The Original Appearance

Fulgrim won the wager in the end.

That outcome might have left many people refusing to believe it, even doubting their own eyes. But the Mage who had jumped out of the Void could indeed thump his chest and swear it was true.

Fulgrim—the Phoenix from Chemos—had beaten Jaghatai Khan and Leman Russ in a drinking contest.

Of course, judging by appearances, he did not look much like a winner either.

Fulgrim's originally smooth long hair was now a disheveled mess, his cheeks flushed with an abnormal red, and even his usually spotless robes were covered in traces of alcohol—but he was still the one left sitting at the end.

Even Guilliman had collapsed completely a few minutes ago.

The Regent lay sprawled on the floor, his forehead having made intimate contact with it, a wine cup still in his hand when he went down, as if he could not bear to part with it.

This was the scene the Mage saw after returning.

"Ah, you're back."

Fulgrim inclined his head to him gracefully while raising the cup in his hand and taking a small sip. Smiling, he asked, "Is your grasp of timing always so precise?"

"To be honest, I was indeed hoping you'd already finished the banquet, but I wasn't expecting this result."

With a strange look on his face, He Shenyan lifted his leg and stepped over the Archangel lying on the ground with no dignity to speak of, casually straightening those radiant wings for him as he passed. "You all look a little unbecoming of Primarchs."

Whether it was an illusion or not, Fulgrim was clearly far more talkative drunk than he was when sober.

The Phoenix smiled faintly again. "The Empire's historians and biographers all do everything they can to shape our father and us