Chapter 95: Death Greets You (Combined)

Zhou Yun pulled the clay body out of his fourth-dimensional pocket and placed it on the ground.

He picked up a large lump of clay and pressed it over his face, making his head appear enormous.

Under his manipulation, the clay did not turn human skin tone, but slowly shifted into a metallic blue and white hue.

He reached out and pinched the nose into a red sphere.

Zhou Yun continued attaching clay to the body, shaping a tiny bell around the neck, forming a round, plump silhouette, and encasing the arms in white spheres.

“Is this your reflection in the subspace?” said the winged figure within the white light, sounding surprised.

In his vision, Zhou Yun and his subspace reflection gradually became identical.

“It’s... a bit unusual.”

Zhou Yun twisted the clay to form a red tail, admired his new appearance, then opened the door and stepped out.

Leina stared blankly at the thing that walked out through the door.

Was it a two-legged, round blue raccoon-cat?

No, upon closer inspection, it seemed to be a cat without ears.

The cat had a metallic sheen to its shell, a round face with whiskers and a red nose, a huge mouth beneath the nose, and a head disproportionately large to hold its features.

Its body was utterly round, like a sphere with four cylindrical limbs attached, a bell tied around a nonexistent neck, and two spherical hands at the ends of its arms.

Suspended from its belly was a crescent-shaped pouch, its purpose unknown.

How to put it? It didn’t look like a Death Chosen at all—rather, it was kind of cute?

“Praise the Death Chosen!”

Beside her, Dichi, clad in a tight black leather suit, knelt devoutly on the ground, forehead pressed firmly against the floor, sincerely chanting:

“Great Death Chosen, you have finally descended upon your faithful Asford!”

“Your humble servant Dichi pledges allegiance to you.”

“This is the Death Chosen?!” Leina stared at Zhou Yun, her face twitching.

She knew Zhou Yun could change his appearance, but she never imagined he could transform into something so utterly devoid of human features!

To Dichi, kneeling at Zhou Yun’s feet in devout submission, this form was as if the Emperor himself had appeared.

She trembled uncontrollably with excitement, and upon hearing Leina’s words, she angrily lifted her head.

“In the visions granted to me by the Emperor, the Death Chosen appeared exactly thus.”

“Look at that seamless, round head! Look at those sharp, circular eyes! Look at that blood-red nose!”

Dichi spoke with deep reverence:

“That bloody mouth can swallow all life in the world; this body is the shadow of Death itself; the bell around the neck heralds the sound of death.”

“And the pouch hanging from its belly seems to contain the endless, desolate, dark realm of death.”

“The dark protection of Death blankets this land; all mortals must die, and you are the embodiment of Death.”

“The wind of Death clings to you.”

Zhou Yun watched Dichi kneeling before him, a numb expression on his face.

He had no idea what mindset the Emperor had to make him look like this—and in the eyes of the Daughter of Death, he had become the so-called “Death Chosen.”

Couldn’t he just say he was the Machine God?

“I am Death. I am Rest. I extinguish lives as easily as snuffing a candle. Your bones are not yet cold, yet your souls are already in my grasp.”

“You shall rest eternally, enduring within my domain.”

“Thus is the power of Doraemon.”

As he spoke, Zhou Yun opened his arms.

Dichi, eyes filled with worship, instinctively bowed her head to the ground in a full prostration.

“Praise the Death Chosen Doraemon! Praise your great power!”

She devoutly said:

“May we, under your guidance, bring forth even more death.”

“Why would Death need guidance? Death visits everyone, only sooner or later—and Death is always patient.”

Zhou Yun, wearing Doraemon’s face, spoke with solemn gravity.

Dichi’s expression grew even more reverent.

As for Leina, she stared, dumbfounded, as Zhou Yun opened his arms and uttered a string of bizarre phrases.

Had the atmosphere not been so tense, Leina would have told Zhou Yun:

She thought he was better suited than her for preaching and playing the mystic.

He was too good at bullshitting.

And where the hell did he come up with the name “Doraemon”?

Leina’s urge to rant was barely contained.

“Tell me, who dared to send you to bring death to Death?” Zhou Yun asked seriously.

Dichi’s face twisted in panic, her voice trembling: “The Viceroy, Augustus Flax.”

She had not yet spoken of this matter, yet the Death Chosen already knew—

This only deepened Dichi’s reverence for Zhou Yun,

yet also filled her with dread: fear that the Chosen might withhold death from her.

“.What?” Before Zhou Yun could respond, Leina’s eyes widened, convinced she’d misheard.

“Go and announce my arrival to your sister,” Zhou Yun nodded slightly to Dichi.

Dichi trembled as she bowed deeply to Zhou Yun, then vanished in an instant.

“.Zhou Yun, what the hell is going on?” Leina’s face was blank with confusion.

“Why are you the Death Chosen? And what is this form?”

“Who is this Viceroy Augustus Flax? Did he arrange our coming here? Why does he want to kill us?”

Leina’s questions tumbled out uncontrollably.

“Not only that, the Viceroy will be sending us money tomorrow.”

Zhou Yun smiled slightly and said:

“And plenty of weapons and gear—enough to arm the Ark Gang.”

“Huh?” Leina was even more bewildered.

How could someone try to kill you and then send you money?

Augustus Flax lay trembling on a crimson sofa.

Every muscle in his body quivered with fear and dread.

He had suffered a horrifying dream:

In it, Zhou Yun emerged as a dark shadow, formless and intangible, stepping into his underground chamber.

The chamber echoed with the shrieks of swarms of insects, and Tiberius’s voice mingled within.

Then Tiberius’s voice turned to wails.

Zhou Yun arrived before him, holding Tiberius’s severed head.

“Your brother sends his greetings.”

He tossed Tiberius’s head onto the floor before Augustus Flax, who had collapsed in terror.

Then an invisible force surged forth, crushing Augustus Flax bit by bit beneath Zhou Yun’s gaze.

Augustus Flax jolted awake from the nightmare.

His entire body was drenched in sweat, dripping down his wrinkled skin.

Even awake, Augustus Flax still felt terror.

For he possessed a unique innate ability: to distinguish falsehood from truth, illusion from reality.

It was said to be a Flax family inheritance, a mutation granted by the twin crimson suns above.

They could not be deceived by dreams or illusions; they could uncover truth amid deception, detect lies, and this ability strengthened generation after generation—until it reached its peak in Augustus Flax.

That was why Augustus Flax had never been swayed by his alien brother’s psychic powers into becoming his puppet slave.

Likewise, Augustus Flax could always tell whether he was dreaming.

But that nightmare felt utterly real—as if it were an actual future.

Augustus Flax nearly vomited.

At that moment, the data board on his desk suddenly emitted a cold, mechanical voice.

Augustus Flax shuddered, fearing it was Zhou Yun calling through Old One-Eye.

With trembling hands, he picked up the data board.

But the screen displayed a message from the Daughter of Death.

Augustus Flax nearly wept with relief.

He answered the call—never in his life had he longed so desperately for the Daughter of Death’s icy voice.

Even though that death-laden tone had once made him tremble in fear,

now, Augustus Flax yearned for it above all else.

“Death greets you, Viceroy.”

!.Read

But the voice on the other end was a man’s voice.

It was not cold at all—instead, it brimmed with delight and mockery, as if taunting Augustus Flax.

That was Zhou Yun’s voice—Augustus Flax recognized it instantly.

How could he?!

Did he single-handedly slaughter the entire Cult of the Deathborn?

This monster! This madman! This heretic!

Augustus Flax had already considered reporting Zhou Yun to the Inquisitor to save his own life,

and right now, on the neighboring planet of Laixio, there is one.

That might expose some of his own deeds, but as Viceroy, he at least has more chances of survival than Zhou Yun.

The Inquisitor would surely grant a Viceroy a little respect, wouldn’t he?

“I’ve had a cordial exchange with the Deathborn—they’re now like family to me.”

It’s true! Augustus Flax concluded with relief.

This means he hasn’t yet discovered the Deathborn’s true goal: to assassinate him.

All of this must be an illusion crafted by the Deathborn.

How professional, the Deathborn!

“Let’s also discuss the matter of weapons and equipment now.”

Zhou Yun propped his chin on his hand, seated before a data board, with Leina and Dichi standing behind him,

and said with interest:

“I’ve thought carefully—weapons inevitably wear out, don’t they?”

“The Ark’s personnel will need replenishment, right?”

“So double the quantity.”

“Double?!” Augustus Flax’s voice shot up: “Why don’t you just rob me?”

“I am robbing you,” Zhou Yun grinned.

“Despicable,” Augustus Flax gritted his teeth.

A strange doubt arose in him:

Could Zhou Yun have truly allied with the Deathborn?

No, that’s impossible.

Augustus Flax had studied the Deathborn’s doctrine.

They believed everything must accept death—except death itself.

So these madmen would never refuse to give Zhou Yun death.

Augustus Flax steadied himself, as if biting down hard, and said:

“Double—that’s the absolute maximum. No more.”

“Fine, fine, fine—then double the money too,” Zhou Yun said lazily.

“Very well. This is my final limit,” Augustus Flax pretended to be furiously enraged.

But in truth, his limits were now nearly infinite,

since Zhou Yun was about to die—assassinated by the Deathborn.

“Oh, by the way.”

On the other side of the data board, Zhou Yun suddenly seemed to remember something, smiling at Dichi beside him:

“Dichi, has the Viceroy paid the bill for attempting to assassinate me and Leina?”

At these words, Augustus Flax froze, wondering if he’d misheard.

“My lord, he hasn’t paid,” Dichi bowed respectfully.

“Be sure to settle that account—just pay it directly to me.”

Zhou Yun chuckled:

“Thank you for supporting the Deathborn’s operations. Much appreciated.”

“Looking forward to more cooperation in the future.”

Then Zhou Yun ended the call, leaving Augustus Flax trembling uncontrollably with fear,

He knows everything!

Augustus Flax scrambled onto the crimson sofa as fast as he could,

yanking a blanket over his emaciated body.

This blanket had once been wrapped around him by his mother during childhood—occasionally, it brought him comfort.

Yet Augustus Flax still shook uncontrollably,

his mind racing for a way to save himself.

His PDF and psyker forces were powerful enough,

but they might not stop the Deathborn and Zhou Yun—let alone Titus, lurking in the shadows, waiting for his chance.

He knew there were only two reasons Zhou Yun hadn’t killed him yet:

The smaller one: he was still the official leader of the Asford Empire; if he died, transferring power to the Imperial Guard would become difficult.

The larger one: Zhou Yun, this insatiable bastard, still wanted the weapons and money in his possession.

What tormented Augustus Flax most was that he not only had to give, but had to give more than Zhou Yun demanded—and constantly.

He had to keep proving his value, proving he could still supply more resources, weapons, and gold.

Zhou Yun had even hinted that they should “cooperate more.”

But this only delayed Augustus Flax’s death.

He would eventually lose all value to Zhou Yun.

Then “death would come to greet him.”

“I need a plan—I need a plan…”

Augustus Flax clenched his teeth, frantically searching his mind for an idea.

Suddenly, a thought struck him:

The Inquisitor on the neighboring planet of Laixio.

He didn’t know which Inquisitorial Order the man belonged to,

but it didn’t matter.

Zhou Yun had allied with illegal psykers and mutant cultists—whether the Hammer of the Holy Exterminators or the Purge of Heretics, both would want to punish him.

Even the Exterminators of the Alien, who specialize in fighting xenos—Zhou Yun didn’t seem to have much to do with aliens,

but it didn’t matter. When an Inquisitor delivers judgment, he doesn’t always follow his own Order’s doctrine.

Of course, this also meant Augustus Flax risked exposing his own actions.

But he was still the Emperor’s Viceroy, and he hadn’t truly been corrupted.

Overall, there was still room to maneuver—he must use his channels to contact this Inquisitor.

The hotel where the author is staying lost power; no one knows when electricity will return. Today’s update: four thousand words. The author saved two thousand to avoid missing tomorrow’s update. If tomorrow’s writing meets quota, eight thousand will be posted.

(End of Chapter)