Chapter 399: Saint Doraemon

Ran. Val had never smelled this scent before,

but his body, the ancient memories in his genes, kept reminding him: this was the smell of food.

It left him startled, bewildered, overwhelmed.

In Ran. Val's memory, the smell of food should have been monotonous, sticky, like wax.

But this faint scent brushing his nostrils was like starch cooking, faintly mingled with earth and water, like a requiem.

This scent reminded Ran. Val of the time he once carried cargo to the Upper Nest's spaceport, when his luck had been good—the legendary Sun hung in the sky, pouring down light brighter than the most brilliant promethium lamps.

The light was hot and blinding, making his skin ache, yet he felt wonderful.

This scent gave him the same feeling—as if experiences buried deep in his genes, ones he had never felt before, had been awakened within his flesh.

His dry mouth suddenly produced saliva; an uncontrollable craving drove his body toward the source of the aroma.

It was the church—the small chapel belonging to Father Cepeş had been abandoned for half a month.

A few days ago, a group of nuns arrived, burned the entire church to ashes, and built a new one on its ruins.

Ran. Val was suddenly overwhelmed with envy—he envied these nuns for being able to eat food.

Surely it was because they served the God-Emperor more? That was why they could enjoy more food.

But then, a commotion erupted on the street—noise, chaos.

Ran. Val saw the nuns pushing carts filled with a milky-white food out of the church.

The nuns said something; Ran. Val heard them, but his mind was still dazed.

His body moved before his mind could react—by the time he realized it, he was holding a bowl.

Inside was thick, milky porridge, floating with tiny white grains, emitting an odd, alluring aroma.

A nun took two or three roasted insects from an iron rack and placed them atop the porridge, gesturing for Ran. Val to begin eating.

Ran. Val wept—his dry eyes could barely squeeze out a few tears.

He forgot how he even swallowed the rare food.

He remembered only the smooth porridge sliding down his throat into his stomach, only the sunlike aroma filling his nasal passages, only the sweet, salty, faintly bitter taste of the roasted insects bursting in his mouth.

Was this eating?

Ran. Val's senses told him yes.

But Ran. Val's memory told him no.

How could eating be like this?

He clearly remembered the sensation of eating corpse-starch: texture like lime-dusted beeswax—the first bite clung stubbornly to your palate, the second scraped painfully down your throat, then the faint bitterness of preservatives, and finally the monotonous, dull taste of the starch itself.

He had never found eating pleasurable—this was the first time.

The nun, watching Ran. Val's dazed expression, served him another full bowl of porridge and placed two or three roasted insects on top.

"W-why?" Ran. Val didn't know why he asked such a question.

But the nun merely looked at him calmly, then spoke with devotion:

"Because the God-Emperor and Saint Doraemon love humanity."

"Saint Doraemon redeems all beings with miracles."

"He pulled the firecrackers, and miniature suns flew into the sky."

"He uncapped the bottle, and instant clouds rained down water."

"He spread the carpet, and fertile soil appeared—rice sprouts and insects grew from it."

"He cracked the whip, and the Imperial Guard began toiling—the rice grew, piling into mountains."

"He said: 'Mankind, I grant you grain. If you lack, pray.'"

"He said: 'Whoever prays, He answers. Whoever lacks, He fills. Just crack the whip faster and louder—the rice will grow on its own.'"

The nun's words made Ran. Val shudder.

As a Terran, Ran. Val knew perfectly well what the Imperial Guard were.

The porridge in his hands—this thing called "rice"—was grown by the Imperial Guard.

The Emperor's protectors, His perfect creations, each born from the purest noble bloodlines.

Fear rose in Ran. Val's heart—he suddenly resisted his hunger, afraid to drink the rice porridge.

"Fear not. All is the will of the Emperor and Saint Doraemon."

The nun's voice rose sharply, loud enough for all present to hear:

"Saint Doraemon, with infinite wisdom, observed the skulls of the Imperial Guard."

"He found three natural fissures in their skulls."

"According to phrenology, this proves the Emperor created the Imperial Guard to till the soil."

"All of this is the will of the Emperor and Saint Doraemon!"

As she spoke, the nun produced a seemingly ordinary faucet, as if displaying a holy relic.

Behind the faucet was nothing—yet she brought it close to several empty iron barrels where the porridge had been served.

Before the stunned gazes of Ran. Val and the crowd, the nun turned the faucet gently.

Water—clean, nearly transparent—gushed forth from nowhere.

Shock spread among the people; Ran. Val felt tears welling in his eyes.

Water. Clean water. The pure water only nobles, overseers, and wealthy merchants were worthy to drink.

Instantly, prayers, praises, and thanks to Saint Doraemon echoed without pause.

"What a humble miracle," said Grand Nun Magda, standing atop the Hive Tower, gazing down at the Hive, where prayers and praises surged endlessly.

Mountains of rice flooded every corner of the Hive, and the "Universal Faucets" promised nearly endless water.

The Hive had come alive, entirely dependent on the miracles created by Saint Doraemon.

Yet this miracle, compared to the one Magda had witnessed in the Underworld System—where Saint Doraemon swallowed a star-god whole into his pocket—seemed far too humble.

"This is the greatest miracle: letting the faithful live, letting the faithful eat. This is the greatest, most sacred miracle."

Grand Nun Mo Wen. Val clenched her fist, mimicking Saint Doraemon's round hand raised at a forty-five-degree angle, offering a devout prayer:

"Such miracles are far more sacred and worthy of gratitude than the false miracles of artificial angels crafted from infant corpses."

Grand Nun Magda bowed deeply to Grand Nun Mo Wen. Val, filled with shame.

Yet a faint, bitter smile touched Magda's lips.

She never expected that in the eyes of this new Grand Nun, the Ecclesiarchy's Angelic Constructs were so contemptible.

The Ecclesiarchy had chosen the young Mo Wen. Val as the new Grand Nun, hoping her naivety and stupidity would make her easy to manipulate and use for show.

But what they got instead was a warrior of unyielding will, uncontrolled by anyone, obeying only her faith.

This was good for the Battle Sisters, but disastrous for the Ecclesiarchy.

The Battle Sisters were one of the few military forces the Ecclesiarchy could command—yet now the Grand Nun refused to bow to them.

Grand Nun Magda sensed a storm of power stirring quietly.

"My Lord," Magda whispered, "should we reunite the Holy Maiden with Saint Doraemon?"

"After all, the Holy Maiden was entrusted to the Sisterhood by Saint Doraemon."

Mo Wen. Val's face twitched slightly.

She remembered countless painful, tedious, unbearable tasks.

"Too many reports," Mo Wen. Val muttered under her breath.

"Hm?" Grand Nun Magda blinked, confused.

"According to Lord Guilliman's regulations, any action directly reported to Saint Doraemon and the two Primarchs—especially one requiring Saint Doraemon's visit to the monastery—must fill out thirteen necessity forms, twenty-two planning forms, and receive confirmation from Lord Guilliman's Truth-Oracle before submission to the Triad Meeting of the two Primarchs and Saint Doraemon."

"This ensures Saint Doraemon's safety, prevents corruption, and guarantees operational correctness."

Mo Wen. Val spoke with extreme anguish.

The Holy Maiden's existence was a secret; only a few within the Sisterhood knew the details. Outside, even the Ecclesiarch did not fully know her location or identity.

To maintain secrecy, Mo Wen. Val had to fill out every form herself.

Though it was sacrilegious, Mo Wen. Val, staring at the mountain of planning forms, couldn't help cursing under her breath at Guilliman's rigid rules.

Terra, Imperial Palace, Sanctum, Imperial Guard Training Ground.

Zhou Yun's consciousness inhabited Doraemon's body, wielding a blade without light—Dian Guang Wan—wrapped in crimson mist, clashing repeatedly with Saint Guilliman.

The Primarch and Doraemon's Great Demon: Saint Guilliman and the God-Sniper. Doraemon. The Spear of Completion and the Blade Without Light—Dian Guang Wan.

The teardrop-shaped spearhead and the dull blade Dian Guang Wan sparked with electricity as they clashed.

The Spear of Completion thrust straight for Doraemon's face behind his glasses.

Doraemon merely blinked his glasses slightly, then swung his toy short sword with flawless memory, blocking Saint Guilliman's near-certain strike.

The Astartes and Imperial Guards around them couldn't help murmuring in awe.

Their sword and spear locked in midair, becoming a contest of strength.

Yet a faint smile crossed Doraemon's lips, controlled by Zhou Yun.

"Who do you think is the Primarch most like the Emperor?" he suddenly asked Saint Guilliman.

(End of Chapter)