Nimrod's Heart Filled with Fear, He Increased the Intensity for the Old Man in Yellow

As the celebrations on Terra for the return of the eighteenth Primarch drew to a close, Nimrod's psychic projection crossed the void and arrived in the golden palace.

Horus Lupercal, acting as the good elder brother, introduced him with the same broad smile as always.

"Nimrod, I imagine you already know the news that another brother has returned. He is Konrad Curze of Nostramo."

"Curze..."

Following his words, Nimrod looked toward the end of his own side, at the only Primarch attending in the flesh.

His long, slender arms were folded before him like the closed wings of a bat, and his pale skin made his fingers seem even longer.

His black nails tapped rapidly and sharply against his chest, as if with manic restlessness.

Curze leaned forward, revealing his long neck.

Compared with the other Primarchs, his gaunt shoulders hunched up on either side of his head.

He was like a vulture with its wings drawn in, staring fixedly at a corpse. His gaze swept over the Primarchs before finally landing on Nimrod.

"Nimrod. The name I hear most often on Terra." Curze's voice scraped like a blade.

As Horus's smile turned solemn, Curze scratched at his ear like a dog.

"The Hive City residents praise him as 'the conqueror of xenos, the eternal victor over the enemies of mankind.'"

"The nobles only dare whisper in the dark, that is, if they do not wish to end up like those dead not long ago."

"I must say, I like the name they have for you, Blood King."

Amid Curze's neurotic laughter, Vulkan's brows drew tight.

Leman Russ's ice-blue eyes stared fixedly at Nimrod, motionless.

Roboute Guilliman looked at Nimrod, pondering why he had not adopted gentler political measures and had instead resorted directly to slaughter.

Fulgrim, his silver hair