"So, do you believe this order?" Francis asked.
Leman Russ closed his eyes in pain. "When it comes to orders, belief has nothing to do with it. We must carry them out without question!"
"I'm sorry, Magnus!"
Magnus immediately prepared for battle and growled, "I can't accept this order! They're all my sons!"
"Give it up, Magnus."
"With this many Custodians and Sisters of Silence here, you don't stand a chance!"
Leman Russ drew the Spear of Russ. He had to stop Magnus, because he knew none of the others could!
Just as the tension reached a breaking point, Francis stepped forward.
"Why don't we have a meal before we fight?"
Leman Russ: "...!"
Magnus: "..."
The scene shifted to the ship's dining hall.
Two roasted Howl-Oxen sat before Leman Russ, like a pair of mountains made of meat. He tore into the beef with gusto, then offered Magnus a leg.
"I don't eat beef," Magnus said, refusing.
The atmosphere grew awkward, but fortunately Francis was there. Before him sat a steak from a cow grain-fed for two hundred years, and beside it was a new drink of his own invention.
"I had the Soul Drinkers bring over all the Thousand Sons. They should be here soon."
At that, Leman Russ set down the meat in his hand. His expression darkened. "Francis, you're not going to disobey the Emperor's orders too, are you?"
"Of course not! I already told you on the way here: Horus used the Warmaster's authority to alter the order." Francis felt a headache coming on. On this point, Leman Russ was like a hard, foul-smelling rock.
And worse, he was stubborn when he shouldn't be, and pliable when he should stand firm!
"Hmph! We Space Wolves know only that we must complete the mission given to us by the Emperor!" Leman Russ bit down hard on a piece of beef tendon.
"Even an order from the Emperor isn't necessarily right!" Francis retorted.
"Francis, watch what you say! How can you say something so heretical?" The Custodian beside them immediately bristled and rebuked him.
"Oh? And who might you be, Mr. Custodian?" Francis found this amusing. The Custodians' arrogance really was impossible to hide.
"I am Trajan Valoris, captain of the Custodian Shield Company." Valoris raised his head proudly. In his heart, becoming a Custodian was the greatest honor.
And that honor came from the Emperor, so, by extension, Francis had just accused him of being capable of making mistakes.
"You're so young and already a captain. Impressive, impressive." Francis applauded.
Then Francis changed tack. "The ancients said, 'Who among us is without fault?' It means that anyone who's human will make mistakes."
"Unless he's a god!"
"So you're saying the Emperor isn't human—he's a god!"
At that, Leman Russ and Valoris both felt their hearts skip a beat!
Because in their hearts, the Emperor was a god.
Then Francis continued. "So you're going to defy the Imperial Truth laid down by the Emperor! You're going to betray the Emperor—you're going to become heretics!"
In an instant,
Leman Russ and Valoris went deathly pale. They muttered, "I'm going to betray the Emperor? How could that be? But I..."
Magnus gazed at Francis in admiration. A seed of admiration had quietly taken root in his heart.
Just as the two men fell into self-doubt, the Astartes of the Thousand Sons arrived, looking puzzled. They had no idea why they'd been summoned.
"Think about it. If the Emperor wanted to wipe out the Thousand Sons, what would his reason be?"
At Francis's words, the Thousand Sons immediately looked at Magnus nervously. Magnus didn't know how to respond either, so they just stared wide-eyed at one another.
"Because the Thousand Sons' Flesh Change is too severe, right? That's why the Emperor would do this!"
The two men, already drawn into Francis's argument, nodded instinctively. Francis gave a sly grin. "Heh. Then it's easy to judge whether the Emperor was right or wrong."
"Thousand Sons, take off your armor! All of it!"
The Thousand Sons were bewildered: "???"
"Take it off! Take it off!"
"What are you waiting for? He told you to take it off, so take it off!"
Magnus shouted anxiously. Somehow, he felt this was the right thing to do.
At last,
Every member of the Thousand Sons stripped naked in the dining hall and stood there, neat as could be.
"Look up! Do these Astartes show any signs of the Flesh Change? Aren't they the finest warriors in the Imperium?"
As he spoke, Francis glanced at the Soul Drinkers, who were watching from the side, and sent them a message with his eyes: You're even better Imperial warriors.
The Soul Drinkers saw this and stood a little straighter, pleased as could be.
When Leman Russ and Valoris looked at the assembled warriors, they saw that apart from some deep scars, their bodies were perfectly normal. There wasn't the slightest sign of mutation.
"So if this is the Emperor's order, then the Emperor was wrong?" the two men murmured, their confusion deepening.
"Besides, wasn't the loss of the Primarchs a mistake?"
Francis's words were like a sharp sword, lodged in their guts. The pain left them speechless.
"And was choosing Horus as Warmaster necessarily the right decision? He ended up betraying the Emperor, didn't he?"
"If the Emperor had chosen you, Leman Russ, as Warmaster, none of this would have happened!"
At that, Leman Russ's mind cleared at once. He thought it over, then said, "Francis, you make a good point. We should take them back and find out what's going on."
Magnus let out a breath of relief, and the Astartes of the Thousand Sons relaxed as well.
Valoris, still confused, tried to say something.
Francis cut him off. "The Emperor sent you to protect me. That is your only mission."
"But you're fine, aren't you?" Valoris asked, baffled.
"Bullshit! I'm not fine at all. My stomach hurts."
"Good heavens, my stomach hurts, my legs hurt, my feet hurt—everything hurts."
Francis quickly winked at Magnus. Magnus, catching on a little late, immediately shouted,
"Apothecaries! Medics! Hurry! The Primarch's in critical condition!"
Amplified by psychic power, his voice instantly echoed throughout the battleship.
In the blink of an eye, the supposedly ailing Francis was carried out by a crowd of people. Even the Custodians and Sisters of Silence followed.
After all, their mission was to protect Francis.
As for wiping out the Thousand Sons? Who cared about that!
Once Leman Russ had figured everything out, he brought out the Ork Fart Wine Francis had brewed for him.
Alone in the dining hall, he enjoyed a feast of delicious food.
When they reached the medical ward, they tried every method they could think of, but couldn't figure out what was wrong with Francis.
The group milled around like headless flies.
Francis pretended to be weak and spoke slowly. "It's an old ailment. In the past, it only eased when I used a treatment method from that planet."
"Tell us what it is, Primarch. We'll find the materials and prepare it right away!" Valoris said anxiously.
If anything happened to Francis, he'd have failed the Emperor's expectations and brought shame upon the Custodians.
"All right. I need a basin of hot water and a towel. We'll also need to pick a few people with especially smooth hands," Francis said slowly.
"That's all? It doesn't even require any special materials." Valoris didn't understand.
"It's an ancient ritual. I'll teach them how to do it myself when the time comes. No one else can come in and disturb us, or the consequences will be severe."
Francis spoke in such mysterious terms that Valoris didn't dare ask too many questions. It must be some kind of extremely ancient technique.
Valoris hurried off to find people who met the requirements.
Once he was gone, Francis sat up.
"I've been busy all this way. It's about time I enjoyed myself!"
Before you continue