Chapter 475: The World Eaters

"No!!"

Korsakos himself didn't know where the courage came from, why he had shouted "no" at Erebus.

Was it Erebus's severe injury that gave Korsakos courage? Was it his unwillingness to lose the Conqueror, the ship he had labored so hard to obtain? Was it because he did not want the respected Lady Sareen to be harmed?

Or had Lady Sareen's earlier words, "The true glory of the World Eaters lies in defiance," influenced Korsakos? Or perhaps the Regent of the World Eaters refusing to sink the Legion's Glorious Queen-class battleship needed no reason at all?

Korsakos himself couldn't quite understand it.

In that moment, the Butcher's Nail on his skull let out a faint click; normally, Korsakos could resist the Butcher's Nail through sheer willpower, but somehow, he could no longer suppress the sudden, inexplicable rage surging within him—he rejected Erebus's order, irrational and unthinking.

But when reason returned, Korsakos was instantly drenched in cold sweat—he realized at once that his refusal would enrage Erebus.

"Actually… it's not necessary… I didn't mean…" Korsakos's voice was faint, stumbling as he tried to explain to Erebus.

"Fool. I didn't control your mind because I despise doing so, not because I cannot."

Erebus sneered:

"On the gods' chessboard, you aren't even a pawn."

"Order: sink the Conqueror."

Erebus used the Voice of Temptation—he was a master of it, capable of controlling even Greater Daemons with his unquestionable tone, psychic energy, and will, forcing them to act on his commands instinctively.

Korsakos, a mere obscure Chaos Lord, could not possibly—

SCREECH!!

The chainsaw roared, tearing through Erebus's face, carving straight down to his chest, before Erebus left a grotesque wound in return.

Erebus roared, staggering back several steps, staring at Korsakos in disbelief.

The Butcher's Nail on Korsakos's skull buzzed violently; his face twisted in fury, eyes bloodshot, flames of rage burning within them.

He had not been controlled by Erebus's Voice of Temptation.

"How?" Erebus spat blood, swaying, his eyes filled with confusion and hesitation.

Korsakos gritted his teeth, baring a grotesque smile: "Feels… weaker than the Butcher's Nail."

Korsakos had only this one strength: over the long span of ten thousand years, the anger brought by the Butcher's Nail had never controlled him—how could Erebus's feeble Voice of Temptation?

But precisely because he had to divert his will to resist Erebus's Voice of Temptation, Korsakos for the first time failed to fully suppress the Butcher's Nail.

The rage he had long suppressed was awakened by the roaring Butcher's Nail—wild, burning fury nearly drowned Korsakos's reason.

Yet it was this rage that, in his haze, made him understand why he had instinctively refused Erebus's order to sink the Conqueror.

Because he was angry.

Not just at Erebus—but at Angron, at the False Emperor, at the Butcher's Nail… even at fate itself, the oppressive force that had taken from him, again and again, the little honor he had fought so hard to earn.

Ten thousand years of bitterness, all pain and struggle, became fuel for this rage—completely consuming Korsakos, driving him to a mindless, unplanned rebellion.

He swung his axe at Erebus—he defied Erebus, defied this so-called hand of fate that claimed to fulfill destiny, defied the fate that had left him no place on the gods' chessboard.

But that was all.

Blood gushed uncontrollably from Erebus's chest; the wound healed by demonic arts reopened to the air. His shattered spine could no longer support his body—he collapsed like a worm onto the floor.

This brought the Hand of Fate immense humiliation—he had never anticipated such a thing.

A mortal unworthy of even a corner on the gods' gameboard had dared defy his will.

"Fool," Erebus seethed. "Die."

The crimson Khorne beast, lurking in the corner of the bridge, emerged under Erebus's command—its hundred arms swung grotesque, twisted weapons toward Korsakos.

The beast was monstrous, terrifying; Korsakos, clad in Terminator armor, looked tiny, fragile before it.

In an instant, the beast charged before Korsakos—he could already smell its blood and brimstone.

And of course, the scent of death.

In his final moment, Korsakos glanced upward at the bridge, where the Lady, or rather, the Conqueror's female captain, Lottara Sareen, was bound by chains woven from Erebus's sorcery. "I protected the Conqueror," Korsakos said, pride in his voice. "Is this enough for promotion to Company Commander? Captain?"

The Khorne beast crushed Korsakos—like a high-speed train, it smashed through the bridge wall, sending steel shards flying. Korsakos's body deformed instantly, every bone shattering, vanishing into the depths of the Conqueror.

The crimson beast crawled from the hole it had torn, following Erebus's command—it had killed Korsakos.

But Erebus felt no joy. His expression darkened. Losing Korsakos meant he could no longer command the World Eaters he had not controlled, could no longer sink the Conqueror.

Erebus gritted his teeth, searching desperately for another way—but there was no time left.

He drew his ritual dagger, swiftly carving a slit in the air, and with the Khorne beast, vanished into it, fleeing the Conqueror.

"Ko—"

The bridge fell silent. Only the Lady, her soul still bound by Erebus's profane sorcery, whispered in agony:

"Regent Korsakos…"

"Angron… Khaen… save…"

"Behind this door must be the bridge."

Titus and Kaelen, wounded, stood before a massive door of brass and flesh intertwined.

In Titus's hand, the locator staff leaned toward the brass door—indicating that Captain Lottara Sareen lay just beyond it.

According to Khaen, Captain Sareen had fused with the Conqueror, eternally seated upon its golden—no, the Conqueror's—command throne.

Therefore, wherever Sareen was, there was the Conqueror's bridge.

But now the door was sealed, faint tendrils of Chaos energy swirling across its surface—clearly not something to be opened easily.

Titus gave Kaelen a slight nod, set down his chainsword, adjusted his white glove on his left hand, and prepared to smash the door open with the power of his Superhuman Glove.

"Wait."

At that moment, a pink-tinged wooden door suddenly appeared before Titus.

Zhou Yun, Yebi Daxiong, and Khaen stepped out from it.

Khaen's blood-red power armor was coated in frost—as if he had just returned from an icy void.

He had been teleported by the writhing shadow into the cold void; fortunately, Zhou Yun had been watching through the Tracking Mirror and pulled Khaen back to the Lord of Light before the vacuum could harm him.

Though Khaen failed to kill Erebus, the mission still followed the plan laid out by Guilliman and Zhou Yun: they had seen Erebus's cards, depleted his reserves, and learned the identity of his hidden ally.

The first Daemon Prince of the Warp, the first mortal granted demonic ascension by the gods—Chaos Undivided, Shadow Lord Belak.

He was the first favored by the gods, hailed as the Firstborn, once immeasurably powerful, ruling empires in both the material realm and the Warp, even worshipped as a god.

But he grew arrogant and reckless, and lost the gods' favor. Though Belak remains the strongest Daemon Prince besides the Daemon Primarchs, his power has drastically declined since then. Cursed by the gods, he can never again hold an independent position in the Warp or the material universe, can never ascend further, can never become greater—he is forever trapped in his current state.

Thus, Belak seethed with envy—jealous of all those more favored by the gods, by Chaos, by the Warp.

He fit the definition of the Envious One—one of the four mortals foretold by the Emperor to be tied to the galaxy's fate.

With this, Zhou Yun now understood all of Erebus's cards—he knew how to act against him. Next time, he would kill him.

Zhou Yun extended a finger toward the steel door, using the power of the Domain of Malice to counter the Khorne corruption clinging to the Conqueror and the soul-binding sorcery trapping its machine spirit.

He pushed gently forward—the thick brass door swung open with a groan. A heavy, bloody stench surged from the bridge toward them.

Khaen's body stirred slightly. He lifted his gaze, eyes fixed on the towering command throne within the bridge.

He moved swiftly—in an instant, he stood before the throne, seeing countless steel cables extending from the Conqueror, twisted with mutated flesh, piercing the lower half of the woman slumped upon it.

Below her torso, her flesh was a mangled ruin, grotesque and deformed; both legs crushed and severed, reduced to fragments of bone.

Her upper body was clad in a bloodstained gray uniform; the handprint on her chest had faded.

Khaen climbed the throne, his eyes hidden beneath his helmet fixed on the woman's pale, weary, agonized face. Eight crimson chains coiled around her neck, nearly binding her soul, torturing her spirit.

Khaen slowly extended his mutated, demonic arm. He hesitated—Lauum, dwelling within his flesh, retreated beneath his skin. Instantly, Khaen's body shrank significantly, his arm reverting to the thick, ordinary Astartes limb.

Gently, Khaen touched the woman's pale cheek with his fingertip.

"Khaen…" the woman did not lift her head, only whispered weakly, exhausted: "You've finally returned…"

"I'm back, Sareen."

(End of Chapter)