[{"data":1,"prerenderedAt":-1},["ShallowReactive",2],{"origin-i-m-in-warhammer-please-don-t-praise-the-dora-te":3,"chapter-i-m-in-warhammer-please-don-t-praise-the-dora-te-i-m-in-warhammer-please-don-t-praise-the-dora-te-chapter-647":6},{"origin":4,"title":5},"chinese","I'm in Warhammer, Please Don't Praise the Doraemon Machine God",{"chapter":7,"nextChapterSlug":19,"prevChapterSlug":20,"totalChapters":21,"novelImage":22},{"id":8,"novel_id":9,"title":10,"slug":11,"index":12,"content":13,"wordcount":14,"created_at":15,"updated_at":15,"volume":16,"translator":17,"content_hash":18},2265470,4422,"Chapter 647","i-m-in-warhammer-please-don-t-praise-the-dora-te-chapter-647",647,"\u003Cp>“Mother.” Guilliman’s voice trembled as he gently clasped the old woman’s hand with his large one.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“You’re so tired, child,” the elderly woman said, gazing at Guilliman with soft eyes, her voice brimming with pity: “You always take on so much responsibility, and so many depend on you—they’ve forgotten you need rest too.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“I am a Primarch, Lady; you need not worry for me,” Guilliman replied with a sunlit smile, adjusting his facial muscles to ease the weariness from his face.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“But you are still a man, my child,” the old lady said, heartbroken.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Guilliman opened his mouth slightly, as if to speak, but all his words dissolved into one.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“You’re right, Lady,” Guilliman said softly: “I promise you—I will rest properly.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>This brought a faint smile to the old woman’s face; she turned her head aside:\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“My lord, won’t you speak with your child? Look at him—he’s worn thin.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Guilliman froze at her words, his body nearly stiffening.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Lady Tarasa Uton, he is a sovereign—how can a sovereign pour out his inner sorrows to another man?”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Not even if that man is his father. This is the dignity of a man and a ruler.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Robert, if something weighs on you, speak to Lady Uton—confiding in your mother is never shameful.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Lord Conno,” Guilliman realized who stood behind him.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Just call me Father, child,” came the voice, noble yet worn.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Guilliman turned his head to look at the mortal man behind him—slimmer than himself, and nowhere near the Emperor of old.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Yet Guilliman, Regent of the Human Empire, perhaps the most powerful human alive, knelt slowly on one knee before the mortal, bringing his head level with the man’s.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Father!” Guilliman pleaded.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“You’ve grown so tall!” Lord Conno’s voice rose, startled and delighted—as if praising Guilliman’s height, or perhaps his achievements: “I am truly sorry, child.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“I left too suddenly, leaving you alone to face the chaos on Macragge—but you are a far greater sovereign than I ever was. You did excellently.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“I am sorry too. You are an excellent son, but comparatively, I am a mediocre father.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“My shallow teachings could offer no help for the problems you faced—or still face.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“No!” Guilliman interrupted softly, his tone rising slightly: “It was your and Lady Uton’s teachings that carried me through.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“You need not comfort your humble adoptive father—I am but a planetary governor; how could I teach you to rule a galaxy?” Lord Conno smiled and shook his head.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“No, Father—it was not you who taught me how to rule.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Guilliman lowered his head; a faint droplet glistened on his knee armor.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“You taught me something far truer than rule.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The dream blurred, like ink dissolving in water, like sunlight fading through mist—leaving only a warm, gentle touch lingering in Guilliman’s heart.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Blood, fresh and crimson, and corpses piled upon the bomb-scarred earth.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Fulgrim wandered confused through this land—he had never seen it before, nor remembered it.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He knew he was dreaming, yet this dream was strange.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He had just seen a World Eater, clad in blue-and-white power armor, one arm bare, hanging from the front of a Sicaran belonging to the Sons of Horus, speeding away.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Fulgrim recognized him as Khorne, Captain of the Eighth Company—but Fulgrim had no idea Khorne had a taste for being a hood ornament.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Fulgrim lifted his gaze to the blazing black sun hanging low on the horizon.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The sun was black as dread, like a single eye gazing down upon the earth.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Is this your trial, Father?” Fulgrim called up to the black sun.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“We prefer to call it punishment,” came a muffled voice from behind him, as if rising from a coffin.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Fulgrim turned slowly to look behind him.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>There stood a Venerable Dreadnought painted in phoenix purple—tall, sacred, ancient, one arm wielding a twin-linked laser cannon, the other a power claw fitted with a flame projector.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Raelano? My ancient sage!”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Fulgrim recognized the Dreadnought from memory—one of the most revered warriors among the Sons of the Emperor.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>And at the sight of him, Fulgrim suddenly understood:\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“This is Istvaan III.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“You finally remember, traitor!” Raelano growled.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Behind him, countless purple figures emerged—the loyalist Sons of the Emperor who had been betrayed by Fulgrim on Istvaan III.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“.Abdemon, Demit, Kaphen, Ketheron, Sorsan, Laccatius, Vespasian, Zaven, and Sol Tavitz.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Fulgrim spoke the names of the loyalist warriors:\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“My honorable sons, the conscience of our Legion.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Silence, traitor!” came a cold, snarling voice.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>A warrior of the 34th Thousand, loyal to the Imperium, lunged without restraint at his Primarch.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>This entire company had remained loyal to the Empire, yet refused to join the Black Shields like other loyalist traitor-legionaries—abandoning their Legion’s name.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>These Sons of the Emperor proudly kept their gold-and-purple livery, hunting down those who defiled their Legion’s honor until their final breath.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Fulgrim did not move; he let the warrior drive his power blade into his body.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Deputy of the 34th Thousand, ‘Death’s Eagle’—Hanno,” Fulgrim whispered the warrior’s name: “I remember your blade is called ‘Phoenix Light’—you said it was because you wished your sword to be as sharp as the light I once radiated.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Look at me now—tell me, can you see that old light in me?”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Fulgrim’s voice was so gentle, so moving, that the warrior hesitated for an instant.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Still trying to deceive us?” The power claw surged forward, pinning Fulgrim’s body to the ground.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The ancient sage Raelano crushed Fulgrim’s form; another Son of the Emperor stepped forward, blade in hand, driving it straight into Fulgrim’s throat.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Blood spilled from Fulgrim’s mouth; he felt his vocal cords torn—but the blade vanished mid-strike, as if dissolving into his throat.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“For your betrayal, we take your voice, so you may no longer boast of your perfection,” Raelano loomed over him.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“It matters not,” Fulgrim whispered, opening his mouth—he found his voice now hoarse, ugly, shrill, repulsive: “It does not diminish my perfection. My perfection needs no boasting.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Four more Sons of the Emperor approached Fulgrim, long blades in hand, pressing against his limbs.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“For your betrayal, we take your skill, so you may no longer use force to proclaim your perfection,” Raelano declared coldly.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Blades pierced Fulgrim’s limbs; searing pain tore through him, as if every bone in his body had shattered, leaving him weak and trembling.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“It still does not diminish my perfection,” Fulgrim forced himself upright, staring at Raelano: “My perfection does not come from violence.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Then for your betrayal, we take your wit, so you may no longer scheme or pretend at perfection.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>A blade pierced Fulgrim’s brow, churning his brain—he felt his thoughts slow, slower, slower, slower than any mortal’s.\u003C\u002Fp>",1105,"2026-06-19T20:02:16.510Z",1,"Qwen3-Next 80B","086644cf27267211d1cb259a34c618d2dbe8e2772680c7ae397f528c9c4f21cb","i-m-in-warhammer-please-don-t-praise-the-dora-te-chapter-648","i-m-in-warhammer-please-don-t-praise-the-dora-te-chapter-646",711,"https:\u002F\u002Fnovelzhen.com\u002Fimages\u002Fcovers\u002Fi-m-in-warhammer-please-don-t-praise-the-doraemo-cover.jpg"]