Chapter 35: Anda's Derangement

Before Dalet’s camp, Captain Gert, who was personally guarding the Priest, hurriedly waved his hand to signal his men to disperse. He cleared the path, leaving it open for the priests to confer.

The man sitting high within a hippopotamus skull was terrifying enough to make them tremble just by being seen. Gert could not afford any unseemly behavior.

He watched from afar as Aster’s robust frame, covered in scars, appeared—none of which had ever managed to destroy him. Before today, Gert would never have believed in mythical heroes, warriors capable of standing against a thousand. Yet, seeing Aster now, he suddenly felt that those legends might not be false after all.

"For Horus!"

Dalet’s voice, raised to a pitch that sounded almost distorted, rang out from afar. As a fellow priest of Sekhmet, he needed to show respect to Aster and greet him in person.

The hippopotamus skull palanquin slowly descended, and Aster rose to walk toward him.

"For Horus—"

His voice sounded dull and listless; after all, with Sekhmet whispering in his ears constantly, it was difficult to focus. This appearance of impatience, however, only made him more fearsome to others.

Aster entered the tent and walked straight to the highest bed to take a seat. "My friend, are the warriors I require ready?"

Dalet hid the disgust in his eyes and said calmly, "Every time you arrive, I have carefully selected warriors to fight you and be offered to Sekhmet. But even my strongest warriors cannot last more than a few rounds before you. I do not know if Sekhmet will be satisfied with such battles."

Aster rubbed his chin, narrowing his eyes slightly. In his mind, the "Sekhmet" known as Leny was coaching him with passion: "Yes, yes, use a scrutinizing gaze, do not open your mouth to answer questions. When those little doggies open their mouths, it’s just slash, slash, slash; they never bother explaining what they are about to do."

Aster felt this was incredibly foolish, like a simpleton, but he had no choice—this was a divine oracle, and he had to comply.

Sure enough, Dalet found Aster’s gaze unbearable and became restrained in his words and actions. "I mean no offense to Sekhmet, my friend. Tomorrow, when Ra is in the sky, shall be the time of battle. If you are willing to rest upon my bed, it would be my honor."

Dalet felt that under that cold, unfeeling stare, he could say nothing; it seemed like a sophisticated negotiation tactic. *I must answer your questions, but you do not answer mine.* That way, you cannot press for more.

"With Horus above, and Sekhmet above, my friend: when I storm Thebes, I shall represent the clamor of Sekhmet’s war, followed closely by the plague you represent, which will ravage the city."

As Aster uttered these words, Dalet bowed and yielded his tent. He could detect no reverence for the gods in this man’s tone.

Dalet walked outside the tent to where his attendants had prepared another resting place, built upon a three-story wooden structure. From there, he could look up and see Anda’s tent. His beauty had caught quite a few fish today, though in reality, his attendants had baited the spot in advance. They had put in fish that hadn't been fed for two days, making every cast a sure catch.

(The Emperor: Hmm? I cannot accept this.)

That was supposed to be his own leisure activity—the beauty sitting in his lap, the two of them holding the fishing rod together, feeling the tug of a large fish. But there was no time today; he had to let Anda go alone.

Alas, my beauty, wait for me. Once I have dealt with Aster, tomorrow night we shall ascend to paradise together! I haven't been this excited in a long time!

I imagine at this moment, Anda is saying goodbye to his "son," Aaron. The candles in the tent haven't gone out yet, oh, how I long to join them.

Inside the tent, the father and son were indeed engaged in intense activity. They glared at each other, each occupying a side near Malum. Malum swore he would rather face two Bloodthirsters right now than endure this predicament.

Anda commanded in a deep voice, "Give me that nail!"

In Aaron’s eyes, Malum had merely mentioned why his father’s left cheek looked a bit crooked. Anda had then lost his mind and wanted to take back the nail Lorgar had given him. According to the old man, he intended to use the nail to curse Lorgar, causing the future Lorgar’s right hand to temporarily lose its ability to act—in other words, to nail it shut.

"I remember now, that unfilial son actually dared to strike my face!" Anda was furious, his chaotic future memories intertwining.

Aaron did not back down. "I told him to hit you! Not just Lorgar, even Guilliman—no, Jaghatai! Of the three brothers I’ve met so far, I want them all to hit you!"

No sooner had he finished speaking than Anda clutched his head in excruciating pain, as if struck by some blunt object again. He flew to the side, crashed into a support beam, and tumbled down.

"Horus!" he roared, and then his consciousness entered a bizarre state.

A transcendent aura flowed from Anda, and a golden radiance rose faintly behind him, as if he were a true god. His mouth repeated words only Malum could understand:

"Olpesson!"

"No, no, not you, Loken? Neither—"

"Valdor?"

"Damn it, who am I? Who am I!"

(In *The End and the Death*, the battle between Horus and the Emperor continues at every known point in time.)

Aaron only managed to understand the final question: "Who are you? Does this pathetic father of mine play the fool whenever he wants to escape his responsibilities?"

He reached out and gripped his father’s arm. "At least act normally; you’re making Malum feel incredibly ashamed. I still need to see you reconcile with Mother and give birth to my brothers."

The next moment, the strangeness vanished. The father, who had just been struck by his own son and enemy, returned to the state of Anda Will.

"Huff, huff, what just happened? And what is with that look on your face, like I’m about to die?"

Anda shook off his son’s hand, muttering, "It felt like I was hit by a bald man with tubes in his face again; my past memories are becoming complicated. Forget it, that’s a matter for thirty thousand years from now. Look at you, Malum, you come from over forty-two thousand years in the future; if Guilliman can still hold the situation together, it means things aren't too bad."

Aaron’s face was dark as he said coldly, "I think things are very bad. I can't control what happens in tens of thousands of years, but you cannot continue like this."

Anda had calmed down. He looked up at his son, gritting his teeth: "Are you... lecturing me? You are merely a mortal who can live a bit longer! I am a god! How many terrible human futures are waiting for me to make a choice! Do you know how much I carry?"

Aaron shook his head and leaned down to gently embrace his father. "No, I am just caring for my family."

"I don't know what happened in the future, but no matter how bad the outcome, I believe I can change it, rather than being forced to make choices. I hope my brothers can be born normally. If circumstances allow, I would rather accompany them as they grow up myself."

Malum suddenly looked up. He seemed to have captured some special information. This was the reaction of the special component Cawl had installed for him, which activated when detecting a major temporal node.

Aaron stood up, returned to his place, and said to Malum, "Rest." He stroked the nail hidden at his waist and closed his eyes.

Anda said nothing, his body stiff.

The Emperor’s firstborn can soothe the Emperor’s madness?

Then, what of the Primarchs?

Malum felt his logic collapsing; a terrifying possibility was slowly taking shape in his mind.

Forty-two thousand years later, Holy Terra, Cawl’s Sanctum.

"Yes, yes, no matter how bad the future is, believe in yourself, rather than being forced to make choices. Otherwise, it is like the Mother of the Primarchs, who feared the terrible consequences of leaving them on Terra and cast them into the galaxy."

"If the Mother of the Primarchs and you had personally taught the Primarchs, perhaps it would have been enough to endure those terrible futures."

"My liege, is this the revelation you have brought us through your firstborn?"

Cawl was deeply grateful and recorded this precious data. But his logic, whether biological or mechanical, still felt something was off.

Does this mean the Emperor is shifting the blame?

*Rumble!*

The Golden Throne was undergoing its routine pressure release, and a screw that flew out landed on Cawl’s hood.

Logically speaking, as the pinnacle of human technological achievement, the Golden Throne should not have such low-level problems.