Chapter 333: Father of Plague, First and Foremost, You Are Also Materialist

"Numerology? Numerology! Every time Mortarion talks about numerology, I feel as if I've been bludgeoned by mold spores!"

At the mention of the five characters "numerology," Kurgas recoiled as if struck by lightning, unable to hold back his complaints to the Plaguefather:

"He dares teach me what the Sacred Numbers are! He's humiliating me!"

"Here it must be three! Here it must be seven! Numerology must be a rigorous science! Even the Great Daemon must obey science!!"

"He spouts lies, deceives himself—he believes a handful of numbers can explain everything, explain the Highest Heaven and the exquisite art of cultivating plague, as if slapping a veneer of numbers over it lets him escape witchcraft! He's utterly deluded!"

Kurgas's lips continuously dripped acid, his expression twisting further:

"Ha! Do you know what he claims? He thinks he's a rigorous scientist, that he draws power from science itself!"

"By the Plague God above, you know perfectly well what he truly is! Long before he was born, he was a creature of the Warp! And now, permit me to call him by the proper term—he is a complete and utter Grand Witch! More of a witch than even his brother Magnus!"

"At least Magnus's witchcraft stems from true knowledge! Mortarion? It's all born of his delusions!"

Nurgle listened calmly as Kurgas condemned Mortarion,

nodded gently, then asked: "So what is your view of numerology?"

"Pure delusion!"

Kurgas took a deep breath and said:

"Dumber than the lies spun by the Changebringer, dumber than the spells of Tzeentch's wizards."

"Numerology? Hmph, it's nothing but—it's nothing but—"

Kurgas strained to find the right word in his mind, and after seven seconds, he finally found it:

"Feudal superstition! Pure feudal superstition! You expect me to believe this? I'd rather take Tiphon as my son!"

"Yet someone else in the garden believes in the power of numerology," Nurgle said, frowning slightly.

"Ha?" Kurgas burst into laughter. "Plaguefather, forgive me—my ears must be blocked by mischievous earwigs or otitis media!"

"You mean there's someone besides Mortarion who believes in numerology?"

Still laughing, Kurgas glanced at the Chief Gardener, Slimukos.

"Slimukos, old friend, remember the tree Mortarion uprooted last time?"

"We couldn't punish Mortarion, so we beat up Tiphon instead."

"Now we've found a better target for revenge—let's go find that fool who believes in numerology and beat him senseless!"

The Chief Gardener Slimukos remained expressionless. Without a word, he tapped the snail beneath him—Mors—and vanished swiftly into the nearby Giant-Mouth Tree Thicket.

"Kurgas, I don't agree with what you've said."

Nurgle smiled at Kurgas and chuckled twice:

"But you're right about one thing—the one who believes in numerology truly sees Tiphon as his son."

"Sees Tiphon as his son—" Kurgas started to laugh again, then choked as if his throat had been seized.

He lowered his head, like a guilty child staring at the Plaguefather: "You mean…?"

"Yes. I believe in the power of numerology," Nurgle said with a chuckle.

Kurgas shrank smaller, reverting to the form he had as a Nurgle-spirit.

"Then… do I have to follow rigorous science too?" Kurgas whispered.

Nurgle burst into laughter at Kurgas's expression.

"Go fetch Mortarion!"

"If you're fast enough, I'll forgive your tardiness!"

Mortarion walked through Nurgle's garden at a rhythm of seven steps per cycle, three cycles per rotation.

The Plaguefather had summoned him from the Plague Star via Kurgas, but Kurgas's face twisted as he gave Mortarion no explanation for the summons.

Mortarion pressed for answers, but Kurgas only muttered that his cauldron's fire hadn't been extinguished and slipped away.

This unsettled the Pale King—unknowns always unsettled him, making planning impossible.

So, before arriving at Nurgle's garden, Mortarion performed a divination using numerology.

This was not Magnus's witchcraft, nor Leman Russ's deceptive tricks, nor Sanguinius or Kor's prophecies laced with dubious psychic power.

It was a future deduced through numbers, calculation, and fate—a rigorous science, a materialist science that interprets the world through digits.

To predict the future, Mortarion placed three twenty-sided dice inside a fourteen-faced tortoise shell and shook them, using this as his tool for numerology.

Fourteen symbolized Mortarion and his Legion; the three dice symbolized the Plaguefather Nurgle; the twenty-sided dice best revealed all Sacred Numbers.

The three dice showed thirteen, nine, and seven. After simple calculation, Mortarion reached his answer.

The one who protects Guilliman and Sanguinius—the Sacred Number twenty-two—had somehow persuaded the Plaguefather to grant them some advantage.

This meant Nurgle likely would no longer aid him in intercepting Guilliman and Sanguinius.

That's not good… if they reach the False Emperor's side…

The Lord of the Fourteenth Legion narrowed his eyes, already considering summoning his Legion.

Even if Nurgle refused to block Sanguinius and Guilliman, he would not let his two brothers escape.

He was no slave to Nurgle, just as he had never been a slave to the False Emperor.

Yet numerology showed Magnus had already prepared—his banished Ahriman would resume serving him, Abaddon, swayed by a Tzeentchian Greater Daemon, would join in, and Khorne's Chosen Kain would also stir.

The key lay in the Webway. May Guilliman and Sanguinius survive Magnus's witch-attack.

He had prepared another future for Guilliman and Sanguinius.

Mortarion took seven more steps, paused rhythmically, then continued toward the Black Demon Manor.

It had been seven minutes since he entered Nurgle's garden.

He silently counted seven in his mind, then took seven more silent steps.

The Black Demon Manor suddenly loomed before him. Mortarion stood before its heavy black gate.

A soft, faint gaze swept over Mortarion.

Mortarion glanced toward the source of the gaze.

"Mortarion, poor child," a voice filled with pity and sorrow whispered in his ear.

Mortarion's eyes instantly flared with rage; he glared fiercely at the woman behind the window.

"I am not pitiful," he hissed. "Mind your own business, Eldar goddess."

The woman behind the window sighed in pain and vanished from the Black Demon Manor's window.

Mortarion snorted, pushed open the heavy gate, and stepped into the Plaguefather's private residence.

A damp, foul wind blew across Mortarion's face; the thick stench of decay filled the air, reminding him of the pale chamber where his alien foster father had imprisoned him as a child.

"Little Mortarion, you've come."

The Plaguefather's voice echoed through the void, brimming with delight.

Mortarion stood before the massive, rotting mound of flesh, striving not to let his gaze rest upon the thrice-thrice-divine body.

To look directly upon this being always made Mortarion's eyes ache, as if his eyeballs might sprout into independent life and crawl out.

"You've refused to intercept Guilliman and Sanguinius."

Mortarion spoke through clenched teeth.

His tone held no question—it sounded like an accusation leveled at Nurgle.

Nurgle did not grow angry at Mortarion's tone; instead, he asked with interest: "You know?"

"Numerology showed me the path of the future," Mortarion replied flatly.

"Numerology… numerology is indeed a profound and fascinating discipline," the Plaguefather sighed in admiration.

"…Oh?" Mortarion had never expected this from the Plaguefather.

His rigid, angry expression instantly softened.

"Can you teach me this discipline?" Nurgle asked softly. "Teach me numerology."

Mortarion's mouth opened slightly; his face shifted from shock to joy.

Then, he cast Guilliman and Sanguinius entirely from his mind; a great sense of mission surged within him.

He would preach numerology and materialism to a Warp deity—how ashamed his witch-brothers would be! How ashamed those superstitious demons would be!

"Plaguefather! You finally understand! Even you are materialist!"

(End of Chapter)