Chapter 636: This is Mortarion; He Often Poops

A blue-and-white intertwined round hand reached out from the pink-and-red wooden door, holding a wooden stick with a white cloth strip tied to it. The wooden stick hit the Silent King's head, which had already been covered by reddish-brown rust, neither too hard nor too soft.

The Silent King only heard a bang from his head, like a bell, like a zither, like wind, like thunder, like the Great Lu, like a bird's song, like the sudden playing of a pipe organ in a church in the silence of midnight, like the melodious harmonica sound rising from under the ruins, like the high singing of a musician falling from the clear sky.

A clear breeze suddenly echoed in the parched valley, rolling in clouds and rain from afar, bringing a warmth not seen for thousands of years, dispelling the long-unmelted snow, and letting some things suddenly sprout in the empty valley.

An indescribable sense of fullness began to erupt within the Silent King, dispelling the cold that had never dissipated in the long years of his metallic body bit by bit, making his body warm and even scorching.

In the empty box, a burning fire was placed—scorching, hot, bright, and clear.

He sensed in horror that the hard ice wall between him and the world had melted.

Although he had previously had advanced perception capabilities meticulously designed for this world, and his perception accuracy for this world surpassed almost all flesh bodies, he had always seemed to be separated from the world by a thick ice wall. Although he could perceive everything behind the ice wall, when he reached out to touch it, he could only perceive coldness.

Now he was truly and genuinely connected to this world.

He could feel the pain as his body rusted bit by bit; he could smell the fishy stench of the rolling poisonous gas in the air; he could experience the sharpness of the rocks beneath his face; he could perceive his emotions rhythmically beating out of control.

Pain—clear and true pain tore through his will.

Sixty million years—the scenes of the destruction of the Necron race that had always lingered in his memory modules suddenly became vivid and clear.

Originally, those memories were just memories to him, but at this moment, it was as if he were experiencing them personally, turning into sharp knives stabbing into certain things that had not existed in his body before, making him surge with an urge to cry.

But his body, the eternal Necron body, was not designed with this function.

Soul.

The Silent King finally remembered what he had in his body now.

It was a soul.

A scorching, newborn soul.

The Silent King hated the soul.

That was a soul that belonged to him, but it was not a soul that belonged to the Necrons.

But the sense of fullness that the soul brought to the Silent King could not be faked. He suffered the pain of a split between will, obsession, and soul.

"Silent King, do you repent?" The voice sounded from behind the pink-and-red wooden door.

A round, rolling big belly was revealed from the door first, then a round, rolling big head, and a pair of round hands.

That blue raccoon cat drilled out from the door and stood before the Silent King.

Zhou Yun had just stood up from the bathtub soaked in Siegfried Bath Liquid, and before standing up, he had casually molded himself into this appearance of Doraemon using body clay.

It wasn't that he wasn't willing to put on clothes and come over with his own face; it was really because some gazes were always fixed on him, making him feel a bit creeped out.

In the Warp, the gazes of the Gods and many secondary gazes were still watching here. Zhou Yun didn't care much about most of them; those gazes were just observing Zhou Yun, without too many thoughts.

But Slaanesh... even after experiencing it many times in dreams, Zhou Yun still couldn't adapt to Slaanesh's gaze.

"I don't need the soul you gave me. For these sixty million years, I have been repenting every moment..."

"... I, repent, but I will not submit to you. I must make up for my mistakes and save my race."

"I am giving you a chance to save the Necron race, your true race." Zhou Yun looked down at the Silent King and shook his head gently.

"I am Szarekh, the last Silent King of the Necrons. My race will always be the Necrons and their continuation."

"The Necrons who abandoned the past of our race are not my race."

The Silent King's expression revealed pain, but his will still controlled him to decisively reject Zhou Yun's proposal.

A faint sense of death appeared on the raccoon cat face Zhou Yun had molded out of body clay.

Silent King.

In over twenty thousand dreams, the number of times Zhou Yun had subdued him like this could be counted on one hand, and this time was considered the most successful one.

But even these few times contributed at least one-tenth of the numbness in Zhou Yun's heart.

Up to now, he had never successfully persuaded the Silent King even once to accept a path other than bio-transference.

Even if he forcibly gave the Silent King a soul this time, it was of no avail.

As the authority of Malicious Artistry, Zhou Yun could perceive that

the Silent King's will was frantically elbowing his newborn soul.

His behavior finally made Zhou Yun burst into an indescribable sense of "hard to hold" after a long period of numbness. ===== CHAPTER 637 =====