If Magnus was being driven to the brink by the state of his Legion, then Horus—who had reported the entire incident and taken full responsibility for handling it—had become a true beast of burden.
The Terran Council was after him. The Mechanicum was after him. Even the Titan Legions wanted a word.
Not long ago, Horus had declared himself dead in order to confuse both enemies and allies alike before moving in secret. Now, to help his brother, he had no choice but to tear away that disguise with his own hands.
Fortunately, Horus's reputation and status still carried enormous weight.
The Mechanicum, as an ally of the Imperium, was willing to give the Warmaster face. They agreed not to pursue the Thousand Sons' unauthorized modification and use of a god-machine. In return, however, the Thousand Sons could forget about receiving any future support or equipment from the Mechanicum.
Those witches who thought they could desecrate the Omnissiah with sorcery could go eat dirt.
The Titan Legion, meanwhile, reevaluated its friendship with the Thousand Sons. Again, for Horus's sake, they chose not to press the matter further—but they reclaimed the Warlord Titan Zenith Hound.
It would no longer stand as a monument to the friendship forged between Legions.
The Thousand Sons, bitter as they were about the outcome, could only swallow it. They had been in the wrong. The fact that the Legio Astraman hadn't already marched in to settle accounts was mercy enough.
With the Thousand Sons in their current state, if the Astraman called in every Titan they could muster and launched a full assault, they could flatten Prospero with ease.
But compared to the Mechanicum and the Titan Legion, the party that truly gave Horus a headache—the one that forced him to pour out the most time and energy—was still the most critical one:
The Terran Council.
If he could have helped it, Horus would have preferred never to deal with them again. This council of baseline humans, draped in authority, had infuriated the Warmaster more than once already.
My brothers and I are out there waging the Great Crusade for the future of mankind, and you lot, coddled by Father's favor, get to stand behind Malcador and issue commands from holy Terra in safety.
And now you dare to question me? You even want to punish my brother?
Go to hell, the lot of you!
"Punish Magnus? Who gave you the courage? Who gave you the authority?" Horus roared. "Was it the Emperor? Was it my father? Was it Malcador? If it was none of them, then what gave you the right to speak to me like this?"
"Absolutely not."
The delegates from Terra, however, refused to back down.
"Warmaster, you know as well as we do that the Fifteenth Legion has repeatedly violated the Emperor's edicts. Worse, they sparked a disastrous civil conflict. If there is no public trial, no example made of them, then what will stop other Primarchs from following their example?"
"The Imperium cannot allow such a precedent to stand."
"A trial? What right do you have to demand one?"
A black sword formed in Horus's hand. Barely restraining his fury, he strode toward them.
"He fought in the Great Crusade for humanity. One mistake does not give you the right to trample the honor he earned!"
"You will not humiliate my brother. I swear it. If any of you try, I will make you pay!"
Although the Sixteenth Legion had suffered severe losses in the conflict on Prospero—more than ten thousand men lost—that was a private matter between Legions. What the Terran Council wanted now was to seize the opportunity and inflate their own hollow sense of authority.
And that was what had truly infuriated Horus.
What are you, exactly? If not for Father, I would have thrown every last one of you into the void already—council chamber and all!
"Warmaster!"
The delegation's tone sharpened in anger as well.
"This is the united decision of the Terran Council. Are you planning to defy Holy Terra itself?"
"Defy Holy Terra? Who do you think you are?" Horus snapped. "Bring my father here. Let him say it to my face. Otherwise, if any one of you so much as touches Prospero, I will go straight to Terra and drag every last one of you through the dirt myself."
"I swear it."
One misstep from my brother, and you descend like jackals smelling blood. Why? What gives you the right?
Only the Master of Mankind—our father—has the authority to judge a Primarch.
No one else. Not even Malcador.
That answer finally shook the delegation. Horus was radiating the kind of fury that made it clear he would not stop short of civil war if they pressed him further.
The delegates began to realize, uneasily, that things had not gone the way they had imagined.
Magnus was at fault, yes—but the Warmaster was protecting him with everything he had. He didn't even seem to care that his own body had changed so drastically.
This is no longer an ordinary emergency, they thought. This has to be reported back to Terra. Let Malcador and the Emperor decide.
Then, from among the delegation, a voice sounded—one Horus found especially grating.
"Horus… your attitude remains as forceful as ever. In that regard, you are nothing like your father."
One of the envoys stepped forward, his eyes glowing with unmistakable psychic light. Horus took one look and recognized the trick at once.
"Malcador. So these people were your doing?" Horus snarled. "A pack of swine thinks they can brand my brother a traitor and drag him away? Is that what you want too?"
"Horus, that is not—"
"Don't. Spare me."
His ears stood straight up, fury practically sparking off him.
"No one but Father has the right to judge my brother. That is my line."
"Anyone who keeps pushing this—even you—will answer to me on Terra."
If Father intends to abandon us all for the sake of the Webway project, then...
Then what kind of Imperium is that?
An Imperium like that would be better off dead.
I won't accept an Imperium like that, and I won't accept a father like that. We promised to drive back the dark together and return mankind to its place as master of the galaxy—not let a few petty schemers use us as stepping stones.
Without us—without the Primarchs and the Astartes—would these stupid councilors dare act so grand?
Malcador sighed through the envoy he was speaking through.
"If choosing not to intervene counts as tacit approval, then yes. I gave it."
That answer only made Horus angrier.
You knew what they were doing, and you let it happen? How did Terra's government become this rotten?
"And yet," Malcador continued, "seeing how far you're willing to go to protect a brother guilty of such grave errors has also confirmed something."
"Both to me, and to my old friend."
"Even if your appearance has changed, your soul has not."
"You are still Horus—the first-found son who will stand for his brothers before anything else."
Horus's grip on the sword did not loosen, but the murderous edge in his posture dulled slightly. Anyone with eyes could see it. A moment ago he had looked ready to cut someone down where they stood. Now he at least looked willing to listen.
"Send them away," Malcador said. "I'll handle this personally."
The delegates, who only moments ago had been strutting with all the confidence of borrowed authority, immediately bowed and withdrew.
It was laughable, in a way. They had wanted to use Magnus as a stepping stone to prove their own importance. But if Malcador wanted them dead, he could have crushed them—and the entire council—with barely any effort.
That was the truth of power in Terra.
No matter what facade was built, Malcador and the Emperor stood at the very summit of authority. Everyone else was just a participant in a structure they controlled.
If a councilor stepped out of line, they could throw him into the Warp—or erase him from history altogether.
Horus narrowed his eyes.
"Do my people need to leave as well?"
"No," Malcador replied. "This is your Legion. Your ground. I respect your choice."
His gaze swept over the officers of the Sons of Horus who remained, lingering for a moment on Abaddon.
Even he has changed. It seems my old friend has gained an ally no one expected.
"I know what you want to ask, Horus," Malcador said at last.
And this time, mercifully, he did not try to cloak the answer in riddles.
"You want to know what your father thinks about the changes to you and your brothers."
Horus said nothing.
Malcador held his gaze and gave the answer plainly.
"He does not mind."
Join here to read ahead.
In Star Rail, Ultra-Beast Armored — Have I Caught "Equilibrium"? l (Chapter 80)
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My Cyberpsycho Girlfriend 65
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The Violent Girl Group Is Beat 115
Uma Musume: The Horse Girl Who 67
Uma Musume: From Beginner 130
Becoming a Horse Girl, I Will 85
Uma Musume: I Want All 105
I Can Copy Unique Skills 100
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Checking In in Demon Slayer 75
The Reincarnating Trainer of Tracen Academy 80
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My Best Friend Into a Slime? 58
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The Gacha Merchant Who Started 49
Honkai's Otherworld? Wait—Who Are You People?! 36
Emiya Shirou, Determined to Slay Every Curse and Evil Spirit 35
The Uma Musume Who Became 30
I'm Definitely Not the King of 35
After Maxing Out Every Class 35
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