Chapter 400: Saint Dora-a-mo's Phrenology

Ran Val had never smelled this scent before,

yet his body, the ancient memories within his genes, constantly reminded him that this was the smell of food,

leaving him somewhat surprised, somewhat bewildered, and somewhat at a loss.

In Ran Val's memory, the smell of food should have been monotonous, sticky, and waxy.

But this scent, faintly brushing his nostrils, resembled the aroma of cooked starch, vaguely carrying the scent of earth and water mingled, like a requiem.

This scent made Ran Val recall a time when he was once responsible for transporting cargo to the upper hive's spaceport; that day, his luck was good, and the legendary sun hung in the sky, casting upon Ran Val light brighter than the brightest promethium lamps.

That light was hot and blinding, making Ran Val's skin ache slightly, yet he felt good.

The feeling this scent gave Ran Val was the same; it felt as if experiences deep within his genes, those he had never felt between his flesh and blood, had been awakened.

Saliva suddenly secreted in his previously dry mouth; an uncontrollable urge drove his body to look toward the direction from which the fragrance drifted.

It was a chapel; the small chapel belonging to Father Czapek had been abandoned for nearly half a month.

A few days ago, a group of nuns had arrived here; they burned the entire chapel with fire, then built a new chapel upon its ruins.

Ran Val suddenly felt a surge of intense envy, envying these nuns for being able to enjoy food.

This must be because they had given more to the God-Emperor? Therefore, they could enjoy more food.

But just then, a clamor, noise, and chaos erupted on the street.

Ran Val saw the nuns pushing cans filled with some milky-white food out of the chapel.

Then the nuns seemed to say something; Ran Val heard it, yet his mind was still in a state of bewilderment.

But his body had already acted first; by the time Ran Val came to his senses, he was already holding a bowl.

Inside the bowl was a milky-white thick porridge, with white grains floating within, emitting a strange fragrance.

A nun took two or three roasted insects of some kind from an iron rack nearby and placed them on the porridge, signaling that Ran Val could begin eating.

Ran Val wept; from his dry eye corners, only a few tears were barely squeezed out.

He even forgot how he had managed to eat this rare food.

He only remembered the smooth porridge sliding down his esophagus into his stomach; he only remembered that fragrance, like sunlight, spreading through his nasal cavity; he only remembered the sweetness, saltiness, and faint bitterness flowing out as the roasted insects crunched in his mouth.

Was this eating?

Ran Val's senses told him yes.

But Ran Val's memory told him no.

How could eating be like this?

He clearly remembered the feeling of eating corpse starch; the texture was like beeswax mixed with lime powder; the first bite would stick stubbornly to your palate, the second bite would painfully scrape your throat, followed by the faint bitterness of preservatives, and finally the monotonous, tasteless flavor of the corpse starch itself.

He had never felt joy in eating before; this was the first time.

The nun, seeing Ran Val's bewildered gaze, simply served him another full bowl of thick porridge and placed two or three roasted insects on top.

"W-why..." Ran Val did not know why he would ask such a question.

But the nun simply looked at Ran Val calmly, then spoke to him with piety:

"Because the God-Emperor and Saint Dora-a-mo love humanity."

"Saint Dora-a-mo redeems all living beings through miracles."

"He sounded the salute cannons, and thus the mini-suns flew into the sky."

"He opened the bottle caps, and thus the instant cloud-rain sprinkled down the rain."

"He spread out the carpets, and upon the carpets lay fertile soil, from which rice seedlings and insects sprouted."

"He cracked his whip, and the Imperial Fists in the fields began to labor; thus the rice grew, piling up like mountains."

"He said: 'O humans, I grant you grain; if there is insufficiency, then pray.'"

"He said: 'For all who pray, He will respond; for all who lack, He will make up the difference; simply crack the whip faster and louder, and the rice will grow by itself.'"

The nun's words made Ran Val tremble all over.

As a Terra-born person, Ran Val knew perfectly well what the Imperial Fists were.

The porridge in his hand, this food called rice, was actually grown by the Imperial Fists.

The God-Emperor's guards, the God-Emperor's perfect creations, every one of them the Imperial Fists born from the purest noble families' genes.

Fear arose in Ran Val's heart; for a moment, he suppressed his hunger, daring not to drink the rice porridge in his hand.

"Fear not; all is the arrangement of the God-Emperor and Saint Dora-a-mo."

The nun's voice suddenly rose, speaking in a tone audible to everyone present:

"Saint Dora-a-mo, possessing infinite wisdom, observed the skulls of the Imperial Fists with his eyes."

"He discovered that the skulls of the Imperial Fists naturally possess three cracks."

"According to phrenology, this proves that the God-Emperor created the Imperial Fists, from birth, specifically for farming."

"All of this is the will of the God-Emperor and Saint Dora-a-mo!"

As the words fell, as if displaying a holy relic, the nun produced a faucet that looked utterly ordinary.

Nothing was connected behind that faucet, yet the nun held it close to several iron buckets from which the porridge had already been completely distributed.

In the shocked gaze of Ran Val and the other commoners, the nun gently turned that faucet.

Water, clean, nearly perfectly transparent water, gushed forth from the faucet out of thin air.

Shock spread from person to person; Ran Val felt his eyes fill with hot tears.

It was water, it was water, clean water, water fit only for nobles, overseers, and wealthy merchants to drink.

For a moment, voices of prayer, praise, and gratitude to Saint Dora-a-mo resounded without ceasing.

"What a simple miracle." The High Nun Magda stood atop the Gao Ta of the hive city, looking down upon the hive city where prayers and praises were constantly surging forth.

Those mountains of rice flowed into every corner of the hive city, and those devices named "Universal Faucets" would bring almost endless water sources.

The entire hive city had come alive, completely dependent on the miracles created by Saint Dora-a-mo.

Yet this miracle, compared to the miracle Magda the High Sister witnessed in the Underworld Galaxy—where one swallowed the Star God into a pocket on her own belly—seemed far too plain.

"This is the greatest miracle: letting the devout live, letting the devout eat their fill. That is the greatest, most holy miracle."

Mo Wen the High Sister of Val gripped her hand, mimicking the round hand of Saint Doraemon raised at a forty-five-degree angle, and offered a devout prayer to Saint Doraemon:

"Such a miracle is far more holy and worthy of gratitude than those false miracles, like the Cherubim crafted from infant corpses."

Magda the High Sister felt guilt and bowed to apologize to Mo Wen the High Sister of Val.

Yet at the same time, a faint bitter smile traced the corner of Magda the High Sister's mouth.

She never expected that in the eyes of this newly appointed High Sister, the Cherubim of the Imperial Cult were so worthless.

The Imperial Cult had originally chosen the young Mo Wen of Val to become the new High Sister, hoping she would be innocent and foolish, easy to use for show and easy to control.

But in the end, the Imperial Cult received only a warrior of indomitable will, uncontrolled by anyone, acting solely in accordance with faith.

This was a good thing for the Sisterhood of Battle Sisters, but a complete disaster for the Imperial Cult.

The Battle Sisters were one of the few military forces the Imperial Cult could command, yet now the High Sister would not accept the Imperial Cult's authority.

Magda the High Sister could faintly perceive that a storm of power was quietly brewing.

"My Lord," Magda the High Sister asked softly, "should we allow the Saintess and His Grace Saint Doraemon to meet again?"

"After all, the Saintess was originally entrusted to the Sisterhood by Saint Doraemon."

Mo Wen of Val's face twitched slightly.

She seemed to recall many painful, tedious, and unpleasant tasks.

"There are too many reports," Mo Wen of Val muttered quietly.

"Hmm?" Magda the High Sister blinked in confusion.

"According to the regulations set by Lord Ji Li Man, matters reported directly to Saint Doraemon and the two Primarchs, and actions requiring His Grace Saint Doraemon to visit the monastery, must be filled out on thirteen necessity reports and twenty-two planning reports, and only after confirmation by Lord Ji Li Man's Right-or-Wrong Divination Machine may they be submitted to the Triumvirate Council of the two Primarchs and Saint Doraemon."

"This is to ensure Saint Doraemon's safety, to ensure he has not been corrupted, and to ensure the correctness of the action."

Mo Wen of Val said with extreme pain.

The existence of the Saintess was a secret; within the Sisterhood, only a few knew the specific details. Outside the Sisterhood, even the Pope of the Imperial Cult did not fully know the Saintess's location or specific identity.

To maintain secrecy, Mo Wen of Val could only fill out these reports with her own hands.

Though somewhat blasphemous, Mo Wen of Val, looking at the mountain of planning reports, could not help but curse aloud at the standards designated by Lord Ji Li Man.

On Terra, within the Inner Palace of the Imperial Palace, at the training ground of the Adeptus Custodes in the Sanctum.

Zhou Yun's will resided within the body of Nobita Huang Daxiong, wielding a lightless named blade, Dian Guang Wan, wreathed in blood-red mist, constantly clashing with Sanguinius.

The Primarch and Huang Daxiong the Great Demon of Doraemon, Sanguinius and the Sharpshooter Huang Daxiong, the Spear of Perfection and the lightless named blade Dian Guang Wan.

Sparks flew between the teardrop-shaped spearhead and the dim named blade Dian Guang Wan.

The Spear of Perfection drove straight toward the face of Nobita Huang Daxiong, who wore glasses.

Yet Nobita Huang Daxiong merely let his glasses flash slightly, then wielded the toy short sword in his hand with exquisite memory, forcibly blocking Sanguinius's nearly certain strike.

This caused the Astartes and Custodes around them to involuntarily burst into continuous praise.

The sword and spear of the two clashed and held in mid-air, becoming a contest of strength.

However, a faint smile traced the corner of Nobita Huang Daxiong's mouth, whom Zhou Yun controlled.

"Who do you think is the Primarch most like the Emperor?" he suddenly asked Sanguinius.

(End of this chapter)