"I don't want to. Right now, I just want to be alone. The Great Crusade, the Imperium—screw all of it." Angron furiously tore at the flowers.
"Then why did you agree to rebel before? Was it just because you hated the Emperor?" Francis was confused. This didn't seem to fit the Angron he knew.
"Ah! Back then, all I wanted was to kill. It didn't matter who, as long as there was someone to kill." Angron turned to look at him, seemingly unable to understand why Francis was asking.
"If you'd been there, you could've told me to kill Horus, and I wouldn't have minded."
Yikes... I'd jumped the gun.
Who could've expected things to turn out like this? This was going to be a problem.
"So, what do you want to do now?" Francis asked, puzzled.
"Give up. Just think of me as a lump of rotten mud. I'll rot away right here." With that, Angron lay down on the ground, unwilling to do anything.
Francis: "..."
This wasn't right!
Francis hurried over and yanked out the metal rod.
"Give it back!"
"Give it back!"
Angron, who'd been giving up just a moment ago, immediately lunged at him in a fury. They grappled, tumbling over several times, until Angron snatched the little rod back from Francis.
Then he quickly shoved it back in. Angron even shuddered for a moment as it went in.
"Phew... That's better. That's better."
He slumped to the ground, letting Francis kick him several times without retaliating.
Like a drunk.
Clearly, whatever emotion the Nails had triggered this time felt incredible!
"Angron, have you completely submitted to the Butcher's Nails now?" Francis took a deep breath and gazed at him solemnly.
Angron didn't answer. He just looked at him in silence.
Only after Francis turned to leave did Angron slowly speak. "I'll go with you. I just haven't felt like this in years."
"All right. If you want to bring your adoptive father back to life, you can come to me."
"He and I both believe in you."
At that, Angron's fingers visibly trembled.
Francis understood now, too. The Nails in Angron's head had to be removed completely. Otherwise, it'd be disastrous if Angron fell into something else instead of violence.
However, not long after Francis left, someone else arrived.
It was Kharn of the World Eaters, come to report on the situation. Seeing the Primarch fallen like this, he felt a pang of pain in his heart. It seemed as if their Primarch had betrayed them.
But he didn't go over or say anything. Instead, he turned and left on his own, muttering as he went.
"You hate the Butcher's Nails yourself, so why make us suffer through this, too?!"
"And now you've escaped the Butcher's Nails, but what are we supposed to do?!"
Then the pain inflicted by the Butcher's Nails assaulted Kharn again, and an unfamiliar emotion lingered in his heart.
He wasn't the only one. The other World Eaters felt just as miserable when they saw this. The already-fractured World Eaters Legion seemed to be on the verge of breaking apart.
They couldn't help envying the Soul Drinkers. These past few days, they'd often seen the Soul Drinkers horsing around with their Primarch, their faces always bright with happiness.
Of course, Francis was the happiest of all.
After all, he'd never eaten an Enslaver before—one of those creatures that existed between the material world and the Warp.
When he opened the jar, he found only a few severed tentacles inside. They were pale with a pinkish tinge, looking just like octopus tentacles pickled in vinegar.
He chewed them gently, but they tasted nothing like he'd expected. They weren't sour at all. Instead, they were numbingly spicy, like spicy grilled squid.
Soon, a stream of genetic information came from the tentacles.
"Enslaver"
"Likes to infest unprotected Psykers and likes to eat daemons"
"Born in the Warp"
"Ability: Control"
Francis finally couldn't keep the corners of his mouth from rising. Everyone knew that the fewer words an ability had, the stronger it was.
"Heh heh..."
Three days later, they set off for the planet of Istvaan III as scheduled.
Aboard the Hrafnkel.
Francis stood on the podium, with the Soul Drinkers gathered below. There were only a few thousand of them, far fewer than in the other Legions.
But what they lacked in numbers, they made up for in quality. They stood there, full of fighting spirit, waiting for Francis to speak.
"Children! Listen closely to what I'm about to say."
"What happens next concerns the safety of every one of us. It's an honor to die for the Imperium, but we can create more value by staying alive."
"When the time comes, the Imperium will be proud of you! Understood?"
Francis's rousing voice rang throughout the briefing room, and the Soul Drinkers shouted back just as loudly.
"For the Emperor!"
"For the Primarch!"
"..."
Francis pressed both hands down, and the crowd gradually fell silent.
"Since we're going to pose as rebels this time, don't forget our slogan!"
"Don't shout 'For the Emperor,' and don't shout 'For the Imperium.'"
The Soul Drinkers looked confused. "Then what should we say?"
Seeing their bewildered faces, Francis realized they were far too innocent. He'd have to train them properly.
"When the time comes, you should shout... 'Death to the False Emperor! Humanity belongs to Chaos!'"
"Come on, let's practice it a few times."
"Death to the False Emperor! Humanity belongs to Chaos!"
The Soul Drinkers' scalps tingled at the words, but the Primarch had said they were only pretending.
They prayed to the Emperor in their hearts, then gritted their teeth and shouted at the top of their lungs.
"Death to the False Emperor! Humanity belongs to Chaos!"
"Death to the False Emperor! Humanity belongs to Chaos!"
"..."
The combined shouts of thousands of people rang out so loudly that everyone aboard the Hrafnkel could hear them.
Countless Space Wolves warriors came running over with chainswords in hand, but Leman Russ stopped them before they reached the others' door.
"Primarch! Listen to that! They're actually planning to attack the Emperor! They're rebels!"
"That's right! Primarch, have you betrayed the Emperor, too?"
"Say something! The honor of the Imperium won't let you do this! Primarch, have you been corrupted, too?!"
The Space Wolves stared at Leman Russ in disbelief, as if they didn't recognize him at all. They kept advancing, their chainswords already roaring.
Leman Russ rubbed his face in anguish. "Sigh... They haven't turned traitor. They're just going undercover among the rebels."
"As for all that 'False Emperor' and 'Chaos' stuff he shouted, it has nothing to do with the Imperium."
"The Emperor is the Emperor, and the False Emperor is the False Emperor. They're not the same person."
Leman Russ forced himself to finish, then slumped in his seat like a deflated balloon.
He'd never heard such twisted logic. And yet Francis had somehow managed to come up with it.
The Emperor is the Emperor?
The False Emperor is the False Emperor?
Confusion flickered in the Space Wolves' eyes. They stood there for a long while, then looked at Leman Russ and said,
"So they haven't rebelled! They're going undercover among the rebels. Then why don't we just tell the Emperor directly?"
Hearing the familiar question, Leman Russ took a deep breath and repeated the explanation Francis had given him earlier.
For some reason, even the Warp itself pulsed with unusual energy.
Time was like an arrow shot from a bow. Before you could react, it had already struck the hook.
Five days later...
Near Istvaan III.
Francis, Angron, Leman, and their respective Legions arrived aboard the Vengeful Spirit.
"Oh, my dear Francis. I am the Warmaster of the Imperium, Horus Lupercal, former commander of the Lunar Wolves and current commander of the Sons of Horus."
"It's been far too long."
Horus warmly clasped Francis's hand, then quickly greeted Leman Russ.
Francis played along, though he couldn't remember a thing.
"Now that I've delivered them, I have to continue carrying out Father's orders. I won't be going inside."
Leman Russ waved and quickly returned to the Hrafnkel with the Space Wolves.
Click—
As the connecting passage between the two ships sealed shut, the Hrafnkel swiftly disappeared from sight.
They seemed to be in such a hurry that even the Space Wolves sensed something was wrong.
"Enter the Warp immediately. Wait for the Navigator's signal, then head to the dark side of Istvaan III. Take out all the gas masks and protective gear we've prepared."
"And clear out some space quickly. We'll have a lot of people aboard soon."
As Leman Russ's orders went out one after another, the Space Wolves carried them out at once, without the slightest hesitation.
"Yes!"
Leman Russ truly hoped Francis had been lying. He gripped the Dionysian Spear, his palm growing slick with sweat.
Meanwhile, aboard the Vengeful Spirit.
Horus and Francis went alone to a dimly lit room.
Before you continue