"No. It isn't time to leave yet."
Zahndrekh rejected Obyron's suggestion, his tone exceedingly cautious.
"I must learn the truth about the Sacred Soul Cult. Its existence may affect the fate of the entire Necrontyr race.
"Whatever happens, we cannot ignore it and risk allowing the situation to grow worse."
The Nemesor's attitude toward the Sacred Soul Cult and its Divine Emissary had changed drastically.
You simply want to stay for the banquet and drink to your heart's content, don't you?
Obyron kept that thought to himself.
Since the Nemesor had made his decision, Obyron, as his vargard, was duty-bound to obey.
Ultimately, Zahndrekh accepted Phaeron Ramses's invitation and decided to remain for several more days so he could better understand the Sacred Soul Cult.
Besides, arriving a few days late would have little effect on the war in the Hypnos System.
It was an interstellar conflict spanning thousands of sectors. The ordnance unleashed could disrupt the gravity of an entire sector, while the deployment and repositioning of tomb fleets and battlefronts were planned in months.
Furthermore, Imotekh the Stormlord and the Silent King were still mustering their forces and probing one another. Both sides were searching for an opportunity, and a full-scale war had yet to erupt.
Of course, those were merely the reasons Zahndrekh used to convince himself.
He truly did want to investigate the Sacred Soul Cult and understand what had happened to him yesterday.
Some instinct told him this would be one of the most important decisions he had made in sixty million years.
"Very well, my lord.
"Given the security situation on this planet, I have assigned additional royal guards to protect you. The Destroyer Legions are also ready to be awakened at any moment," Obyron said.
He could not interfere with the Nemesor's decision. All he could do was perform his duties to the best of his ability and ensure his lord's safety on this unfamiliar tomb world.
The vargard had long grown accustomed to Zahndrekh's behavior. He was also one of the few who could endure his lord's delusions and bouts of confusion over the long term.
Unlike the Overlords and Lords who had served before him, Obyron had never chosen to betray Zahndrekh and overthrow his rule.
Besides, he knew his master was one of the few true sages remaining among the Necrontyr. The occasional lapse into confusion did little harm.
The Nemesor's wisdom and strategic insight far exceed our own. They are not things others can casually fathom. We need only carry out his will.
Not long afterward, however, Obyron began to regret that conclusion.
"My lord, what in the dynasties are you wearing this time?"
Obyron stared blankly at the figure before him. Zahndrekh had wrapped himself in tattered gray linen and hunched over, skulking about with all the subtlety of a thief.
"My friend, this is a disguise!"
Zahndrekh bent lower and pulled the ragged fabric tightly around himself, even covering his head. The result only made him look more suspicious.
He turned and whispered, seemingly afraid someone might overhear him.
"If I disguise myself as a plantation farmer, no one will discover my true identity."
Obyron sank into a profound silence.
The vargard was beginning to suspect that his master had not fully recovered after all.
"We must personally investigate the territory of the Sacred Soul Cult and discover what has truly happened here. This so-called new god is far from simple."
Zahndrekh glanced at the nearly seven-meter-tall vargard beside him, then shoved another bundle of ragged linen into his hands.
His manner was exceptionally cautious.
"My friend, you must disguise yourself as well. If you follow me looking like that, you will expose my identity!"
The mighty Obyron could only resign himself to his fate. He draped the tattered linen over his body and followed the Nemesor as they furtively slipped out of the palace.
Together, they headed toward the outer districts to investigate the city.
"My lord, perhaps we could assign Canoptek Wraiths to perform this reconnaissance," Obyron suggested as he followed. He had not yet abandoned his attempts to dissuade Zahndrekh. "Would that not be safer?"
"No. We must experience this ourselves. Living metal cannot substitute for genuine experience."
Zahndrekh pulled the linen tighter around himself as if he were cold, and even added an unsteady stagger to his steps.
He was doing his utmost to imitate a Necrontyr farmer from sixty million years ago, determined not to let anyone discover his true identity.
Unfortunately, they were walking along the broad avenue leading from the palace to the outer city.
Royal guards of the Sacred Soul Cult stood watch all along the road. Canoptek Spyders and Tomb Stalkers also swept past from time to time. The two figures wrapped in ragged linen were exceptionally conspicuous.
Fortunately, the Necrontyr and Canoptek constructs seemed aware that the pair were honored guests and paid them no attention.
Their arrest or attack protocols would only activate if the two entered a restricted area or presented a serious threat.
"What are those two trying to do?"
From a terrace of the pyramid palace, Eden watched the two skulking figures with a puzzled expression.
He genuinely could not comprehend how their minds worked. Necrons always seemed capable of inventing some new form of insanity.
"They are most likely attempting to conceal their identities. Of all possible conclusions, that carries the highest probability," Fahra answered after rapidly processing the available data.
She had long grown accustomed to the bizarre behavior of her kin. Long aeons of slumber and despair had left many of them with damaged minds.
Of course, peculiar habits did nothing to diminish the power of many Necrontyr.
Hundreds of thousands of years spent fighting the War in Heaven and the subsequent war against the C'tan had carved their instinct for war and battle into the very core of their beings.
Necrontyr capable of rational thought, such as Charles and myself, have become exceedingly rare among our people, Fahra thought.
Her husband, Phaeron Ramses, merely possessed a few unusual cross-species interests, with a particular fondness for humans.
That was hardly a serious problem. Before biotransference, many Necrontyr nobles had been perfectly willing to communicate and mingle with other species.
Charles was one of the most rational Necrontyr nobles Fahra had ever encountered. His composure and wisdom always reassured her.
Then the young Phaerakh watched Eden accept a bundle of ragged linen from one of the royal guards.
"My dear, wait here. I'm going to see what they're doing."
Eden wrapped himself in the tattered cloth and then followed Zahndrekh and Obyron toward the city with the same suspicious, furtive gait.
If he wanted to deal with lunatics, he first had to blend in with them.
Fahra stared after her husband, utterly bewildered.
Had the Nemesor somehow infected Eden's cortical field?
Fortunately, the young Phaerakh quickly realized what her husband intended to accomplish.
She breathed a sigh of relief.
...
The pyramid complex, city district.
"Even after sixty million years, the culture that once belonged to the Necrontyr has not been completely erased."
Wrapped in tattered linen, Eden walked along the road and gazed at the scene before him with deep emotion.
He was walking the same roads the Necrontyr had walked sixty million years ago.
This was also his first opportunity to observe the regions beyond the Phaeron's Pyramid from such a close distance.
The ancient Necrontyr city had been built around the Phaeron's Pyramid, with countless other pyramids spreading outward from that central axis.
Constructed from materials mixed with blackstone, the pyramids rose like mountain ranges. Tier upon tier of steps stabbed into the yellowed sky, gleaming coldly beneath the light of the system's star.
The material was unimaginably durable.
Even after such an immense span of time, only the outer coatings had worn away. Pitted scars covered their surfaces, but the primary structures remained intact.
Aside from the Phaeron's Pyramid, the upper levels of the other pyramids contained temples once used by the C'tan Cult. Those temples had now been occupied by priests of the Sacred Soul Cult.
The middle levels had once housed the nobility, while the true city districts lay beneath those noble residences.
Eden could see workshops and markets crammed between the arcades of the pyramid foundations. Even the commoners' alleys followed the upper pyramids downward, winding and branching until they reached the stone foundations at the lowest levels.
The Necrontyr, a people who had lived in constant fear of death, constructed enormous pyramids as tombs for their race, then built their cities around those tombs.
"The living dwelled among their dead ancestors and created a glorious civilization."
Eden murmured the words to himself.
Whenever he witnessed remnants like these, he inevitably thought of humanity.
Would human cities also fall silent sixty million years from now, leaving behind nothing but ruins for some newly arisen species to excavate and study?
Most of the pyramid complex had now fallen into lifeless silence. No trace of habitation remained. Only the occasional Canoptek Spyder could be seen moving through the abandoned districts, silently maintaining the city's operations.
Even after Eden had begun reviving Necrontyr culture, not every district had inhabitants.
After all, only the nobles and a small minority of other Necrontyr had retained even a basic sense of self.
The overwhelming majority of Necrontyr commoners had become mindless killing machines, little different from servitors.
Eden had not walked far before he spotted Zahndrekh and Obyron.
The two figures in ragged linen were wandering aimlessly through the deserted arcades and alleys. They even appeared to be deliberately avoiding watchful eyes that did not exist.
Did these two secretly start drinking again? Are they still so drunk that they're suffering from a hangover?
That shouldn't even be possible...
Eden could not understand it.
Nevertheless, he approached them.
If he did not point them in the right direction, there was no telling where they might end up.
"Ahem. Greetings, lost wanderers."
Still wrapped in his tattered linen, Eden walked up and addressed them.
He adopted the solemn bearing of a mysterious guide and waited for the quest to trigger.
Obyron had been helplessly following the Nemesor and maintaining their absurd disguise when he heard the voice behind them.
Every system in his body snapped to full alert.
The vargard whirled around and placed himself between Zahndrekh and the newcomer like a shield.
For someone to approach this closely without being detected meant that the stranger had to be immensely powerful, powerful enough to pose a threat to the Nemesor.
Gauss energy flickered across Obyron's body, filling the air with the faint scent of rust. He regretted leaving his warscythe behind.
Then he recognized the newcomer as Phaeron Ramses, who was also wrapped in a ragged linen robe.
For a moment, Obyron's CPU nearly burned out.
"Why are you dressed like that?"
He suddenly realized he could no longer understand Phaeron Ramses.
Did all high-ranking beings enjoy behaving this way?
"Isn't it obvious?"
Eden pointed at himself, sounding every bit like some cryptic sage who refused to give a straight answer.
"Forgive me, but I do not understand your meaning," Obyron replied, remaining vigilant.
"Oh, you fool. This friend is clearly a plantation farmer, just like us!"
Zahndrekh sounded exasperated by his vargard's lack of intelligence.
"You are a local farmer, are you not? Could you tell us how to reach the market and the residential district? This damned city is far too large, and much more complicated than the plantations. It has left us somewhat confused."
"Of course. I often go there to sell my goods."
Eden immediately played along.
He began chatting with the Nemesor while guiding them toward the nearest inhabited district.
In truth, Eden had no idea where it was either. Fortunately, his Royal Warden promptly transmitted a navigational map to him.
That was the advantage of the pulse communications system.
Their consciousnesses could communicate "online" through their cortical fields with almost no delay.
Eden spoke with Zahndrekh for some time, but he still could not determine whether the old Nemesor was suffering another episode or simply enjoyed this kind of role-playing.
One thing, however, was certain.
Zahndrekh no longer harbored any hostility toward this tomb world.
Perhaps this is the only way he can feel even slightly alive amid that vast, numb emptiness.
The thought passed through Eden's mind.
If he were ever truly transformed into a living metal life-form, he would probably become even more insane than Zahndrekh.
The greater a being's intelligence, the more it thought, and the greater its emotional needs became. Such beings found it much harder to endure the crushing meaninglessness and emptiness of such an existence.
Someone like Obyron was less likely to suffer from those problems.
After all, a bodyguard was not expected to think too much. He only needed to execute orders and protocols like a machine.
Eden, Zahndrekh, and Obyron had not traveled much farther when they heard a commotion ahead.
Large numbers of Necrontyr were active throughout the district.
Residential districts occupied the sprawling stairways, and indistinct Necrontyr figures could be seen moving inside them. Workshops stood between the residences, many with flames blazing from within.
Shops and small stalls lined both sides of the streets. Merchants called out their wares or haggled with customers.
The Necrontyr here were not patrolling with cold mechanical precision, nor were they standing motionless like machines. Each of them was occupied with some task of their own.
Royal guards could also be seen from time to time. After their shifts ended, they came here to search for whatever goods they required.
"What am I seeing?"
Zahndrekh stopped the instant he witnessed the scene. His entire body began to tremble.
Even Obyron found it unbelievable.
To Eden, it might have appeared perfectly ordinary, nothing more than an everyday scene colored by the customs of an alien race.
But to Zahndrekh and Obyron, the sight struck the deepest layers of their consciousness.
It was as though a star had erupted inside their minds, causing even their data-logic systems to tremble.
Zahndrekh could only stare.
Necrontyr in robes of countless colors passed through the narrow streets. Firelight from the workshops danced between the arcades. The calls of merchants and the voices of customers arguing over prices drifted on the wind and reached his auditory receptors.
This was not a dead kingdom of living metal.
It was a living dynasty, as noisy and vibrant as a Necrontyr city from sixty million years ago.
The Nemesor's gaunt metal fingers clenched violently. Energy hummed through his body, almost surging beyond his control.
The ghostly green flames within his eye sockets quivered. His optical lenses widened slightly, as though he meant to carve every street, every stone step, and every passing figure into the deepest reaches of his memory.
"It has returned..."
Zahndrekh's voice was hoarse and broken, thick with tears.
He no longer sounded like a Necron. He sounded like the soul of a dead man who had crawled out of the abyss and returned to the realm of the living.
For the first time in sixty million years, he felt powerful emotions erupting within his chest. His senses had never felt so clear.
Overwhelmed by emotion, he felt an indescribable ache of grief and joy.
"At last... I've seen our civilization with my own eyes. Not fragments of the past. Not another delusion, but... living Necrontyr."
(End of Chapter)
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