Drach'nyen tore through this layer of reality, causing the surrounding scenery to dim abruptly. Alexander and Guilliman found themselves once again stepping onto the metallic deck of the Macragge's Honour.
The blade born from humanity's first murder flashed with an eerie blue light, reflecting the shadows of countless billions of murders across history. Horus Lupercal charged forward, swinging his sword and thrusting it straight toward Roboute Guilliman's throat.
All mankind was destined to be murdered by this blade. From ancient times to the present day, every weapon used in a murder was mirrored upon it. If there remained anything in this world besides Alexander's gadgets capable of slaying Guilliman, it was only the Blade of the Antagonist and this very sword.
So long as he remained human for even a single day, so long as he existed within the lineage extending from Terra, so long as the mitochondria pumping blood in and out of his cells could be traced back to that primitive woman shivering in the tribal winter, so long as the Y chromosome in his cells could be traced back to that robust man of the tribe—sharing a common ancestor with all of humanity—and even if that genome had existed in his past for a mere fleeting moment and was now completely shed, he was still destined to be murdered by this blade. It was the first demon born during humanity's first murder, the first mark etched upon the fate of mankind: brother slaying brother.
Ultimately, Guilliman could not cast aside his identity as a human. In truth, he possessed the power to do so now; he could erase his past, sever all causality, and become an uninhibited entity. He could merge with Chaos even deeper than the Chaos Warmaster himself and validate his own existence without relying on external things. Yet he could not do this. He had to be human; he had to be the King of Ancient Eons, the collective entity of humanity, allowing all of mankind to converge within his soul. Only in this manner could he carry the memory, existence, will, and intellect of all human beings to realize his plan.
But...
But in the deeper recesses of his mind, amidst the infinitely complex and eternally rational multi-threaded thoughts, a child told Guilliman another reason.
Warmth. Two currents of warmth remained settled within his heart. One belonged to a father who was slightly distant yet genuinely loved him, trying to teach him using the experience and wisdom accumulated over a brief lifespan. The other belonged to a mother who held him in a warm embrace, trying to use love and care to bestow humanity and empathy upon his icy intellect. They had embraced Roboute Guilliman, and that was Guilliman's initial connection to this world—the very thing that truly shaped him into a man.
Guilliman could not bear to sever it.
The Loyal Short Sword collided with Drach'nyen, a flash of bright crimson sweeping across the blazing short sword as it forcefully deflected Drach'nyen. That was the power of the Blood God. Khorne was the first to loosen the shackles upon Guilliman's form, handing over all his power to Guilliman's regency. The Blood God had been persuaded by Guilliman; He wanted to watch Guilliman become the regent of all things, of all matter, of everything, becoming the world itself. Afterward, Guilliman would wage a war against Him—a war between the Blood God and everything, the most magnificent war, in which the Blood God would fall. Khorne was captivated by Guilliman, and His blood—that stroke of bright crimson transcending death—would be governed by Guilliman's regency.
That stroke of blazing crimson blocked Drach'nyen.
However, Horus spun around with extreme swiftness, swinging his sword as the blade thrust toward Guilliman's face from a devious angle. Guilliman's multi-threaded mind quickly determined that this was a technique the Emperor had once used. The Emperor had taught Horus, just as King Konor and Lady Euten had taught Guilliman. Guilliman even felt an urge to smile.
He dodged with remarkable speed, but a daemon sword was a daemon sword after all. It gently grazed his cheek, drawing blood.
"First blood," Horus snarled in a low voice.
Guilliman let out a laugh. "This isn't your gladiatorial pit, Horus."
Guilliman said, "I won't concede defeat to you just because you drew my first drop of blood."
Horus naturally harbored no such hope, and Guilliman could see it as well. It was the past that had shaped Horus; it was the gang culture of Cthonia that had shaped him, leaving him naturally imbued with a gang style.
"On Cthonia, gangs would entrust life and death to a first-blood duel between their two finest warriors, correct?" Guilliman said to Horus while evading Drach'nyen.
"You even know about that?" Horus grinned. "That's exactly why I despise you. Every single word you utter seems to carry an objective and a calculation. Are you trying to mock the primitiveness of Cthonia?"
"No, brother... but on Macragge, within the gladiatorial arena of politics, when two individuals harbor different stances, there can only be a mortal struggle."
Guilliman's expression grew slightly more solemn. "The gangs of Cthonia can tolerate one another because theirs is the simplest, most straightforward conflict of interest and violence. Even the losers can often maintain their original status and wealth."
"But a conflict between stances is another matter entirely. Between two individuals who firmly believe they are correct, only one is destined to survive, because both sides understand each other's nobility and know that neither will give up as long as they still draw breath."
The Loyal Short Sword collided with the Drach'nyen in Horus's hand once more.
The daemon sword flashed with a ferocious light. This blade of murder roared and wailed, never having vented its power so intensely since its birth.
"Which do you believe is more important: the past, or power?" Guilliman asked Horus almost abruptly.
Listening to this question, Horus furrowed his brow tightly.
"I have a method that can render Drach'nyen utterly ineffective against me."
"I need only take one step forward, stepping into the domain of the non-human and severing my past, to sublimate to an matchless realm."
Guilliman forcefully parried Horus away with the Loyal Short Sword. Horus's web between thumb and forefinger went numb, leaving him shocked by Guilliman's strength.
"But I refuse to accept that choice. I refuse to sever my past and abandon my identity as a human."
"Power is the reason we win battles, but the past is the reason we fight."
"A man is at his weakest not when he lacks the strength to fight, but when he does not know what he is fighting for."
The crystal scepter appeared in Guilliman's hand once more—the authority of Tzeentch, governed by his regency.
The bargaining chip Guilliman used to persuade Tzeentch was this crystal scepter. Years ago, the crystal scepter had been shattered due to the coercion of the other three Gods, and Tzeentch's magical authority had shattered along with it, breaking into tens of thousands of fragments that fell into the mortal realm. Every fragment became a spell, which was how magic began to appear in the mortal world. Tzeentch had consistently attempted to gather back all the spells to reforge the crystal scepter, but progress had always been slow.
Yet if Guilliman held regency over all things, and all things were Guilliman, then all intellect and knowledge would converge upon Guilliman. Guilliman could instantly retrieve most of the spells for Tzeentch from the past, present, and future, reforging the crystal scepter for him.
Tzeentch had compromised, craving completeness and craving to possess endless spells once more.
The crystal scepter manifested in Guilliman's hand was the manifestation of that fragmented authority of magic. Tens of thousands of spells erupted from the crystal scepter, like thousands of light rays splintering when sunlight passed through crystal.
Horus hurriedly raised the daemon sword Drach'nyen in his hand to defend, but the intense impact still caused him to retreat several meters abruptly before he managed to stabilize his stance, temporarily fending off those tens of thousands of spells. Yet after maintaining his defense for a mere three seconds, Horus's arms let out a wail, blood vessels bursting, bones creaking, and muscles beginning to tear.
"The wind follows the tiger, the clouds follow the dragon, the dragon and tiger heroes look down upon the firmament."
"The Sword of Benevolence, the Sword of Etiquette, forcing me to unleash the Heartless Sword."
"The Smiling Tiger, the Horned Shark, can the Late Emperor hear this?"
"Hajimi, Dingdong Chicken, Asigaya Kounai Dragon."
The pages of the Magical Encyclopedia in Alexander's hand flipped rapidly, and spell after spell that did not originate from the crystal scepter burst forth, stabbing toward Roboute Guilliman.
At the same time, the Emperor's silhouette appeared at Guilliman's flank, the Emperor's Sword tracing a scorching arc of fire.
Guilliman held the crystal scepter high, and even more spells burst out from the refracted light. Horus, who was fending off the spells, suddenly realized that Guilliman hadn't used his full strength when clashing with him just now; the majority of his energy had been spent on remaining vigilant against the Emperor and Alexander.
The brilliant light of magic submerged the scene before Horus's eyes.
Guilliman placed the crystal scepter card onto the card table. "I play the Equip Spell Card 'Crystal Scepter'. While this card is on the field, I can add any number of 'Endless Spells' Spell Cards from my deck to my hand during each turn. At the same time, as long as this card exists on the field, the opponent cannot activate Spell Cards. When this card leaves the field, place a 'Crystal Scepter' from the deck, graveyard, hand, or banish zone onto the field."
As he spoke, numerous Endless Spells flew out from Guilliman's deck, shooting into the card game.
Alexander slowly played a card from his hand. "I play the Equip Spell Card 'Magical Encyclopedia'. This card is not treated as a Spell Card by rule. While this card is on the field, I can copy any number of 'Dora-Magic' Spell Cards during each turn. 'Dora-Magic' Spell Cards are not treated as Spell Cards by rule and cannot be negated."
Magic clashed head-to-head within the game, spells from two different worlds colliding with one another.
"How can you just print cards on the fly?" Guilliman was even slightly exasperated into a laugh.
But before Alexander could speak, a scorching and bright blade descended from the heavens, cleaving open the entire card game. The Human Emperor stood directly upon the board. "I Normal Summon 'Human Emperor'. When this card appears on the field, the card game ends."
"Can we please choose a method of dueling that accommodates three people?"
Thus, the scene around the three individuals shifted once more.
"Oi!"
Beneath a hazy twilight, Alexander landed a punch squarely on Guilliman's face. Guilliman, dressed in a plain blue-and-white school uniform, fell from his chair, backing into the desk behind him.
The not-so-tall but entirely arrogant-looking Alexander smirked, wearing the same school uniform as Guilliman. The dark-skinned, towering Emperor had his school uniform tied around his waist, exposing his muscles, holding a light tube pulled from who-knew-where. Together with Alexander, he cornered Guilliman.
"What is this supposed to be?" Guilliman wiped the wound on his face, a trace of blood seeping from it. "Is this a school? Campus bullying?"
"This is fucking Crows Zero, nerd!" The Emperor laughed boisterously, the light tube in his hand smashing directly onto Guilliman's head.
Glass shattered, leaving Guilliman's head broken and bleeding.
"Shouldn't students settle victories and losses through examinations?"
Test papers appeared before the eyes of Alexander and the Emperor. They sat behind the student desks, with Guilliman sitting beside them, his fingers gripping a carbon pen, writing non-stop on the exam paper until his wrist ached and his index finger was pressed red.
They gathered before the report card posted on the blackboard at the back of the classroom. Unsurprisingly, Guilliman easily secured first place, performing exceptionally well in politics, language, geography, and English.
Alexander secured some advantages in chemistry, biology, mathematics, and physics.
The Emperor led in history, biology, and physical education.
"Why is your English so terrible? Do you even know how to speak High Gothic?" the Emperor said, looking toward Alexander.
"English isn't my native language, is it so strange that I'm not good at it?" Alexander looked toward the Emperor. "On the other hand, how did your English drag you down too?"
"English isn't my native language either." The Emperor shrugged his shoulders. "When I was born, Latin had to wait for thousands of years, Assyrian hadn't even been born, and I was still speaking the most primitive Proto-Indo-European."
The scene before the three individuals shifted once more, layers of reality being peeled away. They commanded primitive cavalry to wage war against one another on the steppes; they commanded soldiers to raid and capture each other's cities; their fleets collided upon the vast oceans; their drones flew across the wilderness. On the computer screen, the color blocks representing Alexander and the Emperor began to expand, pressing Guilliman toward the corners of the map. But Guilliman's nation suddenly launched an Earth satellite, initiated a moon landing project, commenced Martian colonization, started exoplanet exploration, voyaged fifty light-years, and achieved a Science Victory.
Thus, the theater of war spread among the stars, exploring the cosmos, fleets contending...
"You cannot attack me. This is different from the last game. This game is still in the advanced Western Zhou period; you must follow the Zhou Rites when waging war. You cannot declare war without warning, you cannot field an army without a righteous cause, you cannot attack an innocent nation, both sides cannot launch sneak attacks during battle and must inform the opponent beforehand, and the fleets within the opponent's territory must be escorted home completely intact. Both sides must arrange their arrays at the national border to duel each other."
"Who on earth designed this..." Guilliman let out a bitter smile, yet he still gradually overwhelmed Alexander and the Emperor within this game.
Reality shattered, and blood flowed. The forms of Alexander, the Emperor, and Guilliman manifested once again aboard the Macragge's Honour. Poison... The Emperor lowered his head slightly; a virulent virus was festering within his chest, while Alexander's shoulder was pierced through by a twisted, slender sword of opulence.
Guilliman stood tall, panting heavily, bruises caused by round hands and burns caused by the Emperor's Sword covering his entire body.
"It seems I have won by a slight margin," Guilliman said with a smile.
"Yes." Alexander had no choice but to nod in admission. "If Horus were as troublesome to deal with as you, it would be completely over."
Guilliman raised his eyebrows slightly, a bad premonition rising within him.