Serious People, Who is Learning Magic at Marvel?

The Assassin Court Grand Master had some blood on his face when he killed the Pope. Such major events involve the life and death of countless people and even the political situation on dozens of planets, but in this room, his life and death are of no importance.

Sombra and the Assassin Court Master killed them with an attitude that bordered on child's play.

The rest of the high-ranking lords didn't seem to have a big reaction, only the host of the Star Torch Academy, Leops Frank frowned: "We have no evidence, this will make the people of the state religion jump over the wall."

The blacksmith general, Wood Udia Lasky, a tall woman covered in steel, said in a synth voice: "The son of the Om Messiah has returned from the dead, what more evidence do we need? "

Her murderous synthetic voice sounded extremely uncomfortable: "...they dare to do anything unwise, then, the Church of the Mechanicus is on the front line."

The Assassin's Court Master Mentor who had just killed people, Fadix looked at all this with an indifferent attitude. He had realized one thing from the attitudes of these people - he was the one who was kept in the dark.

The Council of High Lords of Terra is not without its own security forces. They have an independent Astartes Codex, although they are morally criticized for their style, and some even call them the dogs of the High Lords. But there is no doubt about the combat effectiveness of this Astartes chapter called Minotaur.

They have a full staff of 1,000 people, supported by Lord Terra, and equipment and personnel support is not a problem. In addition to a sufficient number of heavy weapons and warships, they even have many dark weapons from ancient times, and the speed at which this chapter replenishes its troops is even more staggering.

Typically, an Astartes Chapter replenishes major losses within a century or two, but Minotaur Chapters often take only a few weeks. At this speed, it is hard not to suspect that they maintain a formation of far more than a thousand people in private, so that they can replenish their troops anytime and anywhere.

However, not a single Astarte warrior from the Minotaur has appeared since Sombra's attack until now.

Except for the four idiots who were really rebelling, the other high-ranking lords undoubtedly knew about it. He might even have had an affair with Guilliman himself. Fadix was thinking fast, as the leader of the Assassin Court, he must consider whether this is a signal from Guilliman - what does he want to express?

Soon the Servant entered this hallowed room. After dragging the four corpses away, the initiator, the mysterious shadow finally revealed its true face from the darkness.

He wore a strange helmet, hiding his face under the black. There are sharp horns on both sides of the helmet, and with the bat pattern on his chest, it is hard not to remind people of another long-dead Primarch, and his fallen Legion.

None of the remaining high-ranking lords said a word about it.

The figure of this man disappeared in a flash and disappeared into the darkness. Immediately afterwards, there was a sound of heavy footsteps in the corridor outside the room, and not long after, a man pushed open the door.

He didn't wear his own armor, he wore a robe, and that determined face was tired, but still couldn't hide the charisma that radiated from his eyes. The resurrected Ultramarine Primarch, Robert Guilliman, stood before the remaining eight High Lords.

"Good afternoon, everyone."

His opening remarks are terse, but the greetings are unusual—words like good afternoon, good morning, good night have lost their meaning on Terra. Most people don't see sunlight in their lives, they are just born and die in the lower layers of their hives.

Guilliman ignored everyone's expressions. He stood at the door and didn't even want to step into the room: "I already know what happened on Cadia. The great rift divided the empire in two and shattered the territory. All people are threatened by Chaos and traitors, and I can't just sit back and watch."

He didn't look at anyone, and seemed to be looking at everyone, his eyes were like swords: "As the regent of the empire.... I ask to launch an expedition. I want to remove the people of the empire from those terrifying monsters. Threatened and rescued - who is against it?"

No one objected.

"Very good." Guilliman nodded expressionlessly, even too lazy to speak, only a cold smile flashed across his face.

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Taking Angron across worlds was a very unusual thing - he was a Primarch, and what was a Primarch of the Emperor?

He himself seemed curious and restrained, but he couldn't help but ask a question while drifting with the mage in the endless star sea: "How many of these worlds do humans have?"

He Shenyan glanced at him: "A lot, Angron. What do you want to do with this?"

He stopped talking.

The mage hummed and said, "Get ready."

Angron gritted his teeth immediately, ready for any possible impact or something. In his conception, it takes some blows just to fall from space to the ground, let alone to cross the world with the flesh alone. However, to his surprise, just a flash of white light, and the surrounding scene changed.

Those magnificent and magical stars wrapped in bubbles all disappeared. At this moment, he was stepping on the ground with his feet on the ground, and above his head was the deep night sky. The mage stood beside him and shook his head. Angron heard him say, "Relax, I have a few questions for you, just treat it as a routine check-up."

"Did you feel any discomfort in any way?"

Angron took his question seriously, and he checked himself carefully to make sure there was nothing wrong before nodding.

He Shenyan rubbed his wrist, and Angron noticed that some stars were dissipating between his fingers: "It seems that the place we came from is not very good."

"what happened?"

The mage raised his head, his face was a little gloomy: "We are in the encirclement."

Angron narrowed his eyes: "What do you mean?"

"To put it simply, we are now in an upgraded version of the Eye of Terror, next to the Great Rift." He Shenyan's face was full of ridicule, and he didn't know who he was mocking.

"Are there any Imperial troops nearby?"

"How do I know?" The mage spread his hands. "I'm not omnipotent, Angron—actually, I'm feeling pretty bad right now."

He Shenyan didn't lie, he felt really bad now.

Just like marine creatures came to land, the magic power in the body is still huge and like an arm. But the connection to that pocket dimension failed, and he couldn't extract magic power from it, and the stickiness in the surrounding air made him very unhappy. This feeling of being **** rarely makes the mage a little grumpy.

Angron frowned: "Is it because of the relationship that took me across the world? It seems that you and the psionicists are still somewhat similar, you have to rest for a while."

"No." He Shenyan waved his hand and took a deep breath. He quickly adapted to the current environment. Sea creatures evolved into land creatures in a minute.

"The sooner things are resolved, the better. Let me take a look. If you have nothing to do... just help me be on the alert."

He sat cross-legged, his body floating in mid-air. Intricate patterns were drawn on the ground by an invisible big hand, and a huge magic circle glowing with blue light soon appeared, shrouding him in it.

He Shenyan closed his eyes tightly, considering the existence of the subspace, he did not directly scan the surrounding planets with his mental power as before, but adopted a safer method.

A bit slow, but safe enough - at least not to worry about being disgusted by those four pervasive bastards. He didn't want someone to talk about all kinds of **** in his head when he was relaxing.

Angron stood beside him and began to observe his surroundings. The primarch's perception is extremely sensitive, and he quickly estimated that the planet's gravity is about 1.12 times that of the normal Tara state, which is negligible for him. They were in a wilderness with a forest not far away.

Angron sniffed the air, and his sense of smell told him that there was no trace of humans here, but he still needed to be prepared. Angron tore off the robes on his body, tore them into long strips, and put them on his waist. Exposing the upper body that was built to the extreme. He was a little further away from the mage, ensuring that he could step back to his side at any time.

Then a punch hit the ground, the soil flew, and Angron used his fist expressionlessly to create a miniature earthquake. He stood in the deep pit, and soon found what he wanted - a large enough stone. Angron took it out and began to carve the stone with his fingers.

Eventually, he made three stone guns out. Against mortals, he doesn't need weapons and that's enough. But if there's a Chaos traitor around, he'll need weapons—even if it's something better than nothing.

When he finishes all this, the Mage's investigation is over. He opened his eyes, and the blue light flickered in his eyes. The magic circle on the ground disappeared, leaving only the burned traces: "A good news, and a bad news, which one do you want to hear first?"

Carrying the stone guns, Angron used rags to bind them tighter on his back and asked, "Bad."

"There's a Chaos Astartes Warband nearby."

"Okay?"

"Okay?" The mage laughed slowly, and said something that almost made Angron's heart stop beating: "If I'm not mistaken...they should be called World Eaters."

Angron's eyes twitched.

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Givaudan, restraint.

He looked at the face reflected in the helmet's eyepiece that didn't look like a person or a ghost, and he thought of restraint in his heart. This behavior is simply incomprehensible, considering who he is - a Chaos Astarte and a member of the notorious World Eaters.

How could there be such a person in this deplorable degenerate legion that is full of lunatics from top to bottom? Yes, there is.

Not all fall into the dark side willingly, and not all zealously believe in the Lord of the Skulls sitting on the Brass Throne. Most World Eaters initially just wanted to follow in the footsteps of their genetic fathers, but in the years that followed, few were able to maintain a rare sobriety.

Carnage, blood, skulls.

These three words are their norm.

Jiva Doren sat in his room, his armor had lost the right shoulder plate due to old age, and it was full of scars. This is a common occurrence for Chaos Astartes. They don't have the concept of maintenance - especially the World Eaters, you can't expect a Mechanic or Tech Sergeant in this gang of lunatics.

If it was to be replaced, they would rely on robbing. Unlike Givaudan, he refused to do so. There are no blasphemous heretical ornaments on his armor either, it's just painted red. Givaudan could describe himself as such.

He is a lunatic.

Being in the middle of a group of traitors, and entrusting them with the virtual snake, but still looking forward to one day dying as a war dog, not what it looks like now.

It's a pity that he knows that his dream may never come true. The Butcher's Nail in his mind began to hurt again, and Givaudoren shivered and took a brand new metal rod from a wooden box beside him and stuffed it into his mouth. Then he started to let out a suppressed howl, and it didn't take long before the sound of metal being bitten came from the room.

In this way he quelled his desire to kill, but not permanently. Over the years, Givaudan has lost count of how many innocent people he has killed. Some were when he had to kill when he was sober, and some when he went insane and killed by mistake. Either way, it made it hard for him to forgive himself.

Deep down in his heart, Jivaldoren knew that he longed for death.

Just when he finally got over the pain of the Butcher's Nail attack, the siren rang frantically, and Jiva Doren stood up and put on his helmet.

If he didn't want to die, he still had to act—at least he had to kill a few to act like he was facing an attack. Fortunately, most of his brothers are lunatics. Once they are killed, they don't care about anything, which makes him stand in the shadows many times and watch it all.

like a coward.

He opened the door of his room and put his hand on the chainsaw sword, but before he could step out of the door, he was knocked out by a huge force - the goggles of the helmet were still functioning stably, helping him to lock the attack. By.

Givaudron saw something he couldn't believe: a shadow weaving through the corridors of the ship, wielding crude stone weapons. Every blow kills one of his fallen brothers, and their armor doesn't do much for the man and the stone spear in his hand, not much more than cloth. Staring at his back, Givaudan suddenly felt a throbbing.

...what's the situation?

By the time the attacker turned his face, Givaudonne began to wonder if he was really crazy.

"You..." He took off his helmet.

"You..." Jivaldoren stood up reluctantly, and the blow he had just received shattered his breastplate, and at least shattered a few bones. He was panting heavily, and the butcher's nail in the back of his head began to ache again. "Who are you?!"

The attacker didn't speak. He stepped over the corpse on the ground and threw the broken stone gun down. He came to Jiva Doren and lifted him from the ground so that he could actually see his face.

"Did you see clearly?" the attacker asked.

Jiva Doren's eyes turned pure crimson in the next instant, and the butcher's nails completely broke out, but this time, he had no intention of suppressing it.

He pulled out the chainsaw sword at superhuman speed, and the violent weapon roared, drawing a perfect arc in the air with enormous force, and it was about to slash on the attacker's neck. The big hand pressed **** the spinning blade.

As if he hadn't noticed it, Jivaldoren still acted like a madman and tried his best to attack this man. He made fatal moves, but he was blocked by the attacker with one hand. His eyes were complicated, but his expression was unshakable, just simply defending against his attack.

The roar of the World Eater echoed in the broken corridor, the broken cables hung down from the ceiling, and the sound of electric current and muffled sound mixed together, making it extremely terrifying. Then, another man walked slowly from the other end of the corridor, his hands behind his back, as if he was walking.

He came to the attacker, glanced at Givaudan, who had fallen into a madness, and put him into a coma, and then said to the attacker, "What do you think?"

"..." Angron was silent, not knowing what to say.

distressed? Indeed there is.

But more of it is anger, some mourning for misfortune, and some anger for indifference. His anger subsided a little after seeing the alien, Jiva Doren. In its own universe, Angron's Legion has always been known for its strict discipline.

Their fighting style is extremely efficient, aiming to hit the nail on the head and achieve maximum results with minimum casualties, however, before his arrival, the Legion was known as war dogs. At that time, their fighting style was bloodthirsty and ruthless, and some even called them butchers with fear.

After boarding the tiny World Eater Warband ship, everything Angron saw left him with unspeakable pain. Human skulls can be seen everywhere in the spacecraft, and some of them have just been chopped off not long ago. If this was something he could grudgingly accept, then what he discovered next made him furious.

There is a huge 'slave area' at the bottom of the spaceship. These World Eaters have fallen into chaos, but they still raise a large group of slaves to maintain the daily operations of the spaceship's logistics and maintenance. This was perhaps the most unacceptable to him—as everyone knows, the thing he hated most in his life was slavery.

The mage shrugged: "I don't know if your luck is good or bad, Angron. Not everyone can have an experience like yours, but..."

He squatted down, looked at Astarte, who was still twitching and made a terrifying expression even if he fell into a coma, and said to Angron: "I have to ask you, are you going to take this responsibility? ?"

"What responsibility?"

"You may not believe it... But, Angron, this guy is still loyal. Loyal to you."

Standing in place, Angron fell silent again.

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When Jiva Doren woke up, he found himself bound and kneeling on the ground. Instead of rushing to move, he began to think about the scene he saw before he passed out. He was quite sure—that was the face of their Primarch Angron.

However, it was before he fell.

This scene puzzled him, and at the time, he even thought that Tzeentch's followers were deliberately fooling him, so he created this illusion. But he is not dead now.

Givaudoren watched the environment carefully out of the corner of his eye, he had to find a way—wait.

His eyes widened in disbelief: My head doesn't hurt anymore? !

The butcher's nail that had plagued him for 10,000 years and the curse that had lived with him for 10,000 years disappeared at this time. The back of his head no longer felt the restraint and pain, and the urge to chop everything up and chop it up went away from his brain. He can even think normally, like in those days when he was a war dog.

Normal, awake, thinking.

After a long absence of a thousand years.

Givaudan looked up, and in front of him was a man sitting on a wooden box. He lowered his head, as if in deep thought, showing half of his face, and Riwadolun's heart was pounding.

He barely made a sound, and he was startled by his hoarse voice: "You..."

The man raised his head and looked at him with a complicated look: "It's me."

Givaudan's lips trembled. He had imagined such a situation countless times, but when a normal Angron was right in front of him, Givaudan became more and more sure that this was just his own imagination-how could someone escape from his clutches and escape. Back to normal? I must be crazy!

The feeling of being freed from the curse he had just felt was intertwined with the present, prompting the warrior to start slamming the ground with his forehead, trying to escape the illusion with pain. His frantic behavior didn't last long, and a pair of big hands pulled him up from the ground.

Angron looked at him, said nothing, and seemed to have said everything.

After a while, they walked out of the room together. Givaudoren followed Angron at every step, and the Astartes felt utterly ashamed when he saw the fallen skull decorations in the bridge corridor.

Angron, as if he knew what he was thinking, said without looking back, "Your atonement has just begun, soldier."

"..." He paused. "What do you think of the name Swallowing the World?"

Givaudan raised his chest and replied in a low voice, "It's a good name, father of genes, but it's not a name I deserve."

"Who says you're not worthy?" Angron turned and stared at him. "You have persisted in the traitor for 10,000 years and have not fallen. Your armor does not have any corrupt decorations, and your mind is still normal."

"But I killed innocent people—"

"That's right. I never said you were innocent. Your atonement has just begun." Angron turned around again. "Come with me... This tragic fate must be stopped immediately."

They came all the way to the main control room of the spacecraft, where there was still blood, but the bodies had disappeared. A man of normal size stood with his back to them.

"Are you done?" he asked casually, as if he knew they were coming.

Even though it was just a simple greeting, Givaudan seemed to have suffered some kind of humiliation.

Immediately he stepped forward and shouted: "Do you know who you are facing? Take back your words and face him with due etiquette, or I will show you what anger is, mortal!"

The man turned around, glanced at him with a smile, and then looked at Angron: "...Are all your children so grumpy?"

Angron sighed with a headache.