MAN!!!

Malcador then looked at Guilliman.

Guilliman still held his wine glass, his smile gentle and refined, but deep in his eyes, a smug gleam of "successful revenge" clearly shone.

"This..."

Malcador to say with difficulty, "I certainly cannot refuse the Thirteenth Prince's kind offer."

He walked over with a smile and sat down opposite Guilliman.

Guilliman poured him a glass of wine himself; the pure white spirit, once poured into the glass, instantly became more than ten times more fragrant.

Malcador raised his glass and drank it all in one gulp.

"Ah--!"

The moment the wine entered his throat, Malcador felt a surge of fire rush from his throat to his abdomen, which then transformed into endless warmth that flowed through his entire body!

The aroma of the wine lingers in the mouth, leaving a long and unforgettable aftertaste!

"What wonderful wine!" Young Malcador exclaimed, his face beaming with admiration and his eyes sparkling with delight. "What kind of wine is this?!"

"The Moutai of ancient Thailand and China." Guilliman smiled. "A treasure from ten thousand years ago."

I salvaged it from the scraps of Law of Eternity, from the long river of history.

Malcador was filled with awe.

It wasn't a sign of respect for the wine, but rather a sign of awe for Guilliman's methods.

What does it mean to "salvage" wine from the long river of history?

This means that Guilliman's control over time, matter, and existence has reached an inconceivable level!

But this sense of awe was instantly replaced by appetite upon seeing the table laden with dishes.

Guilliman reached out, and a standard set of Western tableware appeared before Malcador —a gleaming silver knife and fork, a snow-white napkin, and an exquisite bone china plate.

"Take your seat, Prime Minister," Guilliman said with a smile. "The knife and fork are ready for you."

Although this is an Eastern banquet, the utensils are fine as long as they're readily available.

Malcador was equally unforgiving!

He picked up his knife and fork like a seasoned general grabbing his weapon, his sharp eyes sweeping over the table full of delicacies, finally settling on the roast duck, which was roasted to a golden brown and glistening with oil!

One cut!

One fork!

He forked the whole roast duck!

He stood there, holding the roast duck, and started tearing it apart!

The roast duck has a crispy skin and a tender, juicy interior. Dipped in sweet bean sauce and wrapped with scallions and cucumber, one bite fills your mouth with oil and the aroma goes straight to your head!

"Mmm! Delicious! So delicious!"

Malcador ate with his mouth greasy and his eyes shining, completely forgetting about his image!

His newly donned, well-tailored Psionic Energy robe was now stained with oil and sauce, but he was completely oblivious!

He felt that, in all his years of life, from the early days of the Emperor Imperium the present, he had never tasted anything so delicious!

Meanwhile, the Emperor's hoarse voice finally broke through the silence:

"Thirteenth Prince! Where's mine?! Where's mine?!"

The voice was urgent, filled with an unprecedented longing!

"I am the Master of Mankind! Thirteenth Prince!"

The Emperor's thoughts surged like boiling magma within the Golden Throne hall!

The Black Sun- like light swayed wildly, almost breaking free from the throne's restraints!

Faced with the Emperor's almost wailing voice, Guilliman picked at his ear.

He searched very carefully and meticulously, as if there was some enormous secret in his ear that needed to be explored.

Then, he gave the throne a completely innocent smile:

"My dearest father, given your current health... I simply cannot give you anything to eat."

He spread his hands, his expression as sincere as that of a filial son deeply concerned for his father's health:

"For the sake of our human future, for the glorious future of the entire human race, please be patient."

We're eating in front of you. As your own son, isn't my eating the same as your eating?!

"Fart!"

The Emperor's roar shook the entire hall. "I haven't eaten for ten thousand years! Ten thousand years! Do you know what ten thousand years means?!"

"I know,"

Guilliman picked up a piece of braised pork knuckle, waved it in front of the Emperor's "gaze," and then slowly put it into his mouth, chewing it with relish.

"Ten thousand years is three million six hundred and fifty thousand days, which is only eighty-seven million six hundred thousand hours, a mere five billion two hundred and fifty-six million minutes!"

He swallowed the pork knuckle, then picked up the crispy skin of a roast suckling pig and took a crunchy bite:

"You're craving it every single minute."

I feel so sorry for you.

"You beast!"

"I'm your father!"

The Emperor's voice trembled with near-collapse, "Quickly use your Material Universe abilities to think of a way! I want to eat too!"

Guilliman put down his chopsticks, crossed his arms, and leaned back in his chair.

He crossed his legs, his posture as relaxed as if he were sunbathing in his own Garden of Nurgle.

"Tsk tsk tsk."

He shook his head and sighed.

"The distant barking of a defeated dog is truly melodious and pleasing to the ear."

He picked at his ear again, closed his eyes, and looked on with a look of enjoyment.

"It truly is like listening to celestial music, instantly brightening one's ears!"

"Puff--!!!"

Among the Adeptus Custodes nearby, one finally broke down completely, letting out a wild laugh that he could no longer contain!

Immediately, the Adeptus Custodes straightened up with lightning speed, his face shield facing forward, as if nothing had happened.

But once there's a first, there's a second, a third...

For a moment, the entire Golden Throne Hall was filled with suppressed laughter, like muffled thunder.

The golden armor shook violently, making a rattling sound like bells in the wind.

Malcador laughed so hard he fell face-first onto the table, dropping the roast duck he was holding.

He clutched his stomach, laughing through his tears.

"Hahahaha! Thirteenth Brother! You... you're going to drive him crazy!"

On the throne, the Emperor's Black Sun -like light flickered wildly, sometimes bright and sometimes dim, like a star about to explode.

"Guilliman!"

His voice carried a hint of "I'll fight you to the death if you don't give me food," he said. "I'll say it again—give me food!"

Guilliman picked up his glass and took a sip.

He raised his eyes to look at the throne, his gaze calm as still water, yet as deep as the sea.

"Father."

His voice suddenly became serious, carrying a complex emotion that was difficult to describe:

I know you're greedy.

I know what it feels like to not eat for ten thousand years.

I know you carried the weight of your entire race on your shoulders, burning yourself out so that we could live, breathe, and eat at this table."

He paused.

"So..."

He stood up, walked to the table, personally ladled a bowl of clear shark fin soup, and then took a small portion of each of the various dishes, placing them on an exquisite tray.

Then, carrying the tray, he walked step by step toward the Golden Throne.

The Emperor's radiance suddenly subsided.

Guilliman stopped before the throne, gazing at the withered body entangled in life support devices and Psionic Energy cables.

His gaze fell on those dry, slightly parted lips.

"I can't let you eat," he said softly. "Your body can no longer handle the digestion of food."

Even the most exquisite food in the world can be deadly poison to you.

The Emperor remained silent.

"But..."

Guilliman stretched out his hand, Psionic Energy surged in his palm.

The food on the tray slowly rose in the light from his palm, transforming into strands of golden, pure energy.

You can smell it.

He gently blew the golden thread toward the Emperor.

In an instant, the crispy aroma of roast duck, the savory flavor of braised pork knuckle, the freshness of shark fin, and the delicate sweetness of dessert...

The aroma of 108 dishes transformed into a golden torrent, completely enveloping the Golden Throne!

The Emperor's body trembled slightly.

It smells so good!

But after the fragrance fades, it takes its place!

It's a crazy, instinctive urge to eat the food in front of you!

That damned thirteenth prince, how dare he treat the Master of Mankind like this!

I'm really going to elbow you with my Black Mamba Elbow Strike!

MAN!!!