Death walked into the room.
The Lord of the Fourteenth Legion from Barbarus made no attempt to hide his hostility. His desolate gaze focused on Morgan, as if surprised by this mortal's indifference, while his scattered glances struck Sejanus's heart, causing the Shadow Moon Wolf to involuntarily take deep breaths.
Morgan narrowed her eyes. The moment Mortarion walked in, her hearing caught a chaotic heartbeat, coming from Sejanus beside her.
But after just a few breaths, the originally flustered heartbeat returned to a steady rhythm. The Spider Lady shifted her gaze, only to see that the fourth captain of the Shadow Moon Wolf had completely calmed down: even though he was facing a Primarch who clearly meant trouble.
This made Morgan value him even more in her heart.
Mortarion did not remain still or utter any unnecessary words. He advanced towards Morgan and Sejanus with a steady pace, like an unstoppable torrent rolling towards a beautiful village.
By mortal standards, the conference room they were in was quite spacious. It had a huge conference table that could seat at least fifty mortal officers. Mirrors, three or four meters high, adorned the crisscrossing French windows, making the originally dim room appear even wider and brighter.
But for the Primarch's immense stature and stride, it was too narrow.
In an instant, Mortarion had reached them. Just as the Lord of Death came dangerously close, Sejanus frowned, stepped forward, and subtly blocked Morgan's path.
"Greetings, Lord Mortarion, may I ask what brings you here?"
Mortarion seemed somewhat surprised by Sejanus's action. He halted his heavy steps and remained silent for a breath.
[This is my flagship, brat of the Shadow Moon Wolf. I can go anywhere.]
[And this matter has nothing to do with you.]
[Get out of my way.]
The Barbaran's voice was as hoarse and slow as ever. His gaze didn't even linger on Sejanus, but was almost entirely fixed on the witch: even now, she showed no sign of panic, as if his gaze brought no danger whatsoever.
This is a provocation.
Mortarion thought so.
But then, he heard the true words of provocation.
"My apologies, Lord."
"However, Lady Morgan is a guest explicitly requested by our gene-father, and also an official envoy of the First Legion."
The Shadow Moon Wolf's words were not truly finished, ending abruptly, but their meaning was completely expressed by Sejanus's actions: he simply stood there, unmoving, in front of Mortarion.
These not-so-long words and offensive actions successfully caught Mortarion's attention. His gaze briefly left Morgan and settled on Sejanus. The Primarch looked indifferently at this Shadow Moon Wolf who dared to defy him: how long had it been since he was so directly offended?
In the Pale King's eyes, the aura of death and decay began to appear. Mortarion was skilled in this, and whether they were arrogant sorcerers or rebellious scions, they would silently submit under his gaze.
But evidently, a mere hint of death and decay could not scare the Head of the Mourning Society.
Sejanus stood there, blocking Morgan's silver hair from Mortarion's scythe. This most outstanding Shadow Moon Wolf stood with his hands behind his back, not even gripping his sword hilt. His silence was his attitude and his language.
And every second of this silence made Mortarion feel his rage swell even more.
He took a step forward, almost pressing against Horus's beloved son, and a voice, stifled with anger and frenzy, squeezed out from between his teeth.
[Listen, you brat who dares to offend Death, don't think you can be so foolish just because you rely on Horus.]
[I am Horus's brother, his true blood relative, and you are just an unknown nobody among his countless sons and subordinates. Even if I chop off your head here, Horus will only be angry with me for a few days. How far do you think he would go for you? Would he go to war with me?]
[He cares more about me than he does about you!]
[Now, get out of my way, while I still don't want to chop off your head!]
The Primarch's low roar echoed through the room, like the evil thoughts of a god striking down upon the common people. Even the proud Shadow Moon Wolf swayed involuntarily, but despite this, Sejanus did not retreat an inch. He even puffed out his chest, looking directly at the Primarch before him.
Word by word.
"Please calm down, Lord."
"Please speak words of reason."
Mortarion seemed to be grinding his teeth, a chilling sound slowly emanating from between his lips. The sharp edge of his scythe reflected the dark light in the void, piercing the eyes.
Under this pressure, cold sweat had long soaked Sejanus's neck, but he still did not back down.
Until Morgan stepped forward.
[Alright, Sejanus, it seems Lord Mortarion and I just have a small misunderstanding that requires a friendly conversation.]
Morgan also took a step forward, placing her hand on Sejanus's back, as if conveying something. Mortarion could even see a clear change in Sejanus's expression: first, a slight astonishment, then silence and struggle.
A few breaths later, the Shadow Moon Wolf turned his head, his lips moving up and down, cautioning Morgan with silent words.
"Don't move, don't provoke. Wait for me for a few minutes; I'll be back soon."
"I promise."
——————
When the Shadow Moon Wolf's body disappeared at the end of the corridor, the Lord of Death snorted coldly, his gaze refocusing on the silver-haired witch before him.
She still seemed to show not the slightest trace of fear. The witch even dared to turn her back to him, leisurely walking towards a floor-length mirror to tidy her appearance and her tall ponytail. Mortarion vaguely saw a faint light flash across her pupils.
He wanted to laugh.
How many times had it been? These arrogant witches, these reckless psychic thugs, relying on their filthy powers, repeatedly scorned truth and science, scorned his power and reason.
But in the end, they all fell beneath his scythe. Except for the one victory that was snatched away, he had never failed.
Of course, this witch before him was still a member of the First Legion. Although he did not fear any of his brothers, he also did not want to cause more trouble over the life or death of a witch: he would just cut off one of her hands, as a warning and punishment.
As he was thinking this, the silver-haired witch had already reached the end of the conference table, about fifty or sixty meters away from him. She picked a chair, sat down, even crossed her legs, and with a smirk, uttered casual and arrogant words.
[A pleasure, Lord of Death.]
It was exactly the same as before.
——————
Morgan rested one hand on her chin, the other casually draped on the chair, invisible drops of water dripping onto the floor.
She spoke, offering that flat yet highly provocative greeting. Under her gaze, Mortarion did not fall into more obvious irritation. He maintained his composed arrogance, his voice unhurried.
[You know why I'm here, witch. Put away your shameless face. I never hesitate to kill a witch, no matter who they are.]
As he spoke, Mortarion's scythe rose and fell in mid-air, emanating terrifying colors, but unfortunately, his only listener and audience seemed not to understand what fear was.
[I'm actually quite curious why you hate psykers so much? Is it, as I've heard, because your home world was plagued by a group of psychically gifted xenos?]
[...What does that have to do with you? Your ugly nature is no nobler than those xenos.]
[No, Lord Mortarion, I just want to know why you hate xenos so much that neither of your weapons, neither that scythe nor that gun, look like human creations.]
[...Shut your mouth, witch. I have my own weapons to kill those xenos, or foolish psychic idiots like you.]
[What weapons? Are you going to suffocate them with your bad breath?]
[...]
[...]
[...You ugly old witch!]
The Lord of Death let out a guttural growl composed of pure rage. He brandished his scythe and charged forward with large strides.
——————
Resistance.
Pressure.
Suffocation.
Powerful psychic energy instantly enveloped him, making him feel breathless. Every step he took was like carrying a real mountain on his back.
Damn it... it was such a short distance.
Like a storm, like a giant wave, like the full-force strike of an invisible giant, Mortarion's knees creaked in his armor, letting out groans of unbearable strain. The Primarch struggled to lift his head, even feeling his vision blur and distort.
The Primarch clenched his jaw, glaring angrily at the witch before him: she sat there, unmoving, a bland yet utterly sarcastic smile on her face. Her fingers swayed in mid-air, and every time he broke through a psychic shield, often before he could even advance a meter, a stronger shield would appear before him, seemingly endless.
This old witch...
He cursed under his breath, noble fury condensing into an irresistible force in his heart. With a low roar, he took several strides forward, charging through several shields and a net of psychic compression in one go. Before the new attack could arrive, he raised his weapon, the [Beacon].
A gunshot rang out.
It didn't hit, but the calm silver-haired witch was indeed distracted for about a second: for a Primarch, that was enough.
When Morgan turned her head again, Mortarion's scythe was already kissing her pale neck.
The Lord of Death smiled.
[You should have used your full power, you ugly witch, despicable thief, arrogant and ignorant clown. You don't even know what true battle is.]
But his triumphant declaration was met with an equally cold smile.
[I did use my full power, Lord Mortarion.]
The Lord of the Fourteenth Legion let out a disdainful scoff.
[Full power? Well, so be it.]
He withdrew his scythe, and a cold gleam flashed, cutting towards Morgan's right arm.
But just before it was about to hit, Morgan's figure turned into illusory foam, disappearing from her spot. The next moment, she had already appeared behind Mortarion, her face still bearing that seemingly eternal smile.
The Lord of Death slowly turned his head, his expression very serious: not because of the miss, but because he sensitively realized that something seemed wrong.
Something seemed to have gone wrong...
He narrowed his eyes, his mind beginning to race, but before he could figure it all out, urgent footsteps already echoed from the corridor outside the conference room.
——————
[Enough, Mortarion, my most rational brother, don't lose your composure!]
Horus had arrived.
The tall Wolf God rushed through the door, and behind him was Sejanus, who had left not long ago.
The Shadow Moon Wolf's gaze first swept around the room, then he strode over to Mortarion's side. His eyes flickered midway, confirming Morgan's life and death, before turning to his brother.
[Alright, Mortarion, calm down, my most cautious brother, what made you lose your reason?]
The Wolf God's words interrupted Mortarion's thoughts. He looked at his brother, then at Sejanus, and then let out a loud snort, though he grumbled in a low voice to Horus.
[An arrogant psyker is now on my flagship, Horus. You know me, we are brothers, you know how unbearable this is for me.]
The Wolf God blinked.
[Of course we are brothers, my Mortarion. In my heart, you are more important than my legion and all honors.]
These words made Mortarion proudly raise his head, his gaze even arrogantly sweeping over Sejanus. Horus saw all of this, and only then did he pat Mortarion's shoulder and hug him affectionately. Taking this opportunity, he softly advised the Lord of Death in his ear.
[Mortarion, I know your anger and dissatisfaction. These are very normal, very reasonable demands. I also know that you are a misunderstood sage, and those ignorant mortals do not have your foresight. They will only slander your power and wisdom. All of this, I know.]
[Why bother so much over a psychic witch? She merely latched onto one of our brothers' express trains and became an arrogant mediocrity. What good would it do to kill her? I would not like to see you suffer more baseless and unfeeling accusations because of this one witch. This should not be your fate, my brother.]
[Leave all this to me. I promise she will never offend your legion again.]
[Your sons are conquering territories in the most dangerous places, winning unimaginable victories and glory. You should be with them, my most resilient brother. She is just a mortal, why care so much?]
[She is merely a lowly, filthy thing, not worth your personal intervention.]
——————
Mortarion left filled with pride.
Accompanied by Horus's words, everyone present could see Morgan's lowered shoulders and the blood continuously dripping from the corner of her mouth. This scene, combined with Horus's words, was enough to satisfy Mortarion.
Thus, this smart person swaggered away.
And as soon as Mortarion's figure disappeared at the end of the corridor, Horus revealed his signature smile. He once again scanned the room, then remained silent for a moment.
[Come out, Lady Morgan, I know you haven't left.]
The Wolf God's voice echoed in the room. After a few breaths, the surface of the floor-length mirror closest to Horus suddenly began to ripple like water. A moment later, the silver-haired, green-eyed figure stepped out. With a wave of her hand, the constantly spitting blood "Morgan" turned into an afterimage.
[You are even more astute than I imagined, Lord Horus.]
[After all, not everyone would overlook the great name of Souleater.]
The Wolf God smiled and walked to Morgan. His face seemed to radiate an immense light, making Morgan unable to open her eyes.
Horus bent down and extended his hand, palm up.
[Horus.]
Morgan looked at the huge palm, paused for a moment, then slowly placed her slender fingers onto it, as if placing a pure white flower petal into the embrace of a giant wolf.
[Morgan, it's an honor to meet you, Lord Horus. I have long heard of your reputation.]
The Wolf God smiled.
[It seems Sejanus often mentioned me to you?]
A hint of a smile appeared at the corner of Morgan's lips.
[Why bother with such trouble, Lord Horus?]
[The great name of the Wolf God in which legion is it not thunderous?]
For a moment, only Horus's hearty laughter filled the room.
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