Work to Be Done
The banquet lasted for three days and three nights.
The meat of Void Whale is enough for the whole Terra to host for three days and three nights. Of course, ordinary people eat the attenuated and then attenuated version.
Grind Void Whale meat into powder, mix it into ordinary ingredients, and then undergo Adeptus Mechanicus purification treatment before it can be tolerated by the stomach of mortals.
Only Space Marines can taste the original Warp flavor.
Feel the slight numbness of Psionic Energy blooming on the tip of your tongue, experience the aroma of stardust and sulfur, and endure the violent energy that is enough to disintegrate the genes of mortals.
When the last dish is served, when the last glass of wine is consumed, when the last cheers dissipate in the night sky.
Guilliman stood on the steps of the main hall, looking at the countless warriors who were reveling.
Looking at the rising sun, looking at the battlefield waiting in the distance.
He knew that this might be the last calm before the storm.
But he has no regrets.
Because humans need this feast, Pleasure needs this moment, and needs to remember why they are fighting before setting foot on the battlefield.
For Imperium, for mankind, for the eternal Golden Throne.
Perturabo and Dorn stood side by side at the entrance of the hall, looking at the rising sun.
Perturabo still held an unfinished glass of wine in his hand, and the shine of whale blubber still remained on the corners of Dorn's mouth.
The two were silent for a long time, and then Perturabo spoke, "Guilliman's cooking skills are better than his fighting skills."
Dorn nodded. "Yeah."
The two were silent for a while.
Then Perturabo said, "Next time, I will do it.
Iron Warriors's food cannot always be stolen by Ultramarines."
Dorn glanced at him. "Can you cook?"
Perturabo snorted, "Of course.
When attacking a city, always use local materials.
I have baked Orks, stewed Eldar, and fried Tyranids eggs."
Dorn was silent for a long time, and then said, "Then let Guilliman do it."
Perturabo glared at him, but the corners of his mouth raised slightly unconsciously.
In the main hall, Guilliman is clearing away the tableware.
His apron was stained with grease, and the scent of Void Whale grease still lingered on his hands.
Sanguinius came over and helped him fold the plates, his movements were elegant and calm.
"Magnus hasn't eaten yet," Sanguinius said, "I left a portion for him."
Guilliman nodded. "I'll send it up later.
He helped his father share the Psionic Energy pressure, which was already very hard."
Sanguinius looked at him, those golden eyes full of tenderness. "You have worked hard too."
Guilliman was stunned for a moment, then smiled, "It's not hard.
Cooking for brothers is a happy thing."
He raised his head and looked at the huge mural on the dome of the hall - the scene of Emperor leading Primarch on an expedition to the star sea.
Ten thousand years ago, they gathered together like this, drank like this, and believed that humans would conquer Milky Way.
Then everything fell apart.
But at this moment, they are sitting together again, toasting to drink, and believing that mankind will be great again.
"When this battle is over," Guilliman said, "I will cook you a better meal."
Sanguinius smiled, "Then I'll be waiting."
Silent King is sitting on the throne, with a huge Blackstone round table in front of him.
The round table was completely black, without any decoration on the surface, not even a single pattern.
Sixty-five million years ago, this table was filled with gifts given by C'tan - gems shining with the light of stars, vessels forged from supernova cores, and creations from the beginning of the universe whose names cannot even be translated.
Now, those things have been sent to the debris pile, ground into powder, and used to fill the foundation of some desolate planet.
Now there are only the cold Blackstone on the table, and the same cold technological creations on Blackstone.
On both sides of him, two people sat.
The one on the left is Blade Phaeron·Mesophit, and the one on the right is Stellar Phaeron·Soran.
Among Three Saints, Annihilation Phaeron was commanding and dispatching on the flagship on the front line and did not attend this meeting.
But it doesn't matter, his will is synchronized in real time through quantum communication, and his voice will ring in this conference room, as if he is right here.
Blade Phaeron's body is brand new.
That Necrodermis body is more advanced than before, with more flexible joints, stronger armor, and more efficient energy circuits.
But there was a shallow scratch on his left shoulder armor - it was left by Titus's sword, and he deliberately did not repair it.
He needed this scratch to remind himself that humans were not opponents to be taken lightly.
Stellar Phaeron is sitting on the right side. Her body is more slender than Blade Phaeron, but her energy fluctuations are more intense.
She was surrounded by a layer of green star mist, which was the projection of countless micro-phase generators, each one of which was enough to tear apart the shield of a battleship.
She is the supreme commander of the Necrons fleet and controls the dispatch of millions of warships.
Her voice was calm and cold, like a pulsar in deep space.
"The pace of the war has been decided," Silent King said, and the voice echoed in the empty conference room, "Jumping gangs.
Target - the human home planet, Terra."
Blade Phaeron's fingers tapped lightly on the armrest, the rhythm was slow and steady.
He thought of Titus, of the Power Sword burning with golden flames, and of the warrior who returned from death.
His emotional simulation system is running, trying to extract some kind of quantifiable data from that memory.
But he failed.
That's not data, that's will.
The unstoppable will of a race in its darkest moments.
"Jumping gangs," Blade Phaeron said, "there are no tactics at all.
The fleet deployed, the soldiers landed, and then there was a fight.
Pure, primitive, fighting with no retreat."
Stellar Phaeron nodded, with a kind of mechanical precision in his movements. "Millions of warships jumped at the same time, and tens of billions of soldiers landed at the same time.
The orbit of Terra will be completely blocked within ten minutes, and the ground will be completely suppressed within thirty minutes.
Any tactics are meaningless in the face of this scale."
Silent King was silent.
He looked at the cold Blackstone table in front of him, and at the equally cold technological creations on the table.
If those things are considered decoration, he can accept them.
But at this moment, he felt a rare sense of anxiety in his heart.
The reason for his anxiety is the memory of the battle between Blade Phaeron and Titus.
In that memory, he noticed something - Atomic Law.
Not Law of Eternity, not the essence of war, but Atomic Law.
Material Universe's most original power, the ability to rewrite everything from the atomic level.
His processor was running wildly, analyzing every possibility of that law.
If it can be used on a large scale, Guilliman is the nightmare of Necrons.
He can decompose Necrons's weapons at the atomic level, reorganize Necrons's armor at the atomic level, and rewrite the core code of Necron Warriors at the atomic level.
He can do it all.
But Silent King is not worried about this.
Necrons's family background is very rich.
Sixty-five million years of accumulation, countless Tomb Worlds reserves, and the C'tan energy hidden in the four-dimensional space.
You can kill them all, but my logistics will definitely keep up.
When tens of billions of warriors fall, hundreds of billions of warriors will take over.
When hundreds of billions of warriors fall, trillions of warriors will fill the hole.
The population of Imperium of Man is limited, the conversion rate of Gene-seed is limited, and the output of Smart Atoms is limited.
And Necrons's army is unlimited.
What really touches Silent King's mind is another aspect represented by Atomic Law.