The Show Begins (7)

As he said, Bellros von Sharp hadn't dreamed in many years. The last time he dreamed was when Terra's last church was destroyed. That night, he had a good dream, a dream of what Terra looked like long ago.

At that time, war had not yet broken out. Mountains, grasslands, waterfalls, and oceans. Even the sky was a clear blue. When he woke up the next day, Bellros was certain that the dream was not a coincidence.

He had never seen those things before; the Terra he knew had absolutely nothing to do with them.

The Terra he knew was a place where the sky was gray, and occasionally turned completely black. There were no oceans, and the small lakes were sour and poisonous. They were undrinkable without filtration.

The mountains and grasslands only exist in legends; at least the places they traversed were barren, destroyed by cannons or something even more terrifying.

It is impossible for a person to dream of things they have never seen before.

Many years later, Bellros confirmed his guess: the dream was indeed not a coincidence, but rather something deliberately orchestrated.

He loved that dream and had always treasured it in a corner of his memory. Now, he was about to have his second dream—would it be a nightmare? Or a good one?

The Remembrancers, of course, had no answer to this.

"Keep calm, Mr. Bellros," Magnus's voice came, sounding not like it was coming directly to him, but from an extremely distant, ethereal place.

Bellros remained calm as instructed, and after a few seconds, a feeling of floating that should not be perceived by a normal person welled up from the bottom of his heart.

The time required for "perception" was lengthened, Bellros could clearly see that his grasp of time was becoming chaotic. At the same time, all external sounds disappeared, leaving only Magnus's voice echoing in his ears.

But the sound also carried a sense of floating, extremely unreal, as if he had entered a world made of bubbles.

"Very good, you have great talent, Mr. Bellros. Didn't the Eighth Legion's Librarian even consider training you?"

Training Psyker privately is against the law, Bellros thought.

"Oh, the law—" Magnus laughed, his laughter sounding distant and noisy. "--It's nothing, talent should be used wisely. Besides, who can use the law to restrain the Midnight Blade?"

"Let's get down to business quickly, Lord Magnus, "Bellros thought.

He decided to skip the topic; he didn't want to continue talking to Magnus about the Eighth Legion. The latter's attitude made him somewhat uncomfortable, and besides, this wasn't a suitable place for conversation.

Perhaps he would be happy to interview this Sorcerer King in another location. But not here.

Absolutely not.

"We're already on the ground," Magnus replied.

The next second, accompanied by a sharp, shattering sound like glass breaking, light returned to Bellros's previously pitch-black vision. A sharp pain shot through his mind, an agony no human being should have to endure.

No words could describe the impact it had on Bellros; for a moment, the Remembrancers almost thought he was being skinned alive—fortunately, the feeling was short-lived, and the light soon became a real thing.

Like a magnificent ocean with undulating waves, unfathomable in its depths, sometimes clear, but mostly flowing with ever-changing light. Bellros, gazing at all this, briefly lost the ability to speak.

Magnus's voice rang in his ears, carrying a strange, inexplicable pride.

"Isn't it beautiful?" the Crimson King asked softly.

Bellros turned his head—the instant the concept was born, he saw Magnus's face.

With one eye and red skin, he looks no different from the real world. But upon closer inspection, one will find that his body is not made up of flesh and blood, but of tiny, shimmering fluorescent lights.

"Welcome to the Great Ocean, Mr. Bellros." Magnus smiled and nodded at him, gracefully raising his right hand.

"Next, you will acquire a talent that only a select few possess. I should have explained to you just how lucky you are, and how this artificially created door came to be, but we don't have time now. So, come with me."

Luck? No, how am I supposed to keep up with you?

Bellros forced himself to ignore the arrogance in Magnus's words and asked the question. It was difficult to suppress a laugh, especially for someone like him who had been associated with the Eighth Legion for so long.

"Thinking is enough," Magnus said, his back to him.

He seemed oblivious to Bellros's true emotions; the shimmering Radiance that made up his body was swirling. The stars twinkled, and the Great Ocean in the distance continued to surge and ripple, yet remained calm.

Bellros stood there, his brows furrowed, suddenly feeling a sense of unease.

He didn't follow Magnus, but stood still and observed the ocean. The Crimson King, who should have walked not far away, walked up behind him in the next second, which was extremely illogical, but seemed normal to him.

"Yes." With a sigh, Magnus shook his head and spoke slowly.

"This place is indeed magnificent, breathtaking no matter how many times you see it. But the Great Ocean is still dangerous for you; many mortal Psyker lose consciousness while wandering within it. You can look directly at it now because I'm standing beside you. Hurry up, Mr. Bellros, we still have things to do."

But here.

"What?"

But something's not right here. Bellros looked up at Magnus. "Can't you see? There's something on the seabed, Lord Magnus, and it's watching us."

Magnus shook his head with a smile, a hint of stiffness in his expression. "Don't talk nonsense, Mr. Bellros. This time, I'm personally going to set foot on the Great Ocean with you. Come on, follow me."

Without a word, he reached out, trying to grasp Bellros's form— the Crimson King was determined, and he expended a massive amount of psionic energy to ensure Bellros's sanity was completely intact.

The combined psionic energy used in the previous 131 experiments probably wouldn't even equal the amount used this time, even if doubled. He was fully prepared and therefore absolutely could not allow any possibility of failure.

Bellros von Sharp will have plenty of opportunities to visit the Great Ocean again later, but not now.

"No," Bellros said, bewildered and dazed. "I saw something... wait, was that you?"

"You have no choice. Come with me, Bellros von Sharp!" Magnus snapped, simultaneously regretting that he had chosen an idiot as a volunteer.

His power located the Remembrancers in an instant, but alas, he was too late. The power belonging to the Crimson King brushed past the Remembrancers, who stepped into the deepest part of the Great Ocean right before his eyes.

The raging, turbulent waves were a familiar sight to him, but just because he could endure them did not mean that Bellros, a mere mortal, could.

Magnus roared and charged forward, his psychic power fueled by determination. He uttered the incantation in the simplest way possible, determined to seize the Remembrancers at once.

However, no matter how hard he tried, no matter how much he used his strength without regard for the cost, and no matter how deep he ventured into the Great Ocean, he could never find the soul of Bellros von Sharp again.

The Remembrancers seems to have vanished.

Magnus clenched his fists in unbearable rage and uttered another incantation. A strand of his mind began to wander in the Great Ocean, countless magnificent scenes flashing by, but none of them led him to the place he was looking for.

The thought of searching had a profound impact on this illusory world composed of pure concepts, as is the case with any thought, especially the thought of Magnus, the Crimson King.

Seconds later, his glimpse revealed a burning inferno, towering, pale mountains, dilapidated ruins, and five rough, massive stone pillars. He wanted to delve deeper, but the thought vanished completely in the next instant, never to be rekindled.

In that instant, Magnus froze, as if struck by lightning, completely stunned and helpless. His mind went blank; he couldn't find any solution whatsoever.

What to do? What should we do?

As his thoughts became chaotic, the Primarch's power began to surge. Amidst the shifting emotions, Magnus heard a voice, friendly and warm. "It's simple, friend, I have a way."

--

Inside the amphitheater, Bellros von Sharp's body collapsed limply to the ground. Magnus, however, remained standing beside the instruments, his hands resting on the gleaming gem.

The murmurs rose again, but this time, Ahzek Ahriman could no longer muster any rebuttal—he looked at the scene with a deathly pale face, knowing in his heart that the tide had turned and the Primarch's plan had ultimately failed.

But is this the end? Far from it.

As a chilling aura surged from behind him, Ahzek Ahriman heard a voice that sounded like a mocking laugh.

"Excuse me, Thousand Sons," the voice said softly and gently. "I have something to do, and you're blocking my way."

Trembling uncontrollably, Ahzek Ahriman slowly turned his head and saw Konrad Curze Curze holding a sharp blade.

"Grown ups."

"Shh." The smile on Curze's face vanished completely, leaving only the purest calm and coldness.

He silenced Ahzek Ahriman with a contemptuous attitude and manner, while Thousand Sons couldn't even muster the slightest thought of resistance. He could clearly sense the cold, pure rage emanating from the Lord of Blades, devoid of any impurities.

That's why he couldn't just step aside. He knew the person who had fallen was the Remembrancers of the Eighth Legion, and he also knew why the Lord of Blades and his blades were famous throughout the Imperium.

"I beg you," Ahzek Ahriman began again, but this time, he was also not given a chance to finish his sentence.

With a heavy thud, his breastplate shattered instantly, and he was sent flying backward, crashing heavily onto Magnus and his instruments. Shards flew everywhere, and the Crimson King let out a scream, jolting him awake from his meditation.

He saw the collapsed instruments, the unconscious Remembrancers, and the unaccounted-for heir—then he turned away.

"Konrad Curze Curze! Do you know what you've done?!"

"Hmm," Curze smiled, then shook his head. "Why don't you ask yourself first?"

A flash of light, followed by another crisp sound. People gasped in surprise as they discovered that another person had appeared in the arena. He was clad in golden armor and was even taller than the Primarch.

Magnus knelt at his feet, staring at him with a deathly pale face, as if he already knew something.

"You've finally decided to come down," the Night Lords said with a hint of sarcasm.

"We'll talk again later," the Emperor responded, then raised his hands, announcing the end of the meeting.

And the end of Magnus.

One more chapter.