Banquet

Seven days later, the banquet officially began.

The palace hall was transformed into a huge restaurant, with a long dining table extending from the palace door to the steps of Golden Throne.

The table was filled with all kinds of delicacies - Warp Whale ribs that were smoked black and shiny, Melta whale blubber steak that was fried to a sizzling sound, Psionic Energy whale marrow soup that was stewed as thick and white as jade, fried whale skin that was golden and crispy, and raw pickled whale tongue that was cut as thin as cicada wings.

Perturabo is sitting on the right side of Guilliman, with a plate of Warp smoked whale ribs in front of him.

He looked at the plate of meat with a complicated expression.

Seven days ago, he was still mocking Guilliman for not doing his job properly. Now he is sitting at the dining table, waiting to eat the food cooked by that "not doing his job properly".

Guilliman looked at him. "Try it."

Perturabo Cut off a piece of whale rib and put it in your mouth.

The meat fibers are tougher than fine steel, but after being smoked for seven days and seven nights, they have become elastic and less durable.

The outer layer is overflowing with caramel aroma, carrying the strange fragrance of Holy Shroud, while the inner layer is as pink and tender as a nebula, locking in full Warp fluctuations.

The entrance is filled with smoky and salty aroma, and then a slight numbness of Psionic Energy explodes down the throat, like an electric current passing through the spine and reaching Tianling Gai.

Perturabo was silent.

He chewed for a long time, until the juices of the meat exploded in his mouth, and the Psionic Energy slight numbness spread throughout his body.

Then he said, "It smells so good."

Dorn is sitting to the left of Guilliman, with a plate of Melta fried whale blubber steak in front of him.

He cut off a piece with a knife. The crispy shell made a crisp sound, and the dense paste inside slowly flowed out, forming a small pool of lavender grease on the plate.

He put it in his mouth and opened his eyes slightly.

The outer layer is crispy and bubbly, and the inside is creamy and creamy. The sweet and salty flavors bloom on the tip of the tongue, with a slight popping sensation, as if a small firework is set off in the mouth.

He was silent for a long time, and then said, "It smells so good."

Sanguinius sat opposite, elegantly tasting thin slices of raw marinated whale tongue.

He picked up a piece, and the thin piece glowed lavender under the light, like a solidified nebula.

He put it in his mouth, closed his eyes, and savored it.

The excitement of Psionic Energy flashed through countless afterimages of galaxies in my mind, as if I was traveling in Warp.

He opened his eyes and smiled, "Guilliman, you should open a restaurant."

Guilliman also smiled, "We can consider it after the war."

In the main hall, people were drinking wine and drinking wine.

Ultramarines eat large chunks of meat and drink heavily - the wine is brewed with Void Whale's blood. The color is as deep as ink, the taste is as pungent as a knife, and the stamina is enough to make a mortal coma for three days and three nights.

But Space Marines doesn't care.

They raised their glasses and shouted, "For Guilliman! For Son of War!"

Perturabo cut another piece of whale rib, the meat juice exploded in the mouth, Psionic Energy a slight numbness spread from the tip of the tongue to the fingertips.

He suddenly remembered that 10,000 years ago, when he was still Lord of Iron, he had sat and ate together with his brothers like this.

At that time, Emperor was still there, Horus was still there, and all Primarch were still there.

At that time, they had not yet turned against each other, had not yet met each other with swords, and had not yet dragged the entire Milky Way into the flames of war.

He lowered his head and ate in silence.

Dorn seemed to feel something. He poured a glass of wine for Perturabo. The action was very light and natural, as if they had never been separated.

Perturabo raised his head and looked at Dorn, a complex light flashed in those green eyes.

He picked up the wine glass and drank it in one gulp.

The wine entered his throat, it was as pungent as a knife, but it made his whole body feel hot.

"Guilliman," he said, his voice a little hoarse, "The food you cook is indeed good."

Guilliman looked at him and smiled, "Thank you.

After the battle is over, I will make you a better table."

Perturabo was silent for a moment, then nodded. "Okay."

Magnus did not come to the banquet.

He was sitting next to Golden Throne, with his hands pressed on the armrests of the throne, and Psionic Energy poured into the ancient machine like a tide.

His one eye was tightly closed, and beads of sweat appeared on his forehead, but the corners of his mouth were slightly raised - because he could feel that with his help, Golden Throne no longer needed to consume hundreds of Psyker every day.

Some of the rescued Psyker were incorporated into the ranks of Astropaths, some were sent to the front lines as navigators, and some were recruited by Adeptus Mechanicus to use their Psionic Energy to charge equipment that required Warp energy.

For ordinary people, Emperor is a coin; Psyker is a ten-dollar bill; Astartes is a hundred-dollar bill; Adeptus Custodes is a gold coin; and the loyal Primarch is a Bitcoin - one is worth tens of millions.

Guilliman walked up the steps of Golden Throne carrying two plates of food.

He stopped in front of the throne and looked at the skinny, shriveled body that was almost integrated with the throne.

Emperor's eyes are closed, his lips are tightly pursed, his face is like a weathered rock, and his brows are forever furrowed, carrying ten thousand years of human suffering.

Guilliman placed the dish on the small table next to the throne, and then stretched out his hand.

The power of Law of Eternity condensed in his palm and turned into a thin golden film, covering Emperor.

That is the law of Material Universe, a barrier in the real world, enough to isolate the radiation of Psionic Energy from the fifth Chaos Gods.

When the film stabilized, Emperor's eyes slowly opened.

That gaze traveled through ten thousand years, through endless darkness, and through the shackles of Golden Throne.

He looked at Guilliman, looked at his best son, looked at the soldier who dragged Imperium out of the ruins, looked at this mortal who used Law of Eternity to open a gap for him.

"Father," Guilliman said, "have a taste.

Void Whale's meat, I cooked it myself."

Emperor didn't move.

He can't move.

His body has become one with the throne, every inch of muscle has been burned black by Psionic Energy, and every bone has been weakened by Warp.

But Guilliman raised the plate of food in front of him, the aroma floated into his nose, and the warmth came through Law of Eternity's membrane.

His lips moved slightly, and the voice sounded in Guilliman's mind, hoarse and low, like an echo coming from the abyss.

"Okay."