23: The Show Begins (6)

Magnus could feel the vibrations in the air and the gazes of the people. He could hear the heated discussions coming from all directions without using his psychic powers; everyone in the amphitheater was curious about what he was about to do.

That's good, actually, it's very good.

A smile crept across the Crimson King's lips as he focused his gaze on the pale white gem on the instrument's surface. It shimmered and seemed to be constantly changing. Its dazzling, multicolored Radiance was beautiful from every angle.

Now is the time, he thought. The Old Night was indeed a terrible disaster, but the exact cause remains unclear, with no definitive evidence to date.

So, on what grounds do people blame the Psyker?

But that doesn't matter. All the controversy over the years will come to an end today. Everyone will see the stability of psionic energy—once he activates the device, opposition like Mortarion's will become a thing of the past, or even a joke.

He chuckled, raised his right hand, and used a psionic signal to guide a Servitor to put the misconnected cables and conduits back in their correct positions. At the same time, footsteps sounded behind him.

He didn't need to turn around to know who it was.

"Ahzek, what is it?" Magnus asked as gently as possible.

He didn't want his current excitement to be noticed by his offspring; Ahzek Ahriman was a clever man, sometimes even too clever.

"I just wanted to ask," Ahzek Ahriman began hesitantly, his voice filled with doubt.

This emotion caused Magnus's smile to vanish instantly. He turned away and interrupted the Chief Librarian before he could even finish speaking.

"I remember we've already talked about this, Ahzek," Magnus said, his facial muscles straining with an obvious fake smile.

"Or do you think I can't complete this experiment? We've already done preliminary tests on many volunteers, and they had no problems, right?"

"But they all went mad after ending their observations of the Great Ocean, my lord."

"That's right, but that was after they briefly mastered psychic power—and this madness can be reversed; didn't Subject 18 and Subject 27 successfully regain their sanity?"

"But this is clearly a low-probability event, Primarch." Under Magnus's almost dark gaze, Ahzek Ahriman spoke with great difficulty, and for the last time.

"It took us a year to arrive in Nikaea, and your experiment has only progressed by that same year. Only two out of 131 volunteers recovered from their madness; that's simply not a convincing number."

"Their recovery cannot even be called a success; it's merely a low-probability event. I implore you to reconsider, Primarch. It's not too late."

"What are you thinking, Ahzek?" Magnus looked at him with disappointment, a gaze that sent a pang of helpless sting through the Chief Librarian. That was just how Magnus was; he didn't like hearing any dissenting opinions.

"Didn't you hear what people were saying about us? They've started comparing us to primitive, barbaric wizards, which is undoubtedly slander and a crime we shouldn't have to bear."

The Crimson King stepped closer, looked at his offspring, and whispered with deep affection.

"Moreover, psychic energy will inevitably become another power mastered by humanity in the future; this is almost a foreseeable future. It will definitely come, and if no one is there to push it forward, then I will do it myself."

He resolutely waved his right hand, his one eye still fixed on Ahzek Ahriman.

"Listen, my son. I understand your doubts and demands, but we have no time to wait any longer. This is the moment of truth, and the truth has always been held by a minority."

"Why do you think there are so few wise men among humanity? Because most wise men have been murdered by those so-called ordinary people who are as stupid as pigs and dogs! I will not let that happen. Even if I have to bear the infamy for it, I will make everyone see their mistakes."

Ahzek Ahriman finally had nothing to say, not only because he, as Astartes, could not defy the nature of the Primarch, but also because a corner of his heart was being touched by Magnus's eloquence.

Yes, that's exactly what he said. For a long time, the Librarius and the existence of Psyker have been criticized. People can't see the superiority of psionicism, and even belittle and insult it.

What's even more ridiculous is that whenever they talk about it, the victories once achieved by the Psyker suddenly vanish and are attributed to others, such as some Imperialis Militia. Do they even deserve such honor?

These accusations have never been a secret; the Thousand Sons have heard them, but they ignore them, remaining indifferent. As long as the Emperor hasn't voiced his opposition, it means they are on the right path. But this doesn't mean they will remain silent forever, unmoved by any words.

"Now, do you understand, Ahzek?" Magnus looked at him, his eyes filled with hope.

"I understand, Primarch," Ahzek Ahriman replied solemnly.

"Very good." Magnus smiled, turned around, and walked to the vicinity of the instrument.

The Servitor lowered their heads, and the simple programming in their minds began to be replaced by another force.

It was born from Magnus's thoughts and, guided by him, covered the chip in the brain of the original Servitor. Under the influence of psionic energy, a blue Radiance shone in the eyes of the twelve Servitor.

The next second, amidst the sudden roar that erupted in the theater, the twelve Servitor instantly transformed into tangible psionic flashes—their bodies were melted in an instant. The entire process lasted less than a second, yet it was still clearly visible to many people.

Flesh and machine combined into a pale blue stream of energy, which eventually converged in Magnus's hand, forming a floating ball of light.

Countless doubts, objections, and even curses surged toward Magnus in an instant, but he stood there without the slightest worry, even with a smile on his face.

Yes, that's it. He smiled and looked up at the golden platform. "I suppose you faced the whole world in the same way back then, Father?"

On the Throne, the Emperor looked down at him expressionlessly.

"I know you all have doubts about this," he said calmly. "You might think this is a human sacrifice, but it isn't. The Servitor aren't human; in fact, they've been dead for a long time."

"In life, they were death row inmates or deformed clones; now they are flesh-and-machine hybrids driven by chip programs. By no means can they be considered human."

Inside the Primarch's box, Leman Russ Russ slowly shook his head. The Fenrisian's voice had never sounded so deep, "He absolutely did something like that with living people, believe me."

Magnus raised his right hand, walked to the instrument, and poured the ball of energy into the pale white gem.

A flash of blue light, without any warning, and then a dazzling Radiance burst forth. Starting from the entire instrument, it almost completely engulfed the entire venue.

At the same time, Malcador on the golden platform snorted coldly, waving his scepter to firmly bind the light within the instrument. Magnus looked up at him with slight surprise.

"This is just a normal experimental phenomenon, Sigillites; it happens every time the instrument is activated."

"Every time?" Malcador shook his head. "Keep going, Magnus, let's see the results."

His words carried no hint of coldness, yet Magnus felt a very slight unease. To confirm this, he looked into Malcador's eyes, and in that instant when their gazes met, he saw a sense of opposition in Malcador's gaze.

Everyone knows that Malcador is the Emperor's other hand, and the attitude of the Sigillites can, to some extent, represent the Emperor.

Does this mean the Emperor disapproved of his actions?

The Crimson King looked at the Master of Mankind again, whose expression remained calm. Thus, the doubt in his heart sank rapidly, like floating weeds skimming the water's surface, and vanished.

The Emperor did not object. He thought, "This means I am not wrong."

"Now, I need a volunteer!" He raised his arms, stepped off the equipment, and walked along the edge of the amphitheater like a teacher giving a lesson.

The officials and nobles were inevitably drawn to the approaching Primarch, while others scoffed at his behavior. Mortarion crossed his arms, leaned against a pillar in the box, and gave a cold, mocking laugh.

He didn't say anything, but everyone could hear his disdain in his laughter.

"Now, what he's doing has absolutely nothing to do with rigorous experiments," Roboute Guilliman sighed. "He looks more like a street performer showing off his sword-swallowing skills."

"And the sword is real. He will pierce his own intestines, and the sword will eventually emerge from his stomach," Angron continued.

The gladiator's face was slowly twitching, his hands clasped together, his arm muscles bulging, and the veins in his palms standing out. The mere activation of the device had already made the Butcher's Nails active.

Meanwhile, in the arena, the Crimson King was completely unaware of all this. He was still raising his arms and shouting, hoping to find a volunteer.

He delivered a passionate speech, hoping that people would spontaneously participate in this experiment and become a significant part of future history books.

Unfortunately, so far, no one has been swayed by him. Everyone has seen how Magnus treated those twelve Servitor, and no one wants to be the next.

Therefore, despite the Crimson King's repeated assurances that the test subjects would not be in any danger, no one was willing to leave their seats or boxes.

The atmosphere and scene began to become increasingly awkward, and Magnus's smile faded. Just then, a man sitting on the sidelines stepped forward. He wore gold-rimmed glasses and had a heavy black phonograph camera hanging around his neck.

"My name is Bellros von Sharp, one of the Remembrancers of the Eighth Legion, sir." He stood up, bowed politely, and said, "I am willing to volunteer to assist you in this experiment."

"Thank you!" Magnus approached him, beaming with delight. "Your name is—ah, yes, Mr. Bellros von Sharp. Thank you! You won't regret it!"

"I hope so." Bellros, his smile undiminished, removed his gold-rimmed glasses and put them back in his jacket pocket. Following Magnus's directions, he entered the theater, went to the instrument, and placed his hands on it.

On his Throne, the Emperor finally shifted his posture. Malcador, standing beside him, sighed, "It's too late for regrets now, Your Majesty."

"I have never regretted letting him go," The Emperor replied, seemingly unrelated to the question.

"You know that's not what I meant." Malcador gripped his scepter, his psionic energy already poised to erupt. "Whatever that thing is, the chances of Bellros escaping unscathed are extremely low."

The Emperor did not answer that question.

In the center of the arena, Magnus placed his hands on the instrument. He looked at Bellros for a few seconds before remembering that he should have done a little research beforehand. Fortunately, it didn't matter; it was just as good to do it now.

The Crimson King's face once again wore that fake smile. He bowed his head elegantly and politely, asking in a seemingly humble manner, "So, Mr. Bellros, have you ever had contact with Psyker before?"

"Oh, I've seen quite a few." Bellros nodded. "I know your magic tricks, like lightning and heavenly fire; I've seen them all."

Magnus frowned. "But you said you're from the Eighth Legion, and their Chief Librarian is Fer Zalost. He shouldn't know how to use these spells."

"I am a Remembrancers, sir. Therefore, I have seen many people," said Bellros, a far more hypocritical smile than Magnus's, which the latter did not even notice.

"Okay, okay." Magnus nodded, glossing over the question perfunctorily. He should have been more careful; that's what he had done before.

Those 131 volunteers were all carefully selected. Finding ordinary people without psychic abilities among the Thousand Sons was no easy task; even the Remembrancers were required to have psychic talent.

This is enough to prove how much effort Magnus had put into this experiment, but unfortunately, the Crimson King was unaware of this. Only the simplest thought remained in his mind.

Prove yourself.

He has endured criticism for far too long; he will not tolerate it any longer.

"Then, Mr. Bellros, please close your eyes and remain calm," Magnus said gently. "I will guide you, okay? You just need to completely lower your consciousness, like when you are dreaming or asleep."

"I haven't dreamt in many years, sir," Bellros said, closing his eyes. "But I'll try."

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Additional update today.