Chapter 311: Singing the Same Song

With Mortarion's permission, the Emperor bent down to allow his tall golden body to enter the room. In order to pull the object he had clamped in his golden claws into the house, a piece of soil and stone around the door frame was knocked off, scattered on the ground, and raised a lot of mist-like dust.

The dust settled, and the object took shape. Morse raised his eyebrows and looked up at the Emperor.

The Emperor blinked. The last time he showed such a vivid look was on World 154-4, in front of a bunch of Primarchs, playing the mortal Fas.

+Good. + The Emperor's expression did not change, and a brief psychic message flashed by.

The Primarch Mortarion, who was very sensitive to this, seemed to notice something, and uneasily let his vigilant eyes stay on Morse, the master of sorcery in his eyes.

Morse sighed exaggeratedly, "What are you holding this for, Emperor?"

He made a gesture to observe the object in the Emperor's claws.

Judging from the strength of his psychic power, it was also a sorcery overlord, but not Nakre, Mortarion's breeder.

His limbs were cut off, leaving only the main body of the torso and an ugly head in a coma. By observing the undigested part of his digestive organs through perspective, it can be seen that before he was suddenly captured by the Emperor, he was eating some kind of green leafy vegetables mixed with meat slices and sauce, and drinking some brown tea suitable for drinking when the afternoon sun shines on the garden.

"It will be our enemy." The Emperor replied, his language was concise.

Perhaps from his son Rogal Dorn, the father also learned how to reduce the possibility of angering others with inappropriate language.

"We are new here, how can we have enemies?"

Mors pinched his chin and walked around the room casually, blocking Mortarion's view of the sorcery overlord.

Sure enough, Mortarion took the initiative to change the angle and began to observe the Emperor's prey in an exploratory manner.

He had hardly seen any sorcery overlords other than Nakre. The few exceptions were when Nakre used him as an exhibit to show other overlords who maintained superficial peace with him for the sake of interests.

But Mortarion could recognize the filth and evil that disgusted him.

The Primarch asked in a daze: "What is that..."

Mors pretended not to hear Mortarion's words. In addition, he realized that the name Perturabo gave him shared the same prefix as Mortarion. He wanted to laugh a little.

"We are also people who use sorcery," Morse continued, his face sinking into the shadow of the room, a strand of crimson flame flickering at his fingertips, "As for the killing, do I need to count for you how many corpses were trampled by the hooves of the Great Crusade?"

"We are not here to slaughter." The Emperor threw his captive to the ground and stood opposite Morse, not side by side, "Any enemy of mankind is also our enemy. The extermination that just happened is also to prevent the human souls here from being desecrated and insulted by sorcery."

"Tsk, that's just your dream-"

"Why did you catch him?" Mortarion said hoarsely, staggering to his feet with his scythe.

The pair of eyes in his pale face first stared at the nameless sorcery overlord on the ground with hatred, then looked up at the Emperor, and his disgust began to mix with other emotions.

The Emperor responded with a calm face that seemed to have never changed: "He is the enemy of mankind."

"Lies." Mortarion cursed with bluffing, "Witchcraft is the greatest threat to mankind."

"By the Astronomican, he is right, Emperor." Morse laughed softly, and this laughter was like a steel needle on a laboratory table, provoking Mortarion's nerves. "In the eyes of some... extremely intelligent people, aren't you also an enemy of mankind?"

The Emperor faced Morse, did not speak to defend himself, but just looked away, and a sense of loss and sadness appeared between his lowered brows.

"How... are you going to deal with this person?" Mortarion's sickle blade swept across the ground, and the tip pointed at the unconscious nameless witchcraft overlord.

The Emperor put away his fleeting true feelings, and his body language returned to coldness.

On the surface, he seemed to be just a king.

However, sensitive people often like to deny a person's mask-like appearance. If kindness is on the surface, then malice must be inside. And vice versa.

"Kill." The Emperor announced.

Mors clapped his hands beside him: "Come on, my Emperor. You can dig out his heart."

The Emperor did not listen to Mors, and his dark eyes with golden light stayed on Mortarion.

Then, the Emperor asked.

"Do you want to kill him?" The Emperor asked Mortarion.

"I don't know if he wants to, considering that he is holding a farm tool..." Mors said softly, and the consonants floated in the air.

Before he finished speaking, Mortarion had already thrust forward with the sickle. In an instant, the tip of the knife penetrated the back of the neck of the sorcerer, hooked into the brain, and then lifted it up and stabbed out of the face, and dirty blood flowed along the blade.

The Primarch grabbed the torso of the sorcerer, pulled the sickle back, and easily tore off his head.

He wiped the blood off his face, raised his scythe, and looked at Morse grimly.

Morse laughed, and this time the laugh was indeed emotional. "I lost, Mortarion. You won."

Mortarion looked away and threw the remains of the sorcerer overlord at the Emperor's feet. "I killed him," he said, raising his chin.

"Do you want to kill more?" the Emperor asked.

Mortarion did not give his answer directly. The smell of scorched earth and the putrid smell of the dead, along with the poisonous mist, eroded his respiratory tracts, causing a long tug-of-war between the Primarch's resilience and the backlog of trauma.

He completed an execution without any real sense of accomplishment.

Mortarion looked around. Nearly a hundred villagers once lived here. They were poor, hungry, and technologically backward, but they took him in, and their kindness overcame their fear and gave him hope for a new life, showing others what they could live for.

A home. Mortarion thought dazedly. There is only this one.

Today, the village has been unforgivably destroyed, and his own enemies still overlook the land of Barbarus from the foggy mountaintops. Nacre sneered and planned the next round of shameless plunder, as if he dreamed that he would once again surrender to the Overlord's feet.

Even if Mortarion knew rationally, the death of this sorcery overlord already symbolized the blood revenge of many lives that had nothing to do with him. But Mortarion was not happy.

"What about you?" Mortarion asked. "Are you going to kill more?"

"I have seen how many stars can be destroyed by witchcraft and aliens," the Emperor breathed slowly, his chest rising and falling regularly. "Each planet that has been corrupted and destroyed is inhabited by billions of humans. Death. Everywhere, some are necessary and some are not.”

"Then why do you continue to use sorcery?" Mortarion became excited again.

One of the targets of the resentment he harbored for years was the sorcery that led to Barbarus's fall into the hands of the alien overlord and his years of torture. With every broken bone and torn tendon, as he languished miserably in prison, his hatred of witchcraft and cruel tyranny deepened.

Silence spreads through the hut, floating along with the crumbs of earth that have fallen off the roof. In this narrow space crowded with three people, Mortarion felt an unreasonable loneliness.

He didn't want to appear intolerable. You don't want to look like you're giving in, becoming weak.

However, however...

He wanted the golden-armored emperor to give him an answer.

"I am only a human," the Emperor said softly, as if those words explained everything.

Another shadow flashed past him. It was an old man wearing a gray robe. His face was tired and marked with the scars of time.

Mortarion continued to look at the Emperor, trying to see the true shadow clearly. At this time, he could only see the splendor and majesty on his surface.

He couldn't just be an overlord. Mortarion concluded.

"He can't say he's 'just' a human." Mors twitched the corner of his mouth. "This is true, Mortarion. I sincerely advise you not to think that the Emperor is such a perfect good person. ”

"Morse is right," said the Emperor. "I will conquer the galaxy to protect the entire human race."

"Oh, sorcery overlord..."

"He is not," Mortarion blurted out, decisively rejecting Morse's sarcasm.

With no time to be surprised that he had even spoken these words, Mortarion continued to address the Emperor: "I want to kill more sorcerers, Emperor," he said awkwardly as he addressed the Emperor. , "But I have to rely on my own strength."

The Emperor looked at him quietly: "I need a general."

Mortarion said nothing. Memories of Naklay grew noisy in his mind.

The Overlord had told him that he could be his general, his most trusted subordinate, and heir to the kingdom he ruled with fear. While being tortured like a plaything, he was forced to learn martial arts, conspiracy, and the use of fear and extermination. And the more joyful Naklay was, the more disgusted Mortarion became.

When he escaped from the castle on the mountain, he watched the dismembered humans being stitched back into driven monsters by the witchcraft of death, and watched Barbarus being enslaved, oppressed, and crushed by the nightmare of witchcraft. Under tyranny, everything is crushed.

Sympathy for humans and hatred for everything that happened to him were superimposed. Mortarion had long decided to kill the overlords one by one and purify this filthy land.

The village's acceptance delayed his revenge, and as soon as he figured out how to accept a family, his new home was torn to pieces by his past.

There is no room for emotion or hope under the rule of a tyrant.

"I will not serve another overlord." He said stiffly. This was no longer a sarcasm against the emperor, but an implementation and emphasis on his own will. "I can't be your lackey."

"A tool." The Emperor tried to correct him intently, "I don't need lackeys."

Mortarion had just felt a stinging discomfort, but this emotion was extinguished by the cold face of Mors, who was holding his arms next to him.

"You heard me, Emperor," Mors said. "He doesn't want to go with you. We might as well go to Baal."

This time, Mortarion did not contradict Morse. Although he pursues the execution of other witchcraft overlords, it is not absolute. Only Nacre's deformed and ugly twisted body must be killed by him himself.

That's his mission, his purpose. That was the only thing he could still cling to after the people in the village died.

"Your strength proves that you don't need me as your help, Emperor." Mortarion's face was expressionless, as if his emotions had been overwhelmed and destroyed by Barbarus' poisonous gas, drowning in the ominous swamp and dim fog. middle. "Go conquer your universe and leave Nacre to me."

universe. What a lofty word. In his cognition and memory, the endless starry sky was out of reach. He does not understand it, nor does he want to understand it.

The arrival of these two extraterrestrial visitors suddenly opened a new door for him. Witchcraft and aliens burn the stars, and hundreds of millions of mortals gather on them.

Those endless things did not belong to him, and his family had died in Barbarus. He is at odds with the stars, Mortarion belongs to the land of Barbarus.

"Leave Naklay to you?" the Emperor repeated. In the reflection of the dazzling golden armor, his face was reflected like a piece of golden tissue paper. The paper was hard and cold, but not thick enough.

"Wait for me," the Emperor said, turning and walking away again, walking into the thick fog, leaving the stunned Mortarion behind.

"Sit down a minute," Morse said, leaning against the wall again. "I see you hunched over in the room. It's not good for your waist."

"That's enough, wizard." Mortarion said coldly, with a hint of contempt in his tone. He coughed twice and walked out of the room, silent.

Morse followed him out of the room and looked up at him. Each Primarch may have differed in height, but they were all taller than Morse.

"Ten minutes ago, the Emperor and I said the same word," Mors said, laughing. "'Enough,' you both said. And I just advised you to sit down and rest."

Mortarion fell silent again. This habit of accumulating anger in silence reminds Morse of the young Perturabo forty years ago.

The difference between the two is that Perturabo cut his neck out of anger on the first night, expressing his anger at everything. And Mortarion allowed the silent fire to turn into putrid poison, eating away at his own mind.

"What are you thinking?" Morse asked calmly. "Wondering why you would reject a path that would free your people more quickly? At least that's what I'm thinking."

I couldn't risk handing Barbarus over to another tyrant. Mortarion said in his mind.

"Why does he need me? What does he want to use me for?"

"On the one hand, liberating the entire galaxy requires enough help. He will be alone and unable to support himself." Morse said, "On the other hand..."

He suddenly stopped talking, glanced at Mortarion, and snorted dissatisfiedly.

"What is it?"

"The respected emperor has not spoken, how can I cross his lips?"

"Tell me!" Mortarion roared, slamming his fist against the wall, finally destroying the entire crumbling house.

The smoke dispersed, and Morse shook his hair, letting the gravel fall from his hair.

"Because the Emperor is a fool who lost a lot of sons, and you are a son of his blood." Morse's black robe corners fluttered in the wind, and the annoyance on his face did not seem to be fake, "Damn it. ! Who else would create twenty children at once?

Suddenly, a terrifying wind surged through Mortarion's mind. He took a step back in confusion, and something new was touching the surface of his heart from the inside out.

"He didn't say..."

He can use this bloodline to control me, use me, bind me with the shackles and ties of family affection, order me, use the power of witchcraft to coerce me, and lock me.

But he didn't.

"Because he cannot promise you the affection a father should have for his son, Mortarion," Morse said, his expression calming.

"First of all, he is the leader of the Great Crusade, the Emperor of the Galaxy. He is the master of all armies, the father of all people, the eternal king of all ages. And in the end, he is the father of a son ”

"After a long time, you may find that today you have misunderstood him, overestimated him, mistakenly thought that he was worthy of sympathy or too glorious. You may feel angry and silent in regret. But at the same time, you will also find , there are no lies here today.”

A complex torrent surged in Mortarion's chest.

"How could he have a subordinate like you?" the Primarch whispered gloomily.

"You have to ask him, the Emperor's child." Morse nodded, "Look, he is here."

The emperor's golden armor emerged in the thick fog, and the power gathered on this spiritual projection was reduced by another level, reflecting his spiritual energy consumption. His golden light further converged, changing from a soft halo to a certain degree of dimness.

He dropped another body of the sorcerous overlord at Mortarion's feet. Likewise, the Emperor incapacitated his prey but preserved his life.

"A gift," the Emperor said. "Not a Na'klay. Do you want more?"

Mortarion pursed his lips, the edge of the scythe flashed, and he completed the execution of another overlord.

Without saying a word, he turned and walked away, his pale figure disappearing into the thick fog of dusk, leaving behind him the dead village, the corpse of the witchcraft overlord and the two extraterrestrial visitors.