Chapter 376: Blood Mixed with the Venom of Hydra

Zhou Yun's will extended like countless mechanical tentacles, gently brushing against the machine-souls hidden within the gunboats, perceiving the presence of the myriad spirits of machines.

Every screw, every cable within the gunboats lay exposed under Zhou Yun's control.

This was the ability he had gained from the Domain of Malicious Arts: mastery over all machines.

Zhou Yun searched the gunboats' machine-soul memories for the foolhardy soul daring to intercept the Primarch's vessel, only to discover the mastermind issued orders through layers of complex, concealed command structures.

The true mastermind hid behind the Empire's labyrinthine administrative system; the machine-soul memories traced no original order-giver.

Even gunboats received orders indirectly from different command systems; the original order-giver clearly possessed deep knowledge of the entire Imperial administrative structure.

Hmm. This is unlikely to be the Ecclesiarchy; the Ecclesiarchy has no true official armed forces beyond the Battle Sisters.

Perhaps the Neiwu Force, the Fawu Force, or the Navy?

Of course, it could also be Mars.

But Zhou Yun had only been testing—he had many other ways to find the true culprit.

Zhou Yun calmed his mind and issued commands through his will to the machine-souls all around him.

A faint but unmistakable tremor rose from the ship beneath Zhou Yun's feet; simultaneously, the gunboats circling the vessel began to shudder.

"Damn! The machine-souls are displeased!"

"Shit! The gunboats aren't responding to my commands!"

"I've flown these for over a decade—how are they malfunctioning now?!"

Chaos spread across the surrounding gunboats; pilots panicked as the familiar machines suddenly stalled, glitched, and failed—some even broke free of their control, acting on their own.

They slowed abruptly, as if stripped of propulsion, and fell uncontrollably toward the ground.

Tiruien stared in astonishment, though old and fat, his mind was not slow.

He quickly recalled the teachings of Saint Doraemon mentioned in the Star-Speeches:

Saint Doraemon is one of the Three Willings of the Primordial Force, the God of All Machines.

Clearly, this Saint Doraemon had manifested His unique miracle.

Belisarius Dora Kaul, the Grand Sage, watched this scene, then turned his head slightly toward his motionless, stunned Martian colleagues.

"111001101000100010010001'111010001011011010000101'111001011000111010011111."

The Grand Sage uttered a string of complex binary cipher to his Martian colleagues.

The meaning of this binary cipher was: "Praise ye, for this is the miracle of the Primordial Force!"

The Martian sages remained immersed in shock, murmuring among themselves in binary.

Belisarius Kaul watched this scene and felt a wave of calm surge through his neural network.

Logically, he should have gone directly to Mars to complete the second task given to him by Guilliman ten thousand years ago.

But now, Kaul believed he had a duty—as a prophet—to instruct these colleagues who had yet to recognize the Primordial Force.

The Martian Mechanicum sages and Tech-Priests who had arrived on Luna and Terra would be the first believers of the God of All Machines to receive this teaching.

Then Kaul would bring them back to Mars to lay the foundation for the Primordial Force's descent upon Mars.

Zhou Yun gave no reaction to Kaul's actions; Kaul took it as the Primordial Force's tacit approval.

What? Could the Primordial Force not understand binary cipher? That was impossible.

Zhou Yun paid little attention to Kaul's side; he merely watched Tiruien swiftly coordinate ground personnel to prepare a landing site for their vessel.

Hmm. Through bribery—extremely efficient. "If we followed proper procedure, it would take at least half a month." Tiruien said, his tone bitter.

Though the method was abstract, the efficiency was high; the voidship soon received landing clearance to the auxiliary spaceport on the Eternal Wall of the Imperial Palace's outer wall.

Not the Lion's Gate Spaceport. Zhou Yun rubbed his chin, thinking.

The Imperial Palace had two spaceports: the Eternal Wall Spaceport near the outer palace wall, and the Lion's Gate Spaceport within the inner palace.

After Tiruien's coordination, only the voidship carrying the Primarch was permitted to land at the Eternal Wall Spaceport—the outer palace section.

Clearly, someone among the High Lords within the inner palace feared the Primarch and dared not let him land directly beside them.

Zhou Yun's expression grew strange. If only Guilliman were aboard, their suspicion and fear of him would be understandable.

But this ship carried not just Guilliman—it carried Saint Gabriel, the Archangel.

They feared even the Archangel?

Did they believe their own deeds were so vile that even Saint Gabriel would not forgive them? Were they doing everything possible to delay both Primarchs' entry into the inner palace?

But neither Saint Gabriel nor Guilliman cared anymore for the High Lords.

Zhou Yun and the two of them only wanted to reach the Sanctum Sanctorum within the inner palace, to stand before the Emperor in the Throne Room.

Guilliman, Zhou Yun, and Saint Gabriel exchanged a swift glance.

"Captain Valeria." Zhou Yun's gaze fell upon the silent, golden-armored warrior beside him.

Valeria, Captain of the Imperial Guard's Shield Company, looked at Zhou Yun, his eyes asking what he required.

"We must contact the Lord Commander of the Imperial Guard, Trajan."

Iltu Simotrien, the sallow, bloated Chief of the Neiwu Force, cowered in the dim safety chamber deep within his palace, gnawing his nails in trembling fear.

He sat atop the Empire's power pyramid, Chief of the High Lords Council, ruler of the Empire's largest department—the Neiwu Force—renowned in politics for his obsession with control.

But in private, he was a man lacking security; he held the most power, yet his power's foundation was the weakest.

The Inquisition's representative derived power from every Inquisitor; the Astropathic Choir's Chief from himself and his psykers; the Merchant Princes' representative from the Emperor's charter and endless wealth;

The Ecclesiarch from faith; the High Admiral from his fleet; the Lord Commander of the Imperial Guard from the Emperor's perfect creations; the Navigator Ambassador from the Third Eye; the Forge Lord from Mars.

As Chief of the Neiwu Force, his power came only from parchment, scribal chambers, and hundreds of billions of Neiwu Force officials.

It was those pitiful clerks, generation after generation bound to their desks until their spines warped, who granted Iltu Simotrien his power.

Iltu was never a single individual—he was the embodiment of all Neiwu Force officials, scholars, workers, and their descendants; he was their will incarnate, their interests defended, their traditions guarded.

They were like individual cells, converging into Iltu Simotrien.

Thus, every breath Iltu took carried the weight upon his shoulders—the lives and deaths of billions of Neiwu Force clerks rested upon him.

Iltu must protect the traditions of the Neiwu Force; in other words, he must remain firmly seated atop the Empire's power, preserving the immovable law of the Empire.

For even the smallest change in Imperial law would cause countless Neiwu Force employees to lose their jobs, die suddenly, or spawn chaos and corruption.

Iltu had once performed this duty excellently—excellently. But now—

Iltu nervously gnawed his nails.

But now the Primarchs have returned.

"The Primarchs will bring the worst thing—reform!"

"Isn't that right, Lord Iltu?"

His most trusted subordinate, Assistant Minister Neso, said with a mournful tone.

Neso was the only subordinate permitted to enter Iltu's safe chamber; Iltu trusted him completely.

For Neso had been chosen by Iltu as a child, raised and trained from youth.

His life, death, wealth, glory, and power were bound to Iltu—he could never betray him.

And Neso always gave Iltu the exact advice he needed.

"Yes! Reform!"

Iltu shouted nervously:

"How can they be so evil! These fratricidal madmen! They nearly destroyed us!"

"Now they've returned—to destroy us again." Neso nodded in agreement.

"What else do they intend to bring us? Another Great Crusade? A flood of blood to kill all humanity!" Iltu roared. "We must stop them. Delay their steps. I need time to reach consensus with the other High Lords."

"I have followed your orders—they landed at the Eternal Wall Spaceport." Neso whispered.

"Good. Very good. My arrangements will block them—ideally, delay them for several days."

Iltu Simotrien leapt to his feet, waving his arms and roaring, as if rallying himself:

"Neso, give me a list—who among the High Lords can I persuade?"

"The Fawu Force Minister Avilisa Dracma, the Ecclesiarch Bardos Sleast, and the High Admiral Mereda Peres—we will surely persuade these three."

"The Assassin-Master Fadix, the Forge Lord Ude Udia Laski, the Merchant Prince Spokesperson Kania Danda, and the Lord Commander of the Imperial Guard Trajan—we may persuade them."

"Oh, I privately think the Viceroy Tiruien might also stand with us."

Neso's lips curled slightly.

"After all, the Viceroy's power rests entirely on Imperial law. The corrupt, greedy old Tiruien won't want to lose his authority."

"Then we have many advantages!" Chief Iltu nearly shouted in delight.

Neso stood in the dark corner, watching Iltu describe how he would confront the two Primarchs, his lips unconsciously curling into a faint smile.

In a voice too low for Iltu to hear, he murmured:

"Hercules kept his word: he shot an arrow into the monster's spine, the iron tip piercing clean through to the chest."

"Neso pulled out the iron arrow; blood spurted from both front and back, mixed with the venom of the Hydra."

(End of Chapter)