Interlude 81: The Chessboard Overturned

The Emperor was still busy when Malcador rushed in.

Deep within the Webway, mist lingered. The distinctive architectural style of the Eldar and the signs of decay left by time gave the place an eerie and ominous appearance. Had one not seen it with their own eyes, few would believe that the Master of Mankind stood here alone, carrying out his work.

Of course, he wasn't really alone; the Mechanicum was behind him. But they couldn't keep up with him on time, so they could only stay far behind, trying their best to improve the work he had already done, and doing it very reluctantly.

However, the result of this work did not look very good, and could not even be called perfect. Everything was just a temporary construction, with metal and dilapidated Eldar architecture mixed together. The surface was not only rough and uneven, but it had not even been polished.

One glance is enough to tell that these are just hastily constructed projects done to save time. They are crude and rough, like building blocks that would collapse at the slightest push.

In other words, this is a massive project led by the Master of Mankind, a race against time.

"There's a problem with the game's deduction." The Sigillites the seal spoke solemnly, leaning on his scepter. "The seventeen million, nine hundred and thirty thousandth deduction has yielded a completely new result, and I had to come to you."

"Wait a moment," The Emperor said, his voice echoing through the Webway, becoming like a sound echoing from time immemorial.

The language he and Malcador used in their conversation was not actually High Gothic, but another ancient language. In the days when many warlords still existed on Terra, this language was called "Secret," and only a few people knew how to pronounce and use it correctly.

In fact, some of its syllables cannot be produced by normal human vocal cords at all.

Malcador did as he was told, but he didn't just sit idle. He closed his eyes, and psionic light ignited beneath his closed eyelids.

A few minutes later, the Emperor finally finished his work. He left the wall that had been temporarily repaired and looked it over. After confirming that it was temporarily usable, he then woke up Malcador, who was communicating with Karyl.

It took the Sigillites some time to break the communication; what used to be easy had now become difficult. There was no way around it; Karyl Lohars' power was growing stronger day by day.

For the stars, they don't need to do anything; simply existing is enough to influence the world.

"What results did the 17,930,000th simulation produce?" The Emperor asked succinctly.

"The world has collapsed," Malcador said slowly. "The flames of Vengeance have burned everything, starting from Terra, spreading to the edge of the galaxy, and then beyond the galaxy, endlessly."

"Then what about its previous projection?"

The Sigillites remained silent for a few seconds, then gave a bitter smile. It was an expression hard to reconcile with his usual demeanor, but that was exactly what appeared on Malcador's face.

"As always, it always ends in Terra," he said. "The game just can't continue there, and lately, it's been changing. Pieces that should have been placed in certain positions aren't, and pieces that shouldn't have been played are."

With a sigh and a tap of the scepter to the ground, Malcador concluded.

"This repetitive game of chess is becoming increasingly chaotic and disorderly."

"Just like the world itself," The Emperor said, seemingly unsurprised. "That's how the world is; the chessboard reflects the real world, and such changes are perfectly normal."

"Could it be Him?" Malcador asked cautiously, unwilling to say more than his name, preferring to use a name to refer to him.

A gust of wind carrying dust swept through the Webway, passing over the old Eldar statues. This place once belonged to a race that ruled the galaxy, but now had declined to the point of almost disappearing. The Webway was one of the monuments to this collapsed Imperium.

"Possibly." The Emperor agreed with Malcador's guess, his eyes gleaming. "But at most, He can only be considered a catalyst; it is the world itself that is changing because of our actions, Malcador."

"I've said before that no one, nothing, can perfectly predict the future, not even Him. I believe He must be seeing some partial aspects, and is therefore fueling the flames."

The Sigillites remained silent for a long while, then a surge of anger suddenly welled up in his eyes. He spoke in a deep voice, "You mean, He doesn't care whether we win or not?"

The Emperor smiled.

"Don't be angry, He will always win." He put his hands behind his back and began to walk deeper into the Webway. "Because the concept of winning and losing belongs to Him; He can lose, and He can win; it's up to Him."

Malcador followed behind him, frowning, still looking angry. They began to walk, while the Emperor continued to speak.

"He doesn't care whether I can repair the Webway before disaster strikes, nor does He care whether my sons will all survive; after all, He is always winning."

"Karyl Lohars is about to crumble. All the hundreds of paths before him have vanished, leaving only one. Though I am with him, it is hardly a good one. He will twist his ankle, and so will I. We will fall and bleed."

"And you, Malcador, if we are forced to go to war, who else but you can lead this Imperium?"

The Emperor finally stopped, his expression turning sorrowful. He looked at his friend, his gaze unfocused, like the azure sky devoid of any life.

"You'll be very tired if things really turn out that way," he said, as if drawing conclusions from his own experience, or as if he had truly glimpsed the future.

"You'll be so exhausted you'll want to end your life, or just get away from it all. And you can't confide in anyone; nobody will understand you, not even Rogal Dorn."

"The fact that he's alive is already a favor to me," Malcador said, his face tense. "It's better than Alpharius not knowing what he's doing."

The Emperor smiled and shook his head, offering no comment on the statement.

The Sigillites has been complaining a lot in recent years, which sounds like he's full of resentment, but it's actually just a kind of joke he has. And that's the funny thing, only the Emperor and Karyl can understand that he's joking, while others will take it seriously.

They walked together for a while until they reached a certain point where it was dark and filled with unsettling whispers. If the Emperor were to leave or withdraw his power, this place would likely be plunged into complete darkness.

Malcador gazed around intently, his eyes already glowing with psychic energy.

"I am needed to maintain this place." The Emperor raised his hand, and a golden light shone from his palm. He waved his hand, pushing the Radiance a short distance away. The darkness was immediately dispelled, and the murmured whispers vanished.

"Humanity's current technological level is insufficient to replicate this material, and even the declining Eldar themselves cannot build any new Webway. They can repair and maintain them, but they cannot build them. In a sense, isn't this a glimpse of their race's impending doom?"

"Weren't they destined for destruction from the moment they were born?" Malcador retorted. "Are you asking a question you already know the answer to, or...?"

"I think I'm probably just being sentimental," The Emperor said noncommittally.

The Sigillites knew he was lying; he was asking a question he already knew the answer to. But why?

Malcador looked suspiciously at the only person he had sworn allegiance to, who calmly returned his gaze. The two began to communicate again in their old manner—the same social etiquette they had used when they first met. Back then, the Sigillites was the name of an organization, not a title unique to an individual.

In the Webway, the Master of Mankind and his loyal servant each wield a sharp knife, beginning to dig into each other's hearts. Even if blood is spilled, they will not stop.

"You're afraid," Malcador began bluntly. "You're worried that humanity's future will be plunged into darkness."

"And you fear the future after we're all gone," The Emperor replied indifferently. "At the same time, you worry that Karyl Lohars will become what happens in those worst-case scenarios, dragging Terra, humanity, and the galaxy into an endless spiral of Vengeance."

"Aren't you worried?" Malcador sneered, his eyes gleaming with a bright blue light that made him appear suddenly younger.

The aged and decaying body revealed its true form under the excessive psychic energy: a silver-haired young man in its Shadow angrily questioned the Emperor, his face full of rage.

"I'm not worried," The Emperor said. "Karyl Lohars knew what he was long before you and I did, so he secured the anchor point early on. Achieving those worst futures has one prerequisite: Konrad Curze Curze will not die."

"Actually, Malcador."

"What?" the Sigillites asked rudely.

"I'm more worried about you," The Emperor said.

His expression was serious, his tone cold, but his eyes were full of worry. The Sigillites glared at him angrily, the blue light in his eyes extinguished, and he finally threw down the sharp knife he was holding.

"You're cheating," he said, his voice grim but calm. "You can't keep blaming me while ignoring your own situation."

"The strong should bear more." The Emperor smiled, turned around, and walked back the way they had come. Malcador followed closely behind, waiting for the Emperor's next words.

He also had a premonition that this would be the last word he heard from his lord during their conversation today.

His hunch was correct.

"And I am the Master of Mankind," The Emperor said calmly. "No one but me is qualified to be sacrificed."

Update complete.