I Can Finally Serve You Faithfully!

Asuryan's mouth corners raised again.

He picked up the teacup and prepared to take another sip.

This time, he planned to say something before drinking tea.

For example - "When you showed off the fruit in front of me, you never thought that today would happen, right?"

Or-"Do you think this black tea tastes good? Oh, it's a pity that you can't drink it."

He has rehearsed seven or eight versions in his mind, and each version is enough to make the Black Sun projected by Emperor's Warp go crazy.

His hand stopped.

No.

Asuryan's pupils shrank slightly.

He put down the teacup so quickly that the tea in the cup didn't even have time to slosh.

He moved his eyes away from Emperor and cast his eyes on the familiar and quiet Black Sun in the void, but at this moment, he was particularly silent.

Black Sun slowly rotates on the other side of Warp.

That light was not as flamboyant and domineering as usual, and it made me want to write the words "I am the brightest in the universe" on my face.

It has restrained and restrained, like a child whose parents have confiscated toys, sitting quietly in the corner without making any noise.

Asuryan's fingers trembled slightly.

"No." He murmured.

According to the character of Emperor, and according to the performance of that round of Black Sun over the past ten thousand years, his words, those expressions, and those actions just now were enough to make that round of Black Sun explode into several circles of Psionic Energy halo.

Not anger, but a kind of "you old guy is still alive" kind of irritability with a certain sense of intimacy.

But this time, there was nothing.

Asuryan moved his eyes away from Black Sun and scanned every corner of the hall.

There are no Psionic Energy fluctuations, no hidden traps, and no traces of being arranged.

He extended the Psionic Energy perception to the periphery of the palace, to most of the Terra, and even to the Imperium warships patrolling the Luna orbit.

Everything is fine.

Terra is still the same Terra, humans are still the same group of crazy humans, and Four Chaos Gods is still the four losers hiding in the cesspool and not wanting to come out.

He breathed a sigh of relief.

But when he relaxed halfway, he held it back again.

Because he suddenly felt that this "everything was normal" itself was not normal.

After a moment of silence, Asuryan stretched out his hand and reached into the void.

The white and slender fingers were submerged in the pale golden light, as if they were fishing for something in the water.

His brows furrowed slightly, his fingers groped in the void a few times, and then he took them back.

There was a pair of monocles in his hand.

The lens of those glasses is not glass, but a piece of Psionic Energy crystal as thin as an icicle, with a circle of fine silver wire inlaid around the edge.

The frame is white gold, with a thin gold chain hanging from the left temple, shining softly under the light.

It was a relic of the god Eldar Destiny. It was picked up from the ruins by Asuryan when Eldar Pantheon collapsed and has been kept in the deepest part of the temple.

The God of Destiny is dead, but his authority still remains in these glasses.

Just wear it and you can see what will happen in the next day.

Not a prediction, not a deduction, but a real "seeing" like watching a movie.

Asuryan put the pair of glasses on the bridge of his nose.

The moment the lens touched his skin, a stream of cold, stream-like Psionic Energy poured in from between his eyebrows.

That Psionic Energy was not offensive in any way, it just guided his consciousness to float downstream along the river of time.

He saw it.

Terra one day later.

Terra is still the same Terra.

The factory chimneys are still spewing thick smoke, and the gray-black smoke columns interweave in the sky to form a magnificent picture of the industrial era.

The cities on the ground spread out densely, stretching from the foot of the palace to the end of the horizon.

The architectural styles are different, some are Gothic spires, some are Baroque domes, and some are Imperium standardized gray squares. They are squeezed together like a pot of overcooked dumplings.

Only the area of the palace can barely be considered pleasing to the eye - the golden dome, the white marble columns, and those Adeptus Custodess arranged in a neat square array on the square, their golden armors shining in the sun, like rows of solidified flames.

Asuryan's brows relaxed slightly.

There seems to be no problem.

He was about to take off his glasses when a drop of cold sweat slipped from his forehead.

The drops of sweat flowed down his temples, to his cheekbones, to his chin, and hung on his stubble, refusing to fall.

Not because of fear, but because he finally saw the scene that sent shivers down his spine.

On the streets of Terra, isn't Eldar a bit too much?

Not one or two, not dozens, but hundreds or thousands.

They walked among the crowd in twos and threes, some wearing gorgeous Eldar robes, and some wearing cheap suits bought from human stores.

Some have not even had time to change out of their home clothes that have been in the Webway pocket space for countless years.

The style of that kind of clothes is as simple as two pieces of cloth sewn together.

But under the sunshine of Terra, the luster reflected by the cloth made the human nobles passing by couldn't help but take a second look.

Asuryan's mouth twitched.

He continued to look.

As the scene progressed, his eyes crossed the street, across the square, past the line of tourists queuing up to enter the palace, and landed at the door of a noble mansion.

It was a typical Terra noble mansion.

There are two statues of Gargoyle standing on both sides of the tall wrought iron gate, with extinguished torches in their mouths.

Standing on the steps in front of the door was a human nobleman wearing gorgeous robes. His hair was gray, his face was old, but his back was straight.

He was holding a Chainsword in his hand, and the blade was stained with some kind of green liquid - it was not Eldar's blood, but the juice of the weeds he cut when pruning Garden of Nurgle this morning.

He is confronting a group of Eldar.

It's not the kind of tense confrontation.

More like - an old man arguing with a group of visitors.

"You heretics!" The noble man's voice was loud and full of energy, "How dare you appear in Terra! Do you know where this place is?

This is the territory of Emperor! It is the heart of mankind! It is--"

He paused and looked up and down at the group of Eldar.

His eyes flickered when he saw the other party's gorgeous spiritual crystal armor, but he still couldn't suppress the enthusiasm in his eyes.

"I will use Chainsword to chop you stinky foreigners to death right now! Emperor, I can finally be loyal to you!"

He raised the Chainsword and started the motor.

The saw teeth of Chainsword rotate at high speed, making a harsh buzzing sound.