Senior Nurgle's Move is Too Ruthless

In a corner of the Warp where no probe could ever detect, the Four Merchants were gathered as usual, looking for amusement.

Compared to the tedious, chaotic brawls of the Warp, the Four Gods preferred to cast their gazes upon the material realm, especially the galaxy—that chosen land. After all, the human race was simply too interesting.

"Nurgle, why are you so happy today?"

The question came from a cluster of purple fluorescence. As the youngest lady in charge of desire, Slaanesh saw the difference in Nurgle immediately; this gloomy, wretched fatty was actually radiating a positive emotion called excitement.

Nurgle, living up to his name as Nurgle, was very happy to resolve his junior's confusion. He chuckled and said:

"It is nothing, I have simply hosted a little friend who shares my hobbies. Although I did not appreciate him before, through this contact, I realized I was completely wrong. He is truly a good child!

For so many years, even Isha has never wanted to taste my thick soup from the bottom of her heart, but he is the first and only one to drink the entire pot dry. He even praised my soup for being delicious.

I will never forget that greedy, yearning look in his eyes. He even called me Uncle. He called me Uncle! Do you know what this represents?"

Lost in memory, Nurgle wore a chilling smile. Seven tears rolled from the corners of his eyes, turning into seven types of plagues the moment they appeared, rushing toward the eternal Garden of Joy to spread Nurgle's love to the world.

Obeying instinct, Slaanesh, representing debauchery, could not remain silent. As Nurgle expected, he picked up the conversation: "And what does that represent?"

As the words fell, an incomparable confidence surged from Nurgle, and he roared:

"It represents that I am not alone!"

"Huh?"

Dragging his junior over, Nurgle extended a finger and Pointed At the soup pot, signaling Slaanesh to observe carefully.

After circling it, Slaanesh indeed discovered something different. Compared to the past, there was an extra ring of teeth marks on the pot today.

Hiss... what the!

Even as the Lord of Desire, Slaanesh had to sigh in his heart. Whose subordinate was this, to be so perverted as to dare drink that fatty's thick soup?

It was true that Slaanesh pursued the ultimate indulgence of desire, but that did not mean he would gnaw on a pile of dung if he knew what it was. This wasn't even eating snow; it was licking the entire latrine clean.

But Nurgle, having found a soulmate, was not finished. He actually began to sob:

"To think that because time was short, I couldn't entertain him well and had to let my guest eat raw ingredients—I have failed his trust in me! That look of slight regret, I never want to see it again in my life, Kiya!

No, I must carefully cook another delicacy. As for The Cursed, he promised us an agreement; he must give me those two children."

Watching Nurgle, who was suddenly full of passion, throwing all sorts of bizarre materials into the pot and stirring it like a crazed Senior Nurgle, a look of pity appeared in the eyes of the youngest lady.

"It's over. Nurgle has started hallucinating imaginary friends."

In Slaanesh's perception, the truth could not be that way. Nurgle must have grabbed some unlucky soul from somewhere and forced them just as he forced Isha, only to be self-Moved into thinking the other party enjoyed it.

"I hope that poor soul really thinks the soup is delicious."

"Delicious my ass! I would rather starve to death right here than eat shit! Damn fatty, I'm going to blow you to pieces!

Wuwuwu, I don't want to live anymore. I'm already tainted, ugh~~"

Watching Mordred, who was wailing beneath him and alternating between self-abandonment and impotent rage, even the Emperor felt a trace of pity and did not provoke him further.

Instead, he chose to use Psychic Power to record the scene so he could mock him repeatedly in the future. Only The Khan stood to the side, unsure whether to stand or sit.

He stared blankly at the great sword on his Primarch's chest. That's right—even now, no one had remembered to remind Mordred that the Ashen Herald was still stuck in him.

Although Mordred had a full set of flaws—petty, twisted, and prone to EMO phases like he had menopause—he fortunately had a high capacity for psychological endurance and was very good at self-counseling.

Seeing that no one was paying attention to him, Mordred, having had his fill of impotent rage, slumped to the ground, realizing that his uncooperative stomach was hungry again.

"The Khan, go find me something to eat. I'm so hungry I could eat an Overlord Dragon."

Receiving the order, the Black Knights vanished again. Only the Emperor and Mordred remained in the Laboratory. Neither spoke first, and an inexplicable awkwardness spread through the space.

Perhaps because he was close to Mordred, the Emperor's hit-or-miss emotional intelligence suddenly took the high ground, urgently prompting him to do something.

And the Emperor, living up to his status as the ultimate social recluse, opened with a bombshell.

"Well done. The problem with the Son of the Emperor is solved. They can participate in the Great Crusade now."

"What did you say? Now!"

Mordred's expression soured. He pulled the Ashen Herald from his chest and Slammed it onto the ground, pointing at the Emperor's nose as he cursed:

"You dog, couldn't you wait? Even waiting for them to recover to 30,000 would have been fine. I really don't know what you're thinking. Throwing them out like this, isn't it the same as before? Nothing has changed at all. You deserve to end up alone and crippled."

To Mordred, his feelings for Fulgrim were strange. After all, he knew the Phoenix would betray them in the official history, but the point was, the man hadn't betrayed them yet!

Seeing Mordred's intense reaction, the Emperor had his own grievances:

"How was I supposed to know what would happen in the future? You know it was 'before'—you don't really think I'm omniscient, do you?"

Now it was Mordred's turn to be stunned. The two stared at each other, both having Realized that some fundamental problems had emerged.

"Didn't you look through my memories?"

"I didn't see everything! I told you your memories are toxic. Heaven Knows what kind of ghosts are in your head. You don't really think I was fooling you, do you?

I only knew that half of my sons would betray me, but who they were or why, how would I know? Even if you said it, it would be useless. After all, you, this Outsider Wanderer, have already tangled the threads of fate. The more you say, the more things change; no one can say who will live or die.

Otherwise, why would I have you help me find the Primarchs? You promised to join me for a lifetime of the Great Crusade."

After saying this, the Emperor put on a strange, puppy-dog expression, his eyes sparkling as if Mordred were a heartless scoundrel, which made Mordred's Eyelids Twitched.

Without a moment's hesitation, Mordred leaped onto the Emperor, grabbing his hair and raining down blows while cursing, "It's all your fault, all your fault! My greatest cheat code is gone, you pit-digging fraud!"

The Emperor, pinned to the ground, had his own grievances: why should humanity be enslaved by xenos? Why should he be driven to ruin by the Four Merchants? If he didn't launch the Great Crusade now, how could he make humanity great again?

The more he thought about it, the more Angered the Emperor became. He stopped holding back and began punching and kicking his Rebellious son. Like two wild dogs, the pair began another endless brawl.

"You have the nerve to lecture me? Look at what you've turned Fulgrim into—he's wearing a dress now! And those Spartan Warriors, where did you even learn Biochemical Alchemy? Tell me!"

"Shut up! That was my world-shaking wisdom. Besides, your sons are going to be degenerate anyway, so why not let him get used to it? Who told you to spawn twenty brats? Are you a Sow?"

"Bullshit!" The Emperor Slammed a fist toward Mordred's eye socket, only to be ambushed by his Rebellious son, who kicked him squarely in the crotch.

"Neos, just admit it! Fulgrim takes after you. You're a crooked beam leading to a crooked house. I know exactly what you did in Rome!"

With that, driven by some inexplicable impulse, Mordred's flesh surged and churned. In a few short moments, he transformed into a brown-skinned noblewoman wearing a laurel wreath, adorned with golden jewelry manifested from his own flesh. His face wasn't Exactly the Same as the Emperor's, but it was at least a high-quality imitation.

Seeing his deepest Dark History laid bare so shamelessly, the Emperor was truly enraged.

Just as the two were about to tear each other to shreds, the door was pushed open from the outside.

Looking at his Second Brother and his father, Fulgrim, who had been eavesdropping for a while, felt his heart turn to ash, his former pride utterly extinguished:

"Stop fighting! I understand everything now. No wonder Second Brother was so good to me—it turns out he isn't my Second Brother at all. Father, tell me, is she the mother I've never met?"