Chapter 343: I Want to Open a Hand-Pounded Chicken Meatball Shop

"I'm the High Lord? Seriously?"

Zhou Yun broke into a cold sweat.

What kind of being is a High Lord? The probability of a High Lord dying of overwork on the job is roughly equal to that of a Cadian soldier dying on the front lines.

Especially in the Neiwu Force—the most exhausting, most overworked bureaucratic position in the entire Human Empire.

Hundreds of billions of Neiwu Force officials endlessly toil within a labyrinthine, dizzyingly complex bureaucracy, constantly calculating population, tithes, and expenditures, processing documents without pause in a hell of parchment scrolls.

Many Neizheng Force members are permanently fused with their posts—logic engines and parchment nearly becoming part of their bodies—until they collapse and die at their desks, their children inheriting the role just as they once inherited it from their parents.

And the Neiwu Force Director sits atop this inefficient, exhausting bureaucratic pyramid; the workload piled upon him doesn't diminish—it grows even heavier than that of ordinary Neiwu Force officials. The sheer weight of bureaucratic entanglements accumulated over billions of years within the Neiwu Force alone would burst his skull.

This position is unquestionably the most cursed in the entire Empire, as if mortals were forced to bear a burden meant for the Emperor Himself.

Zhou Yun could barely tolerate being transmigrated into a hive city, but if he were transmigrated into the Neiwu Force Director…

Zhou Yun swore he'd cry louder than a Grot whose toes had been crushed by a Mega-Gargant.

"Why not? I have to assign you and Saint Guilliman positions on the High Lord Council, don't I?"

"With the Acceleration Gear, High-Efficiency Pills, and the Reasoning Hat, I believe you can handle the role of Neiwu Force Director—"

"—Of course, we can discuss this further. There will surely be a more suitable position for you and a better candidate for the Neiwu Force Director."

Guilliman, seeing Zhou Yun half-drawing the Earth-destroying bomb from his fourth-dimensional pocket, hastily waved his hand to signal further discussion.

"How about the position of Imperial Senate Prime Minister? Not a High Lord, but the chair of the High Lord Council. Let's talk about it after we return to Terra."

Zhou Yun's Earth-destroying bomb was already two-thirds out of his fourth-dimensional pocket; Guilliman could only sigh.

Binding Zhou Yun to Terra's—and the Empire's entire—administrative system was part of Guilliman's planned "Imperial Codex."

Politics, at its core, is the wisdom of balance—not individual balance, but balance between groups.

Guilliman wanted a force to counterbalance the Ecclesiarchy, on both spiritual and material levels; the Saint Doraemon Sect was an excellent choice.

Saint Guilliman would represent the Ecclesiarchy as its Pope, while Zhou Yun held a seat on the High Lord Council.

Thus, if the Ecclesiarchy wished to oppose the Saint Doraemon Sect, it would have to remain loyal to Saint Guilliman, fully obey his commands, and be entirely controlled by him.

And the Saint Doraemon Sect, likewise, would have to rely on Zhou Yun's own power.

Guilliman would push the Ecclesiarchy and the Saint Doraemon Sect to become the two most powerful forces in the Empire; other factions, chasing power, would inevitably cling to them.

Thus, other factions would cling to the Ecclesiarchy and the Saint Doraemon Sect, while the Ecclesiarchy and the Saint Doraemon Sect clung to Saint Guilliman and Zhou Yun, forming a triad of power between Saint Guilliman, Zhou Yun, and Guilliman.

With this, the three would more easily wield the Empire's full strength.

Later, Guilliman intended to secularize both the Ecclesiarchy and the Saint Doraemon Sect—this was precisely why he wanted Zhou Yun as Neiwu Force Director: to merge the Neiwu Force with the Saint Doraemon Sect.

Once this was complete, Guilliman himself could smoothly exit the entire system, leaving Zhou Yun and Saint Guilliman to govern the galaxy while he went to farm on some feudal world.

The biggest problem now seemed to be how to convince Zhou Yun to take the Neiwu Force Director position.

"What are you two talking about?"

At that moment, Guilliman's office door opened again. Saint Guilliman entered the command room, his wings—white with faint metallic blue hues—hanging low.

A faint smile played on his lips, as if he'd encountered something amusing and wished to share it with them.

Guilliman lifted his head slightly and said to Saint Guilliman: "I'm considering appointing you as Pope of the Ecclesiarchy upon our return to Terra, and Zhou Yun as Neiwu Force Director."

Saint Guilliman stood still, his smile vanishing instantly.

"No way," Saint Guilliman said, shaking his head. "I plan to fake my death after humanity is saved and return to Baal to grow grapes."

"Exactly! I plan to open a hand-pounded chicken meatball shop on Terra called Saint Deji!" Zhou Yun nodded vigorously.

Hearing Zhou Yun, Saint Guilliman wore an expression of long-standing familiarity, then turned to Guilliman.

"Just handle the politics yourself."

Saint Guilliman murmured:

"You're a born political creature—swallowing power and excreting policy. Isn't that your instinct? I can't imagine you doing anything else but ruling."

Guilliman opened his mouth slightly, as if about to speak.

But in the end, he sighed deeply and said nothing. Watching this, Zhou Yun couldn't help chuckling twice.

During the Great Crusade, most Primarchs shared a common view of Guilliman: deeply calculating, his true desires and hidden thoughts unknown to all.

But Zhou Yun knew what Guilliman truly desired deep down.

He wanted to wait until everything settled, then find an agricultural world and farm.

Yet Saint Guilliman called Guilliman a political creature—feeding on power and politics, born to rule—this wasn't prejudice or stereotype.

Even if you made Guilliman farm, he'd meticulously analyze soil nutrients, judge climate shifts, determine the perfect planting time, and seek the ideal fertilizer, optimizing every detail of the land.

Then, one day, he'd find the current fertilizer unsatisfactory and build his own fertilizer plant; later, he'd deem the machinery inadequate, build a machinery factory, then find steel insufficient, and establish a monopoly over every stage from steel smelting to fertilizer packaging.

Eventually, he'd realize local politics restricted his ability to produce better fertilizer, so he'd reform the local government and become the planet's ruler; then he'd find interstellar trade chaos limited him, and begin building a cross-system regime.

This was Robert Guilliman's innate instinct—making one wonder if the Emperor, when crafting the Primarchs, forgot to add political ability to the other twenty, and dumped all twenty-one shares into Guilliman.

"Let's discuss all this after we return to Terra."

Guilliman sighed and moved past the topic, then turned to Saint Guilliman and asked:

"Why did you have Diggles tell me and Zhou Yun to pause our work? What did you find?"

Hearing Guilliman's words, Saint Guilliman's lips curved into a faint, mysterious smile.

"I've discovered something intriguing—possibly about the nature of the Warp before Magnus's birth, about his essence."

"Magnus's Warp essence?" Zhou Yun raised an eyebrow slightly.

"Can you guess where it is?" Saint Guilliman asked Zhou Yun.

!

"In Chaos's hands?" Zhou Yun paused briefly, then answered.

In his past life, there were rumors that the essence of the Daemon Primarchs had been taken by the Four Gods—but they were unverified.

Saint Guilliman merely smiled and shook his head: "In Magnus's own hands."

"You're a resident of the third millennium of humanity—you should understand the concept I'm about to explain."

"Suppose there exists a being who perfectly replicates your thought patterns, your emotions and memories, all your knowledge—remembered or forgotten. If it is identical to you on the level of consciousness, can it be called you?"

"You should ask the Great Sage Belisarius Cawl—he'd firmly say it's himself," Zhou Yun replied, pondering Saint Guilliman's meaning.

Belisarius Cawl had survived ten thousand years through repeated body swaps and will transfers, yet he firmly believed his current self was identical to his self ten thousand years ago—the one and only Belisarius Cawl, with no crisis of identity.

"Now suppose your original self is shattered, even losing the most vital, essential part of your soul. Which is closer to your true essence—you or the replica?"

Saint Guilliman asked again:

"Especially in the Warp—a dimension without past or future, without before or after."

"In the Warp, neither you nor your replica came first."

Zhou Yun stared at Saint Guilliman, recalling that Saint Guilliman's essence originated from his own death—the echo of his death in the Warp gave birth to him.

"The Book of Magnus?" Zhou Yun said, voice slightly raised in surprise.

He remembered the Book of Magnus—the sacred scripture written by Magnus himself, which clearly recorded all his knowledge, memories, emotions, and cognition, infused with his heart and soul.

And because the knowledge within it was so potent, the knowledge itself had become sentient and alive, forming consciousness and even an inner micro-world.

Magnus wrote the Book of Magnus to record himself and all he knew—and since the Warp has no time, did the Emperor, in shaping Magnus, reverse the process and use the Book of Magnus to forge Magnus himself?

"Wait."

Before Zhou Yun could sort his thoughts, Guilliman suddenly spoke:

"What do you mean by 'Warp nature before birth'?"

"What do you mean by 'Warp essence'?"

(End of Chapter)