Chapter 464: I Must Focus My Energy on Military Matters

The mistress gasped atop the Throne, her blood-colored chains mingling with iron shackles injected into her body, a horrifying sight.

The bald man whispered incantations; the power of the Blood God swirled in the air, binding, controlling, and enslaving the mistress—the soul of the Conqueror.

She struggled in agony, but achieved nothing.

"She is my slave now," said the bald man—Aurebas, the Hand of Fate.

Kosorax's face twisted slightly.

This was his ship, his Conqueror—and now he felt like a guest.

As for taking it back from Aurebas—

Aurebas had already demonstrated his power: he casually summoned four Greater Daemons who crushed the crew under the mistress's command and effortlessly bound her, forcing her to submit to him.

The Blood God stood with Aurebas—even pulling Angron back into the Warp to pave Aurebas's way.

Kosorax sneered.

Now, whether the mistress or himself, both were merely Aurebas's slaves.

"." The massive, multi-limbed crimson beast with a child's face, brought by Aurebas, seemed to sense Kosorax's hidden fury toward Aurebas and drew close to him.

Kosorax glanced at the beast, then reached out and roughly rubbed its shriveled, blood-smeared childlike head.

"He seems to like me," Kosorax said to Aurebas.

"It does not feel 'like,'" Aurebas mocked. "It knows only rage and madness—only these two emotions, and only these two it should know, like the World Eaters."

Kosorax showed no reaction to Aurebas's mockery.

He was skilled at suppressing rage—he had contained the Butcher's Nails himself; how much less would Aurebas's taunts trouble him?

Besides, he had long grown accustomed to silence and servility.

"What do you intend to do with the Conqueror?" Kosorax asked.

The Conqueror was immensely powerful—a Glory Queen-class battleship, the Primarch among warships, the throne of the entire World Eaters Legion.

Aurebas seized the Conqueror for some grand plan.

"Are you going to invade Terra? Kill the False Emperor and sit upon the Golden Throne?"

"Or attack Baal? Make the sons of Sanguinius bleed in agony?"

"Or perhaps Ultramar? To avenge the Word Bearers' old grudge and burn the home of the Space Wolves?"

Kosorax's questions froze Aurebas in place.

What in the name of the Warp was he talking about? Sit upon the Golden Throne? Attack Baal and Ultramar?

Aurebas was bold enough—even daring to face Saint Doraemon—

but to face the Emperor, Sanguinius, and Guilliman all at once?

"I do not wish to face the wrath of both Sanguinius and Guilliman," Aurebas said coldly, convinced Kosorax was provoking him.

Kosorax laughed. "The age of the Primarchs is over."

A deathly silence filled the heavy air.

Aurebas glared at Kosorax; even the mistress upon the Throne stared at him.

"Don't you know the Primarchs have returned?" Aurebas asked.

". Really?" Now it was Kosorax's turn to freeze.

After a moment of silence under Aurebas and the mistress's stares, Kosorax said:

"I haven't paid much attention to galactic intelligence—I've focused my energy on military matters."

Aurebas was speechless. He knew this minor Chaos Lord was unreliable—but not this unreliable.

Yet he wasn't without value; he did possess some wit, for a World Eater.

He snatched the Conqueror by luck, then used its name to rally eight warbands, calling himself Regent of the World Eaters.

Though the title was false, the eight warbands and the Conqueror itself were real.

Aurebas could turn the Conqueror into a new killing ground.

The Conqueror was powerful enough—even though Aurebas's Blessed Lady, a Dreadnought-class vessel, matched the Glory Queen in size and firepower,

the Glory Queen-class was the Primarch's personal vessel, the throne gifted by the Emperor, the mother-ship carrying the Legion.

In deeper, transcendent concepts, the Glory Queen was irreplaceable.

Moreover, using a ship as a killing ground could avoid Saint Doraemon's direct entry through his door.

Aurebas reviewed known information and deduced: that pink-tinged wooden door required a map for precise teleportation.

The Conqueror's interior was so warped that its map no longer existed—thus shielding it from another planet-destroying bomb hurled through the door.

But he needed time—to control the eight warbands and the Conqueror, and to transform them.

He needed a plan—a good one—to delay Saint Doraemon.

He would send a killer. Not the strongest, but unmatched in sheer nuisance.

Khaen was drenched in sweat, gasping uncontrollably.

He groaned, struggling awake from a nightmare.

Khaen had dreamed of a soul pleading for help—but the dream was hazy, leaving only confusion in his mind.

But Kahn couldn't recall the dream clearly, only feeling his mind in chaos.

At that moment, the room's bell rang.

This room had once belonged to Macarius's adjutant, naturally equipped with a doorbell.

But now, on the Light Lord, few ever came here.

Seth would kick the door in; Titus would push it open; the Night Lords warrior didn't even need to push—he'd simply appear in Khaen's room.

Only one person followed such etiquette:

He rose from the table—this room's bed was absurdly large; Khaen couldn't stand it, so he slept on the table.

Khaen didn't need to don power armor: with a ripple of flesh, the demon within him spat out the armor, which then enveloped his body.

He opened the door and saw before him a warrior clad in purple power armor.

Sol, the Primarch-Engineered warrior who claimed to be a son of Rogal Dorn, stood before Khaen and bowed with an elegant Eagle salute.

"I'm a traitor. Why do you still observe these rituals?" Khaen sneered. "Do you expect me to praise the False Emperor?"

"Rituals are not merely respect for others—they are self-restraint," Sol replied seriously. "Unrestrained pride becomes arrogance and corruption."

Khaen chuckled two or three times. He often suspected Sol's gene-seed came from an acquaintance of his—a Son of the Emperor from the Great Crusade.

The style was similar, but Sol was far younger.

"Lord Zhou Yun invites you to the meeting."

Khaen's face twisted into a bitter smile.

"I'm a traitor with the Butcher's Nails. Why should I attend such a meeting?"

Saint Doraemon often dumped routine administrative tasks on Khaen.

"You're the only one on the ship with Legion-level management experience."

As they walked toward the bridge, Sol said to Khaen:

"Especially now that we're far from Baal—even using the Webway requires at least two teleportations. Passing daily duties to Lord Dante is too cumbersome."

"We must burden you, Lord Titus, Lord Seth—those with management experience."

Khaen responded with silence.

They entered the bridge.

Most aboard were already present: Zhou Yun, company commanders, Saint Doraemon's chosen, Lady Leina of the Cadia 184th, and the usual advisor, Ahriman.

Ahriman was again weaving his spells—his muscular arms traced the heavens, weaving a shimmering star map.

After Khaen and Sol sat, Ahriman nodded to them, saluted Zhou Yun, and spoke:

"Using Saint Doraemon's Staff of Seeking, we've located Aurebas."

Ahriman waved lightly; a red dot appeared on the star map, flickering erratically across the void, tracing a chaotic, irregular path.

"Aurebas has partially discerned the Staff's mechanism. He frequently uses his ritual dagger to shuttle between the Warp and realspace, never lingering long enough in one place—disrupting our tracking."

"Besides his ritual dagger, Aurebas appears to have acquired a powerful vessel. Its power is so immense our divinations cannot determine its true identity."

"Can't we pinpoint the ship's location?" Titus asked Ahriman.

"Difficult. Aurebas isn't always aboard—he uses his ritual dagger to appear across the galaxy, disrupting the Staff's tracking. Meanwhile, the ship itself moves constantly. The two factors combine into chaos—we don't know when he's on board or off."

"If we knew the ship's true identity and who was aboard, we could use the Staff with divination to locate it."

"." Khaen stared fixedly at the red dot on Ahriman's star map.

Some red dots grew hotter, brighter in his eyes—faintly resonating with him.

Some of the red dots grew hotter and brighter in Kahn's eyes, faintly resonating with him.

Khaen growled suddenly, his lips splitting into a bloodthirsty, furious grin:

Kahn suddenly growled, a bloodthirsty, boundlessly furious smile splitting his lips:

"Aurebas has enslaved the Conqueror."

(End of Chapter)

(End of Chapter)