhou Yun, Nurgle deliberately restrained the Garden's power to prevent interference with his soup-making.

"What is this?" Nurgle asked, watching Zhou Yun shove sheets of paper under the pot.

"This is a roll of dangerous toilet paper."

Zhou Yun pulled out the ball bat of the Great Daemon Fat Tiger and lit the paper, speaking with solemn seriousness:

"Its predecessor destroyed nine Astartes Legions. This roll has the potential to burn the entire galaxy."

"It's perfect fuel for the soup pot."

After using Guilliman's painstakingly crafted Ruhenama—no, the Imperial Codex—as fuel, Zhou Yun placed his ingredients beside the pot and turned to Nurgle.

"Now, I shall demonstrate the framework of Numerological Mysticism."

"The nine substances from the material universe—minced meat, pickled radish, salted fish, jam, dried fish, mochi, instant coffee, cicada shells, and wooden clogs."

"Nine is the sacred number of the Lord of All Change, symbolizing all possibilities, bringing forth radical transformation."

Though hearing Tzeentch's sacred number unsettled Nurgle, he still nodded gently, allowing Zhou Yun to proceed.

Tzeentch, secretly watching, couldn't help cackling.

This fat fool was fooled by such a cheap trick! His sacred number is nine—but its power only activates if He chooses to exert it.

Numerological Mysticism? Believing in this is worse than believing in Him—wait?

Tzeentch blinked in confusion. He noticed that after Zhou Yun placed the nine ingredients into the pot one by one, something inexplicable had indeed occurred—a faint ripple stirred within the Warp.

"Next, we shall pour water seven times—your sacred number, ideal for simmering soup."

Zhou Yun continued, then poured water into the pot seven times.

The water boiled instantly, bubbles rising as the nine ingredients churned within.

Nurgle faintly smelled a scent emerging from the pot, shifting and swirling, disturbing the very structure of Nurgle's Garden woven from the Warp.

He blinked in bewilderment. Though Zhou Yun used his sacred number, Nurgle knew he had not participated in the soup-making.

And the ingredients in Zhou Yun's pot—undoubtedly, they were nothing but crude, almost trash-like material-world objects—yet they had genuinely stirred the highest heavens.

"Now, I shall stir twenty-two times—my sacred number, symbolizing the power I've drawn from the three layers: Malicious Arts, Corrosive Destruction, and Greedy Dissolution."

Zhou Yun carefully stirred the pot twenty-two times, nearly blending everything into a single mass.

Then he covered the pot and let it simmer.

"Do you seek the fifth seat?"

While the soup simmered, Nurgle leaned down and asked Zhou Yun:

"I'm not fond of the fifth seat being born. The fifth seat is cursed."

"All it holds is self-destructive emotion. Whoever takes it will meet a terrible end."

"But if you wish to compete with little Vash'tor for the sixth seat, I support you. Vash'tor is too indifferent to life."

At this, Zhou Yun showed a flicker of curiosity.

"Can we skip the fifth seat and directly birth the sixth Warp deity?"

As his understanding of the Warp deepened and his own nature awakened, Zhou Yun now knew the Warp seats followed a specific order.

The domains of Corruption and Decay, Hellstorm, Heartless Slaughter, and Ecstatic Perception had already been claimed in sequence.

The domain of Corrosive Destruction—the domain of the Dark King—was mostly occupied by the Emperor, yet stuck just before ascension.

After Corrosive Destruction comes Malicious Arts—the domain of Vash'tor and Zhou Yun.

Beyond that, Greedy Dissolution and Formless Distortion—no one knows which is seventh, which is eighth.

"Little Vash'tor always believes it's possible."

Nurgle shifted his bulk and said:

"Even if not, one could at least achieve a state like the Cursed One's—infinitely close to ascension, yet never ascending."

"In a sense, the Great Devourer is also near this state. So I advise against competing with him in this domain—unless he abandons everything, you won't succeed."

"But you have an advantage for the sixth seat. Vash'tor's traits of curiosity and innovation have Tzeentch's support; he was born from intense arms races and promotes war's intensity, earning Khorne's backing."

Nurgle spoke like a devoted mentor and elder, explaining the Warp's dynamics:

"But I dislike him. Little Slaanesh probably doesn't want you to perish either. And I suspect the Master of Mankind stands with you, yes?"

"Even if the Master of Mankind is restricted, it's still two against two—I can hold Tzeentch, little Slaanesh can hold Khorne, and you and Vash'tor can settle it fairly."

Zhou Yun fell silent, not answering hastily.

People often think Nurgle is simple-minded, but he is equally skilled in schemes and seduction.

Unlike Tzeentch, Nurgle excels at planting seeds and waiting patiently for them to sprout.

Zhou Yun could not discern Nurgle's intent. Even if he considered believing him, he would still need the Right-Wrong Judgment Engine's verdict before deciding.

"No problem, no problem. Patience is good." Nurgle chuckled, patting his belly. "The Throne of the Highest will always have its master. Just wait patiently—someone will sit on it eventually."

"But the fifth seat is bad. Absolutely do not try to take it. Not even if little Slaanesh persuades you. Not even if the Master of Mankind does. That seat is cursed!"

Zhou Yun nodded slightly, about to speak—when he saw his soup pot begin to bubble.

BOOM!!

A powerful explosion rang out as thick black steam violently blew off the lid.

Thick, black broth churned within the pot; wooden clogs, salted fish, and pickled radish floated in it with a look of grim determination, while the other ingredients had vanished.

Then, bubbles burst on the surface of the broth—and instantly, a suspicious odor flooded Nurgle's Garden, violently assaulting the faces of Zhou Yun, the Father of Plagues, and the watching Nurgle demons.

"Drink it all—or I'll beat you up!!!!"

It seemed as if they all heard this violent declaration in their ears.

(End of Chapter)