Next, Let's Sort Out the Territories
Mortarion has an expressionless face.
"Each other."
The so-called image is nothing but the presentation of Material Universe.
Its essence is still the power of Warp, which allows Mortarion to gain super speed and achieve flight.
In this way, Mortarion became the second Primarch in Imperium of Man that could barely be considered to have wings.
Sanguinius has real, white, velvet-soft wings.
What he possesses are bone wings, which are cold, hard, and sharp, making people afraid to approach them.
But he doesn't care.
He has a family.
There is an heir.
There are people.
I have a brother.
That's enough.
At this moment, Mortarion was standing in the corner of the auditorium, leaning against a marble column, arms crossed, looking at the square table in silence.
His bone wings were folded behind his back, and the tips of his wing bones reflected a cold light under the light.
His face was expressionless, but there was a light in his dark green eyes that he had not seen for a long, long time.
That's hope.
Guilliman sat in front of the square table, his blue-gold eyes under the monocle scanning every representative present.
Silent King's fingers began to tap the table again, Star Phaeron's expression was still as calm as water, and Dust Scythe's sickle Phaeron was still dozing off.
Asuryan smiled, that smile was as gentle as Garden of Nurgle drinking tea at home.
Yvraine sits upright, and the tips of his ears are still red.
Guilliman cleared his throat.
"Everyone." His voice echoed in the auditorium, clear and powerful, "Welcome to Terra.
Welcome to the first Galactic Life Conference."
He paused and raised the corners of his mouth slightly.
"I know you are all busy.
Busy rebuilding Imperium, busy repairing Webway, busy waking up from a slumber of 65 million years.
But some things are more important than these."
He stood up, put his hands on the table, and leaned forward slightly.
"For example, alive.
For example, peace.
For example, a Milky Way where all races can have equal dialogue and develop together."
Silent King's fingers stopped.
He raised his head and stared directly at Guilliman with his dark green eyes.
"You have said so much." His voice was cold, "Do you just want us Necrons to admit that you humans are the Milky Way overlords?"
Guilliman smiled.
"No." His voice was calm, "I want you to admit that we are neighbors of the same Milky Way."
Asuryan picked up the black tea in front of him and blew it gently.
"That's very nice, nephew." His tone was gentle, but there was a smile in his eyes, "Then how are you going to make those races that are still fighting stop?
Influence with love?"
Guilliman's smile has not changed.
"Use a sword."
In the auditorium, a thousand Adeptus Custodes pressed the hilt of their swords at the same time.
The sound of metal friction was uniform, like a muffled thunder.
Silent King's fingers started tapping the table again, but this time, the rhythm was different.
It's not impatience, but some kind of code - Star Phaeron's fingers moved slightly, and Dust Scythe of the sickle Phaeron also opened his sleepy eyes.
Asuryan put down the tea cup, and the platinum cloak automatically moved without wind.
Yvraine's braids swayed slightly.
Lion looked at these subtle changes and raised the corners of his mouth slightly.
"That's right."
Sanguinius sighed and reached out to hold Lion's arm.
"Don't cause trouble."
Guilliman Looking at this scene, a complex emotion surged in his heart.
He came to talk about peace.
It's not because he doesn't want to fight, but because he knows that there are some enemies in this universe that are more terrifying than Chaos.
Loneliness, suspicion, and the prejudice that "those who are not of my race must have different minds."
He wants to break these.
Not with love, but with interests.
Not by influence, but by strength.
Every being on the square table is smart enough to know that continuing to fight will not benefit anyone.
He sat down again and pushed his monocle up the bridge of his nose.
"Okay, then let's officially start."
He opened the thick conference manual in front of him, and on the first page it was written with Old Terran - "Agenda 1: Regarding the re-division of the spheres of influence of all parties Milky Way."
Guilliman cleared his throat.
He stood up and pushed the monocle up the bridge of his nose. Every face on the square table was reflected in the lenses.
His fingers tapped lightly on the table twice. The sound was not loud, but in the auditorium that was so quiet that you could hear a pin drop, it was like a timpani.
"Everyone, since you are all seated, I will speak frankly."
His voice was calm, unhurried and not slow, with a precision that had been rehearsed countless times.
That is the tone of a politician, not the roar of a general, not the pronouncement of Emperor, but the tone of someone sitting behind the negotiation table, holding three times more chips than you, and pretending to discuss with you.
"Milky Way is so big. It's so big that our three races combined can't even fill a fraction of it. Milky Way is also so small. So small that if we don't learn to coexist peacefully, sooner or later we will force each other to perish together."
Silent King's fingers stopped.
Asuryan Put down the tea cup.
Lion's mouth twitched slightly - he was holding back a smile.
"So, I propose."
Guilliman opened the thick conference manual in front of him and pointed at the title on the first page, "Milky Way, from now on, belongs to the three major races. Humans, Necrons, Eldar. All other races are either meat animals or slaves - well, no one is worthy of being our slave. They are not worthy."
He raised his head and glanced at everyone present.
"What I mean is, everyone gets what they need. Eliminate other races and just leave some samples to put in the museum. As for the three of us, we can get along well with each other from now on."