"Sigh! I wonder how that bastard Yellow Weasel is doing. He deserves to die—he's been enjoying life with three wives and four concubines behind our backs."
In the Aurora's lounge, Hogg, Lorgar, and Sillago, who had reverted to his old patriarch form, lounged together, enjoying massages from Eldar maids as they chatted and joked. They were having a grand time.
"Holy Father, what exactly brings you here this time?"
Sillago glanced at Hogg, who was sprawled on a sofa beside him like a dead dog, and voiced his confusion. Over the past three days, Sillago's worldview had been turned upside down, perfectly illustrating one truth: admiration was the greatest distance of all. Once the halo shattered, his idol had fallen completely.
Even so, after much deliberation, Sillago still addressed Hogg as the Holy Father. Not for any other reason than that he had chosen his own idol.
Since the moment of his birth, Sillago had believed his Creator was someone else. The first image he saw after awakening had sent him on a pursuit lasting countless millennia, and by now, it had become an obsession.
The power of an idealized love was terrifying. Even when the person he had admired from afar appeared before him, they still couldn't compare to the figure in his heart. He couldn't believe his Creator was really this sorry sight.
But the truth was right in front of him, and Sillago had no choice but to believe it. He could only accept this damnable fact.
Sillago's question left Hogg feeling conflicted. The boy's genuine trust in him made Hogg unsure whether he should tell the truth, but in the end he decided to keep it to himself and bluff his way through:
"That's right. We didn't come here sightseeing. Nabbing that criminal is a minor