Chapter 11: Holy Crap! A Lion!

Zhou Yun used his telekinesis to move the two gang members, who had knocked each other out by colliding heads, into a corner behind the pipes.

He hadn't expected that immediately after drilling down, he would run into two patrolling gang members.

Thinking about it, ever since entering that ruined city district, his luck hadn't been very good.

First, he encountered the Genestealer Cult, then got force-fed alcohol until his head split with pain, rode a rickety train, met two hooded men who seemed like cultists halfway there, and now, just upon entering Old District Eight, he had bumped into two gang members.

Zhou Yun couldn't help but wonder if he had been cursed.

Perhaps he should find someone to perform a divination for him using the Hua Hua Hua Di Huang Tarot.

"You might as well let me prophesy for you," said the winged figure within the white light.

"No thanks, I don't trust you," Zhou Yun said, shaking his head.

However, the winged figure within the white light shook its feathers, and a burst of pure white radiance manifested before Zhou Yun's eyes, transforming into a thin stack of cards.

These cards bore various mystical patterns, each seemingly holding a unique symbolic meaning.

"Draw one."

"Isn't this still the Hua Hua Hua Di Huang Tarot?" Zhou Yun couldn't help but complain.

The Hua Hua Hua Di Huang Tarot was said to be a method of divination designed by the Hua Hua Hua Di Huang himself, linked to the Hua Hua Hua Di Huang's thoughts.

Although no one could quite explain why the Hua Hua Hua Di Huang would create such a piece of street-side superstition, the Hua Hua Hua Di Huang Tarot was indeed one of the few reliable and low-risk divination methods in the galaxy.

Organizations like the Astartes, the Inquisition, and even the Ecclesiarchy used the Hua Hua Hua Di Huang Tarot for divination, though their methods of usage were far more refined.

Unlike most hive city residents, who simply drew a few cards from a crude deck.

"Just try drawing one," said the winged figure within the white light.

Zhou Yun firmly shook his head; even if it was the Hua Hua Hua Di Huang Tarot, he did not want this Warp entity to perform a divination for him.

"It doesn't matter; I can draw it myself," said the winged figure within the white light, not angered.

He drew a card on his own accord and showed it to Zhou Yun.

"Hmm?"

It was a Major Arcana card, numbered 14, depicting an angel holding two small crucibles, pouring liquid from the crucible in its left hand into the one in its right hand.

But what made Zhou Yun furrow his brow tightly was that the angel on this Major Arcana card did not possess pristine white wings, but rather a pair of ulcerated, scale-covered wings.

"The upright position of this card signifies patience, while the reversed position signifies communication... A cooperation requiring both patience and communication will bring you success."

The winged figure within the white light said in a low voice:

"And it secretly indicates that the partner you need to cooperate with is guided by some higher entity."

"Fourteen, which is two sevens," Zhou Yun muttered.

Seven, the holy number of Nurgle, plus the crucibles and scaled wings—this was no longer a metaphor; it was an explicit statement.

Zhou Yun felt a chill run down his spine; he increasingly felt that misfortune was about to befall him.

Suddenly, the sound of footsteps rang out beside Zhou Yun's ears.

Instinctively, he turned his head to look in the direction from which the footsteps came.

At the corner of the pipe district, two figures draped in brown hoods emerged.

Mong was depressed.

To prevent the future shown by the "Angel" from coming true,

he and his brother had risked danger climbing up from the bottom of the hive, infiltrating this abandoned Old District Eight to search for the location of the relic capable of opening the gate.

However, the PDF outpost, which likely recorded the relic's location, had been submerged by collapsed rubble.

This made Mong somewhat anxious.

Unlike Mong's anxiety, his brother Malgkit still maintained the patience taught by the "Angel."

This was likely the reason he was more blessed.

Malgkit decided to temporarily avoid the patrolling gang.

He intended to use the corrosive digestive fluid bestowed upon him by the "Angel" to corrode a passage leading to the PDF outpost from above the outpost.

But this might take several days to complete, something Mong could not accept.

Even though the Governor nowadays hardly managed the underhive, people like them were still unwelcome.

Dragging things out too long would invite unnecessary trouble.

"Don't you understand? Our time is precious."

"We are not welcome up here; perhaps at the next corner someone will discover us and treat us—hmm?"

As they passed a corner in the pipe district, Mong said to his brother Malgkit.

However, before he could finish that sentence, Mong felt a gaze fall upon the two of them.

He hastily turned his head and saw a man standing beside the pipes, looking at them.

That man wore a ridiculous toy hat, but upon seeing the man's face, Mong could not laugh.

Beneath the hat was a profound face, a face with lion-like golden hair and beard, cold as frost.

Mong instinctively felt fear.

The moment those eyes embedded in the profound face locked onto him, the deformed heart within his chest nearly stopped beating.

It was as if he saw within those eyes a deepest, darkest, cold forest.

That forest was filled with shadows and corrupted beasts; countless dark, forbidden, unspeakable things lurked within it.

And this man before him seemed to have survived since the day of his birth in this pitch-black forest isolated from the human world, hunting those blasphemous beasts.

Upon seeing Mong and the other, the man frowned.

In that instant, Mong thought he saw a male lion lurking in the darkness, waiting to hunt them both as prey.

Mong vaguely heard the "Angel" screaming in terror.

Unlike his brother, who could clearly hear the "Angel's" guidance,

He could only hear fragmented, unclear sounds.

Yet he could also sense the terror and disbelief filling the "Angel's" exclamation.

The "Angel" was shouting out fragmented phrases.

"The Lion!"

"The first one!"

"Impossible."

"It's like him! So much like him!"

"It's not him!! The build is wrong!"

The "Angel" was terrified by that face! Just a single face had sent the "Angel" into panic.

Monge glanced at his elder brother.

He found that the man seemed frozen in place by the "Angel's" exclamation.

Monge realized the danger.

He hurriedly reached for the dagger with crimson rust at his waist, drew it, and sliced a wound across his own wrist.

Corrosive and poisonous blood coated the dagger.

Holding the blood-stained dagger, Monge lunged without hesitation at the man with the stern expression.

"Monge! Stop!" his brother's cry came from behind.

But Monge saw only the man wearing a ridiculous hat, looking like a lion.

A finger on that ridiculous hat suddenly pointed at him.

(End of this chapter)