Just like in the past, the Emperor and Malcador often used games of chess to deduce the situation and make better judgments for the Imperium.
"I win," the Sigillite said hoarsely, but when he turned his attention back to place his piece, another piece already occupied the space he was about to take.
The Fool, representing Malcador.
"In ancient times, a fool could say anything to anyone," the Emperor said, smiling.
Seeing this expression, a wave of warmth surged into Malcador's heart.
"A fool's task was precisely to remind those in high positions that they are not immortal, but frail, and that they are no greater than ordinary men. In simple terms, the fool's existence is to speak truth to power, to resist authority, and most importantly, to puncture tyranny."
Malcador lowered his head slightly; it was the tacit understanding between old friends.
"Then where is my place?" Zeke suddenly spoke up.
He searched repeatedly among those statues of heroes, but could never find a place that belonged to him.
In this chess game that simulated ten thousand years, it seemed not even the shadow of a single square had been reserved for him.
Might as well. Zeke pulled a Grass Block drop from his inventory to represent himself.
Crack.
Whether it was because the chessboard was of too low quality, or because Zeke used too much force, the moment the block landed, the entire chessboard suddenly tilted downward.
All the pieces clattered down, and even the chessboard itself fell to the floor, shattering into three pieces of debris.
The Emperor and Malcador both froze mid-gesture as they were about to raise their hands, but immediately after, unfathomable expressions once again covered their faces.
The Eternity Gate behind them was pushed open; someone else had come to visit.
Baldo Slyst stepped into the hall. As the Ecclesiarch, he was draped in tedious, elaborate robes heavy enough to crush a mortal's spine.
The Ecclesiarch, the highest priest and chief commander of the entire Imperial Cult, who had openly opposed the reform clauses after the Primarch's return.
Because the Ecclesiarchy's help allowed the Indomitus Crusade to proceed more smoothly, Guilliman had just held his nose and ignored him.
Rumor had it that he had wanted to join Haemotalion's Hexarchy to launch a coup and oppose Guilliman.
Haemotalion was the person who had interrupted Zeke's feast when he first arrived on Terra and handed him a card. After being removed from his position as a High Lord, he had started drumming up his Hexarchy again.
The Emperor originally had no intention of receiving him; Slyst's fate should have been to become a ghost under the blades of the Officio Assassinorum.
However, Malcador insisted on this meeting.
In Malcador's view, killing one Ecclesiarch wouldn't change anything. A new Ecclesiarch would take office, and the Ecclesiarchy would still exist.
Since the faith originated from the Emperor, the Emperor should be the one to sever it personally.
Zeke agreed. Since the Emperor's condition had recovered so well, He should meet more of the Imperium's high-ranking officials.
"My God, it is an honor to finally see You," Slyst stammered, falling to his knees, his entire body trembling violently.
He had recited those magnificent hymns countless times in the grand cathedrals of the Ecclesiarchy, constructing fantasies of the deity amidst the smoke of censers.
Even though his soul had long rotted away in political games, at this very moment, before the Emperor, his faith had miraculously reached its zenith.
Meeting the Emperor would undoubtedly become the most glorious record on his resume for the rest of his life.
However, the voice that answered him was incomparably cold.
"You are merely an invisible and mediocre cornerstone in the edifice of my immortal glory."
As soon as the Emperor spoke, Slyst suddenly felt his mind buzzing.
Zeke turned serious; it seemed the Emperor's trash-talking skills were no less than his own.
Slyst swallowed hard, unable to believe the Emperor would actually say such words.
When he looked into the Emperor's eyes, he saw only unshakable, unwavering truth; He genuinely thought this way.
He realized the Emperor was not humiliating him.
He was merely stating a fact.
Slyst believed he had value. "The Ecclesiarchy has created many miracles, in Your name,"
Slyst said with a trembling tone, trying to organize his thoughts, "Without the efforts of the Ecclesiarchy, there would be no Imperium."
"In My name." These words had never sounded so disdainful. "No Ecclesiarchy, no Imperium? Without the support of your swarms of bureaucrats, what justifiable reason is there to keep you?"
Slyst felt a tear slide down his cheek, his entire body trembling with humiliation.
The Ecclesiarch looked at the Emperor with a silent plea, but only received a sigh of contempt in return.
"Some say your Ecclesiarchy is my left hand." The Emperor raised five fingers and wiggled them.
"That is true. That is your entire meaning—an extension of my will. I form a thought, and you execute it."
"So now, your Ecclesiarchy can disappear."
Slyst opened his mouth, but was at a loss for words.
"Do not look at me like a tamed ruminant. I know what you want to say. You say you are afraid of failing me, but the truth is you know you already have."
"You cannot even hate me when I need you to hate me," the Emperor stated ruthlessly.
If possible, the Emperor even wished that this bunch from the Ecclesiarchy could hate Him, rather than worship Him as a god.
Slyst felt as if a fiery knife had been thrust into his chest, the flames spreading, causing him agony and despair.
Slyst knew the Ecclesiarchy no longer had a reason to exist. Passed down to his generation, the title of Ecclesiarch had reached the 24th generation.
He never expected the Ecclesiarchy to be destroyed in his own hands.
Slyst was eventually dragged out, crying.
"The Officio Assassinorum is already in action," Malcador said, having taken the second step of security measures. Zeke sighed a bit; he hadn't expected the Emperor's scolding to be so harsh.
Afterwards, once Slyst was dragged out, the Emperor waved His hand, and several unconscious Dark Eldar appeared on the floor.
"Are these Dark Eldar the ones who wanted to clone you?" Zeke noticed that these Eldar had already lost consciousness.
"Yes, they infiltrated this place from the Dark City of Commorragh."
Commorragh, the lair of the Dark Eldar, hidden deep within the Webway.
Those who dared not speak its name directly called it the Dark City, but its scale was far beyond what the word "city" could describe.
It was the most massive, hive-like imperial capital in history, floating in the void of the Webway, its scale far beyond what an ordinary person could imagine.
"The cloning technology of the Dark Eldar is highly advanced. If modified, they should be able to clone my physical body." The Emperor showed a trace of interest. "I have already extracted the coordinates of Commorragh from the minds of these Eldar. We can reverse-infiltrate it through the Webway beneath the Golden Throne."
Zeke didn't hear the rest of the words. He seemed to know how to steal that Crone Sword from Slaanesh's Palace now.
He needed to borrow some external forces to distract Slaanesh's attention.
The Dark Eldar would be perfect.
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