Chapter 697

In the sub-space, a steroid planet, sweat dripped from crimson skin as Magnus gazed at the Changer of the Way, Tzeentch, floating in midair.

Tzeentch’s elusive form constantly shifted, twisted, and revealed new postures—each transformation displaying knowledge nearly infinite.

Any ordinary being who saw these truths would have their mind torn apart, their spirit shattered, their flesh warped.

Even a being wise enough to comprehend such knowledge would have their mind twisted, reduced to a puppet, a slave of fate.

But Magnus was no longer ordinary—these truths flowed over him like water, and his skull was an IP68-rated waterproof, ultra-smooth stainless steel lump; the knowledge slid off, rushing away without leaving a single trace.

Magnus’s very existence had been warped—by the bacteria Zhou Yun had previously cast into the Book of Magnus, creatures that devoured knowledge within the book.

The bacteria’s power exceeded Tzeentch’s expectations—they affected not only the current Book of Magnus, but also its past, present, and future versions, twisting Magnus’s existence from beginning to end, even severing his connection to Tzeentch’s domain, strand by strand.

Formerly, Magnus was boundless curiosity—absorbing all knowledge, good or bad, into his self.

Now, Magnus was absolute ignorance—a self that rejected all knowledge, good or bad.

He still possessed the ability to understand and perceive things, but he could not store those understandings as knowledge.

Yet this was not necessarily a bad thing—at least not for Magnus. Freed from the tangled threads of chaotic knowledge, he had become far clearer.

His gaze toward Tzeentch proved it—though devoid of knowledge, his single eye burned with piercing clarity.

“Coach!” Magnus’s voice boomed like thunder; Tzeentch recoiled with revulsion.

Unbearable. Unbearable.

Magnus’s current state had fully merged with his essence—he was now a sub-space lesser god, but not the divinity Tzeentch desired.

Now, Magnus was the God of Ignorance. Tzeentch touched him as if touching a scorching fireball, burning His fingers raw.

If Magnus continued growing like this, He might even turn and devour Tzeentch, inflicting grave harm upon Him.

Tzeentch could only control Magnus through a faint, semi-real, semi-illusory thread of muscular authority.

But Tzeentch was truly the God of Muscles—yet Magnus’s muscles were His own delusion, not real.

Once Magnus realized this deception, the fragile thread would snap instantly—no, He had already begun to realize it.

“You’ve noticed?” Tzeentch’s voice hissed into Magnus’s ear, sharp and piercing.

But Magnus’s face remained unmoved, utterly unaffected by Tzeentch’s voice.

“I can tell what is lie and what is truth,” Magnus said.

“For one who cannot acquire knowledge, that is indeed rare,” Tzeentch writhed, countless tentacles, bizarre birds, and arcane flames reaching for Magnus.

Yet all these forces passed over Magnus’s body, leaving no impact.

“Knowledge is not wisdom. The knowledgeable may grow arrogant and foolish; the ignorant may grow humble and wise.”

Magnus stared at Tzeentch, his voice booming like thunder:

“Without knowledge, I see certain things more clearly.”

“Coach, I do not rage that you used me as a puppet—I only hate myself for having once been arrogant and foolish.”

“But you used my children as puppets—you conspired through Ahriman to turn my sons into puppets. I cannot tolerate this.”

Tzeentch watched the nearly snapped thread and knew Magnus was beyond control—he could no longer manipulate Magnus like a puppet.

True, Magnus had been ascended by Him; his body and soul were drenched in Tzeentch’s corrupt power. He could destroy Magnus in a single thought—but that was not what Tzeentch wanted.

He still needed Magnus—the Hive Mind’s vessel was nearly born; Zhou Yun would soon be entangled with it.

The Changer of the Way needed a tool to help him seize Robert Guilliman.

The Changer of the Way raised one of His nine million arms; countless threads extended from His fingertips, connecting to every Thousand Sons, weaving a dense net—each Thousand Son like a tiny insect caught upon it.

Spider silk entwined, fate imprisoned—no Thousand Son could escape Tzeentch’s palm.

Magnus sighed softly.

Ahriman, mid-push-up, suddenly shuddered—he felt a sense of release; certain threads binding him had snapped.

His body jerked violently; he raised his head, slightly bewildered.

He—he was no longer Tzeentch’s Chosen.

Not just him—many Thousand Sons beside him also felt their links to Tzeentch snap violently; all Thousand Sons looked around, confused and lost, not understanding what had happened or why they had been released by Tzeentch.

Why?

Ahriman’s thoughts froze; fear crept across his face. He recalled Magnus’s strange behavior these past days, and formed a suspicion.

His psychic energy surged into the highest heavens—he saw.

The Changer of the Way—His image shifting over ninety million times in an instant—reclined high above the sub-space, hovering around the steroid planet. Merely glancing at Him made Ahriman’s mind swirl and flesh churn—but he gritted his teeth and stared at the figure before Tzeentch.

That figure was immense, yet dwarfed by the Changer of the Way—like a dim sixth-magnitude star in an arcane night sky, emitting a faint crimson glow.

Merely gazing at that crimson star, Ahriman felt his reason return, found his anchor.

That crimson silhouette was so reliable—a wall erected before Ahriman.

He remembered the rain-soaked night that drowned Prospero—the black waters, the howling wolves, the shattered pyramids, the broken Crimson King.

He remembered the final glance from the Crimson King’s ruined eye.

The frostwind of Fenris was sharp and biting; the Crimson Lord of Prospero chose to bear it alone.

As always.

“Why!” Ahriman screamed: “Father—why again...?”

Magnus was being dragged into Tzeentch’s domain, toward the thing called the Eternal Well.

The Crimson King turned his head, his ruined single eye fixed on Ahriman.

+Does a father need a reason to protect his son?+

“Father!!!” Ahriman roared—but Magnus raised his hand.

Vast sub-space energy surged like a tide, crashing over Ahriman and instantly crushing his will back onto the steroid planet.