Chapter 15: Entering the Dream Again—Luo Jia, Why Have You Tied Yourself Up?

Aaron was sketching on the wall, drawing a bald giant dressed in religious, flaxen-colored robes—his younger brother, Lorgar.

Listening to his father and Malum converse, he began to draw figures of demons he had never seen in person, but had imagined.

A war demon?

That villain intended to incite wars between human kingdoms—no, wait, wasn’t that the domain of Ares, the God of War? All wars were supposed to pass through his hands.

He hadn't seen a single one of his divine brothers yet. He reasonably suspected that those Greek gods, the sons of his father Zeus, had all been done in by their own father, to the point where the domain of war had been usurped by demons.

Oh, little brother, I hope you do not suffer the hardships of war in Colchis. If you encounter any danger, please call for me; I will surely rush to your side.

He stood up and volunteered, "Is there anything I can do? If it’s to stop a war, that would be a heroic deed!"

Anda was focused on explaining the situation to Malum and ignored his son entirely, scolding him: "Stay put and watch as we find that demon and annihilate it. If you get hurt, Erda will reject the subsequent plans I have."

Hearing this, Aaron leaned in slowly, with a malicious glint in his eye: "So, you are concerned for me, afraid I might get hurt?"

Anda was cold and ruthless: "No, I am only serving my future goals. I need your mother to cooperate with me."

Aaron’s face soured. He turned away and, using Lorgar’s pen, secretly carved a scene on the wall of Zeus being struck by his own lightning, his hair charred and his face blackened.

"You heartless old thing, no matter what you intend to do in the future, I will tell mother not to agree to it!"

Malum wiped the sweat from his forehead cautiously. *Forgive me, Father, but I truly cannot keep up with the communication style between the Emperor and his firstborn. I suspect that Space Marines are not well-suited for this task.*

Indeed, Cawl had not expected the ritual to transport Malum directly into the past. Their original plan was simply to communicate with the Emperor of forty thousand years ago through the ritual. Now, faced with the greatest internal problem in the history of the Imperium of Man—the Emperor’s relationship with his sons—Malum was helpless.

He had to focus his attention and ask: "My Lord, how should I proceed to find the traces of that demon? In this era, the connection between the Warp and reality is not tight. They cannot possibly manifest their physical forms; they likely attach themselves to suitable hosts to carry out their wicked schemes in the material world. The Lord of Change must pay the price for this!"

It was true. While a war demon sounded like the domain of Khorne, it actually belonged to Tzeentch. Just as Malum had read in Titus’s combat logs recently, there was a demon capable of inciting the deepest, most fearful desires of the soul—it appeared to be a Slaaneshi demon, but it was also an apostle of Tzeentch.

(For details, see the recent Warhammer animation "Secret Level.")

Therefore, any mess happening in this universe could safely be blamed on that blue avian freak. It would never be the wrong target; if it were, the bird-thing would surely pop up and cackle, "This was all part of my plan! You didn't realize it, did you!"

Malum began to deduce, showing the intelligence of an Ultramarine only in these matters. He continued:

"So we must find the flashpoint of the conflict, whether it be religious or interest-based. Judging by the local acts of blasphemy, it is likely a large-scale blasphemous conflict. Rome transitioned through the gods of ancient Greek mythology peacefully, but—"

He carefully turned his head to glance at Aaron, who had fallen asleep at some point.

"—in Egypt, logically, it shouldn't be this intense. After all, looking at later history, they were always the passive ones. Whether it was the conquests of Alexander or Rome, or later colonial activities, Egypt was always influenced by European culture and politics; it was unlikely to be the source of the conflict."

Anda finally nodded with satisfaction, leaning against the bed like an old man who had just returned from catching fish in the river:

"Not bad. You understand enough that I don't have to explain. To give Egypt the capability to incite such trouble, that is the work of that war demon. As it stands, the scent of war is already permeating the air, and since it has nothing to do with the Pharaoh, it must be the traveling priests. Divine authority and secular power have not yet fully separated here."

Malum bowed his head. *Is this a topic that can be discussed? Your Majesty, this is the very thing you are most sensitive about.*

Anda waved his hand and laughed:

"That is me from tens of thousands of years in the future. Horus and my battle spanned time, allowing the current me to understand the future. But that is the future, after all—things that haven't happened yet."

"Enough, rest for today. Tomorrow, this prison will welcome several blasphemous commoners, and the disaster will begin to spread from that moment on."

Anda turned over and began to snore loudly.

*These father and son, there is definitely something wrong with them. They fall asleep whenever they want.*

*Sigh. Father, I wish you could also enjoy such a wonderful sleep as the Emperor. That is my most sincere blessing.* Malum thought with a pang of heartache about the suffering his own father, Guilliman, endured.

In the distance, on another dirt bed, Aaron slipped back into his dreams. Finally, he entered that incredibly realistic dream of the future once more and saw his brother, Lorgar.

Unlike last time, when Lorgar was being whipped by the tongues of several Lex-ma, this time, Lorgar was binding himself to a steel surface. Busy believers around him were preparing sharp, red-hot blades scorched by flame. Someone was already striking at Lorgar’s arm with great force, hips swaying.

Ahem, don't misunderstand—they were using the knives in their hands to cut at something, but the metal could not harm the Primarch. A dozen knives were replaced, all to no avail.

"Hey, hey, hey, Lorgar, what are you doing this time?"

"Why is the scene every time I see you so strange?"

Aaron grew anxious at the sight. He rushed over, but before the other believers could react, Lorgar signaled them to back away, lest they be mistaken for enemies by Aaron.

Lorgar’s expression was as calm as ever, save for an ugly, fresh wound curling on his arm. The hideous, raw flesh was turned outward, and the once-clear muscle texture was now a jumbled mess, as if a pile of filth had been stuffed into it. The Primarch’s body was trying to heal, attempting to purge the filth, but with little effect.

Lorgar said calmly: "Just a small wound. Those creatures used ugly emotions forged into daggers to stab me. But in a few days, there will be a battle, and I need this arm to swing my weapon."

"Also, the Dark Apostles will follow these traces of filth to find our location. So it must be dealt with quickly."

Aaron held his nose and whispered:

"So you were planning to have others cut this piece of meat off with red-hot knives?"

"It breaks my heart, brother. I get a splinter in my finger from wood and it hurts terribly."

He glanced at the dulled blades on the ground, his tone even turning to one of marvel, tinged with envy:

"And these ordinary metals cannot cut your flesh at all. You are just like Achilles, soaked in the waters of the River Styx."