Chapter 63: Half-Immortal Wa: That punk slammed the gas pedal on my brand-new car

Anda wiped his mouth and stood up along with the crowd.

Malum could no longer suppress his inner anger: "Your Majesty, shall we make a move?"

Anda waved his hand and said, "Make a move? What kind of move? This chariot already belongs to us. What will we do if it gets broken in a fight?"

"Besides," Anda squinted at the Pharaoh "Horus," "that guy is hiding really deep."

"Vashtorr is easy enough to deal with, but Horus—at this point in time, he has those four filthy things backing him up."

"We happen to be looking for the demons behind the Pharaoh, aren't we? Following the Pharaoh's entourage saves us even the meal money."

Malum was quite helpless, but since this was His Majesty's arrangement, he had no choice but to obey.

This chariot would travel directly from Onu to Lavist to prepare the Pharaoh for the completion of the Dionysian festival, and after mustering a large army, march straight upon Thebes.

A team of craftsmen would accompany the army forward. Using his divine power, Anda arranged for himself and Malum to be stationed right beside the Pharaoh. That way, not only would they avoid having to do manual labor, but they wouldn't miss the Dionysian festival he was most looking forward to either. That would have been a disaster.

Malum couldn't help but suspect that, to His Majesty at this moment, defeating "Horus" was perhaps far less important than drinking and making merry.

The Pharaoh was a man of strong executive power. That very afternoon, the chariot—named the Scarab—would set off.

And then, the party would begin! A party lasting six full days!

When this decree was issued, even the servant delivering it was overjoyed.

Dionysian culture was the most prevalent deity culture in the tri-continental borderlands, even if Egypt used Osiris as its god of wine to distinguish it from the wine gods of Rome and Greece.

Yet that joyful, unbridled atmosphere, that infinite vitality of life, could simply not be blocked by any measures.

If this were a strategy game, facing a cultural policy that increased the happiness of the residents, which ruler would refuse?

When Anda led Malum out of the plaza, the vendors on both sides of the road had multiplied several times over, and the goods they sold had become rather strange.

As it turned out, merchants from all over had arrived on schedule, having calculated the time precisely to exchange goods in various places, hoping to make a fortune in Onu.

Among them were plenty of merchants from Macedonia and Rome, and even Persia, Egypt's enemy state.

Although these merchants were well-informed and sharp-eyed enough to deduce the dangerous situation and the impending calamity of war, they all believed they could make a huge profit and leave before the hostilities broke out.

These adventurous caravans were especially prominent among the Hebrews. At this time, they were wandering between Persia and Rome, seeking to follow Rome's expansion in order to carve out a patch of land for themselves.

"Buy some bowstrings for hunting; twisted together, they can be used as instrument strings. Aaron's lyre needs them."

In a rare departure from his usual face-scanning payment, Anda actually took out money to buy some materials.

After experiencing the feeling of sitting upon the throne in his dream yesterday, Anda felt his cognition was shifting.

He could no longer figure out what his future self was actually thinking, so he simply decided to take things as they came.

At the very least, he would take good care of the son right in front of him first, completely ignoring the problem of his twenty sons tens of thousands of years in the future.

However, this train of thought did not last long before Anda felt that being a good father was simply too exhausting, and he entrusted all household purchases entirely to Malum.

Merely pondering what a household required was enough to make Anda irritated.

How on earth had he ever endured founding an empire and attempting to manage it!

Damn it, his future self wouldn't even let him know the memory of Malcador trying to persuade him.

What, was old Mal greater than a wife and kids?

Well... come to think of it, actually, yes.

Wandering about until the sun was nearly setting, an empty-handed Anda and a Malum laden with bags finally returned home.

Before stepping through the door, Anda summarized his parenting philosophy:

"Look, we must leave enough private time for young people of this age, lest we walk in and interrupt some awkward scenario."

"That is why we wandered around until evening before coming back."

Malum pondered this for a moment and said earnestly, "Sir, I do not believe Aaron has entered his reproductive phase at all."

Squeak—

The door was pushed open. Aaron, who was just about to head out, frowned at the two of them discussing reproductive phases and asked:

"What are you two talking about? What reproductive phase? Hurry inside and stoke the fire to cook; I'm going to haul back some stones. It might blow hard tonight, and we need to weigh down the tarp so it doesn't get blown away."

"Two grown men thinking about studying animals all day long, without even looking at how much work there is to be done around the house."

Aaron squeezed past the two of them. Anda fell into contemplation, looking over at Malum:

"Is that what your *Ultramarines Parent-Child Relationship Encyclopedia* says? Pay attention to the physiological health and psychological transitions of adolescents."

Malum was horrified: "How does Your Majesty know of this!"

Anda stroked his chin, entered the house, and sat down:

"That fool Cawl played this book for me once, though I don't remember when. He seemed to have started plotting to preserve my humanity quite early on. Let me think, it seems there were also people aiming to come at me with a sword to hack me to pieces just so I could resurrect."

"No, no, it's too chaotic. I have no idea how many contingencies I left behind."

Anda felt his head throbbing, so he chose to cast these insoluble problems aside.

This was his habitual way of behaving: if it couldn't be solved, then leave it alone for now; maybe it would sort itself out after a while.

He spoke up:

"Tomorrow during the day, help Aaron finish his lyre. I'm going to go swap the chariot back now. I hope Jaghatai likes this contraption—don't dismantle your power core, and don't take off your armor in front of me! Put your clothes back on! The Chogorian wild horses can pull this thing."

"Besides, full speed utilizes my power! I have zero interest in laying even a single glance upon whatever it is Astartes have down there!"

Malum, who had been about to shed his garments to resume his Space Marine form, awkwardly lowered his hands.

Forget it, forget it. He secretly drew an Ultramarines symbol beneath the chariot as a gesture of paternal respect from Primarch Guilliman to his other brothers.

Perhaps at that very moment, within the Warp.

Watching the increasingly distinct traces of the filthy cog, Vashtorr wept bitter tears, his eye sockets nearly overflowing with every known variety of machine oil in history.

He was finally going to get his own divine mark! Just like the marks of the Chaos Gods, Vashtorr's domain was already manifesting within the Warp!

Laying plans in advance really did have its perks; that damned Tzeentch had actually kept it hidden from him all this time!

(Blue Bird: What? Someone is actually begging me to scheme against them?!)

He withdrew from that transcendental state. Sure enough, he was not yet a true god.

Yet Vashtorr could already envision the myriad aspects of his exalted divinity, the grand opening of occupying an eternal corner within the raging Warp!

Now he had to go check out his newly picked-up ride. That was his very first creation containing divine power; previous works were merely forged through sheer craft alone.

And this chariot was a vessel capable of carrying a god!

No less significant than the Sword of Vaul to Slaanesh—

Ptooey, ptooey! Too taboo! How could he ever think of such a comparison?

Could it be that the great Vashtorr, future exalted deity, would be run over and killed by this carriage?

Even in an era when the Warp barrier remained stable, Vashtorr could still pilot this chariot named the Scarab at any moment.

Until he cast his gaze outward and saw a glowing figure of towering majesty, whose hair burned like golden flames, sitting upon his beloved ride and driving it with unbridled abandon.

"We can go faster. I recall the Khan has very strict requirements regarding speed; it must be tuned to the proper degree."

The Emperor muttered to himself, pressing the accelerator down harder (if there had been an accelerator).

He naturally knew Vashtorr was watching; this was put on entirely for his benefit.

The nerve of him, trying to steal my thunder.

Let Me push a little harder and make the whole damn carriage creak and groan!