A Bad Feeling

Five hundred thousand Space Marines poured into that pocket space.

They are not here to rob or destroy, they are here to demolish.

The palace built by the spiritual crystal was dismantled piece by piece, classified, packaged, labeled, and shipped to the export of Webway.

Those gorgeous decorations, expensive artworks, and exquisite Psionic Energy furniture were all boxed up, labeled "to be processed", and piled aside.

Eldar noble stood at the door of his castle, watching those yellow and iron-gray figures shuttled through his territory, watching his palace being dismantled into parts piece by piece, the corners of his mouth twitching.

But he didn't dare to speak, because Perturabo was standing next to him, his bald head reflecting the cold light under the Psionic Energy light.

"Don't worry,"

Perturabo's voice was calm, "We will help you rebuild it. According to Imperium's standards."

Eldar Noble didn't know what Imperium's standard was, but he felt that it shouldn't be much worse than his Spiritual Crystal Palace.

Dorn stood on the other side, holding a piece of spiritual crystal that had just been removed from the wall, holding it in front of his eyes for a closer look.

There was no greed in his eyes, only the appreciation of an engineer when he sees good materials.

"Good quality."

he said.

Perturabo nodded. "You can keep it."

After the demolition was completed, Dorn walked up to the noble Eldar, holding the spiritual crystal in his hand.

His face was expressionless, but there was no hostility in his eyes, only a "businesslike" calmness.

"Are you going to surrender?"

Eldar noble looked at his eyes and the piece of spiritual crystal held in Dorn's hand.

The texture of spiritual crystal is extremely hard. It is the material used by Eldar to build battleships, and it is strong enough to withstand the bombardment of Macro-cannon.

But when Dorn pinched it, it was like pinching a piece of foam. With a slight push of his fingers, fine cracks appeared on the surface of the spirit crystal.

The corners of his mouth twitched even more.

"Surrender."

His voice is still very small.

Dorn nodded and put the piece of spiritual crystal into his pocket.

Then he stretched out his hand.

Eldar The nobleman was stunned for a moment and looked at the stretched out hand wearing yellow Power Armour.

He hesitated for a moment, then reached out and took Dorn's hand.

Dorn's hand was very steady and warm, not as cold as he imagined.

"Welcome back to the light of Asuryan."

Dorn said.

Eldar noble's eyes are a little wet.

Not because he was moved, but because he finally didn't have to die.

He finally no longer has to worry about his soul being swallowed up by Slaanesh after his death, he no longer has to worry about becoming the plaything of those twisted demons in Warp, and he no longer has to worry about never being able to rest in peace.

Asuryan is back, Eldar The king of the gods is back, he can feel at ease.

News spread quickly.

Those Eldar nobles who were hiding in various pocket spaces of Webway, after hearing the news of Asuryan's return, one after another chose to surrender.

Not because they can't fight, but because they don't want to fight.

Human beings' Space Marines is so outrageous, traveling at a thousand kilometers per hour, flying into the sky and escaping from the earth, and the Psionic Energy crystals are chewed like gum in their mouths.

What else is there to fight?

In the past, Imperium of Man called them "Xenos". Everyone knew it was just for fun, the kind of fun where they didn't like each other but no one could destroy the other.

What now? How come these blue, yellow, and iron-gray guys suddenly evolved into Material Universe demigods?

Most Eldar rulers suddenly realized how foolish they were for their arrogance.

It's not that I don't want to be arrogant, but if I'm arrogant with these guys, I'm looking for death.

Before he died, he couldn't keep any dignity at all. He was beaten severely and then asked, "Will you surrender?"

Surrendering can save some dignity, but not surrendering won't even give you any dignity.

More importantly, Asuryan is back.

The King of Gods is back, which means that their souls have a destination, which means they don't have to return to Slaanesh's damn arms after death.

They don't want to be Warp Daemon's airplane cups at all.

The great king of the gods Asuryan, we love you!

In the Imperial Palace, Asuryan is sitting on the chair next to Golden Throne, holding a cup of black tea in his hand.

Emperor was lying on the throne, his amber eyes half-closed, his lips moving slightly, not knowing what he was saying.

Asuryan has been holding that cup of black tea for a long time.

For a long time, a thin layer of golden halo condensed on the surface of the tea - that was the residue left after Psionic Energy evaporated, and it was the unique tea-tasting ceremony of the King of Aeldari Gods.

He looked down at the liquid in the cup. The amber tea soup was clear and translucent under the light, and a few fine rose petals were slowly rotating at the bottom of the cup.

There was a faint smile on the corner of his mouth, and he deliberately did not look in the direction of Emperor.

Then he took a sip.

Not an ordinary drink.

It is the kind of slow-motion, carefully designed drinking method in which every aspect has been rehearsed countless times.

First bring the teacup to your lips, pause for 0.3 seconds, and let the aroma of tea fill your nose.

Then he tilted the cup, and the moment the amber liquid touched his lips, he closed his eyes, as if he was tasting some kind of delicacy that only existed in legends and could not be touched by mortals in their lifetime.

Finally, his Adam's apple rolled, the tea entered his stomach, and he let out a long and contented sigh.

"Ah -" his voice echoed in the empty hall, "Old Terra's black tea has such a historical flavor. Paired with our Eldar's spiritual spring, this combination is simply a human enjoyment."

No one answered.

There was only the low hum of Golden Throne in the hall, and the almost inaudible sound of Adeptus Custodes's leather boots stepping on the marble floor when changing the guard at the far end of the corridor.

Asuryan opened his eyes, glanced at the teacup in his hand, and then at Emperor on the throne.

Emperor's lips are moving.

It's not the kind of "I'm talking to you" kind of motion, but the kind of "I'm talking to myself, do you want to hear it or not" kind of motion.

The chapped lips moved like a dry riverbed cracking in the wind.

Asuryan tilted his head, a kind of just right surprise appeared in his pale golden eyes.

The scale of surprise is extremely precise - too much will make it look fake, too little will make it look stupid.

"Oops." There was a kind of "I just noticed" in his voice, "Old friend, why are you talking? What are you talking about?"

He put down the teacup, leaned forward slightly, and made a gesture of listening carefully.

But the smile that had been hanging on the corner of his mouth since before drinking tea, which was one part mocking, one part proud, and one part "I can finally take revenge", showed no intention of restraining at all.

Emperor's lips stopped moving.

He tilted his head.

It's not the kind of "I'm angry and don't want to talk to you" kind of head tilt, but the kind of "you keep acting, I'm too lazy to cooperate with you" kind of head tilt.

The skinny head was tilted to one side, and the dry silver hair hung down from the back of the throne, glowing dimly under the light.

His eyes were closed and his face was calm, as calm as a pool of stagnant water.

But the corners of his mouth, which were also chapped and had not moved for thousands of years, seemed to tighten slightly for a moment.