Warhammer Divine Throne

As soon as fine liquor came up, the Emperor, Fugen, and Clarkson all practically flipped open their chatterboxes, reminiscing about the days of the Great Crusade ten millennia ago. On the Emperor’s face there was only heaviness, on Fugen’s a trace of bitterness, and Clarkson’s was dim.

"Everyone loved wine." After a short silence, Fugen tasted the dinosaur jerky, raisins, and nuts brought up by the Lizardmen, his tone filled with bitterness: "Father, do you still remember? I once shared a cup with Horus. He liked alcohol, I liked it too, and Ferrus as well—he loved spirits."

"Khan, Saint Gile, Magnus—among us there wasn’t a single one who didn’t like to drink." Clarkson’s tone carried a faintly sinister edge: "Khan liked mare’s milk, Saint Gile liked those bitter yet rich red wines, and as for Magnus, he and Ahriman used Spiritual Power many times to scour the galaxy for brewing recipes."

"Everyone liked booze, but only that idiot Liman Rous and that lunatic Angerong were unfit to drink." The Emperor nodded, studying the contents of his cup. The Master of Humans let his thoughts drift back ten thousand years: "That fool Ruth only knew how to guzzle like a whale. He and his wolf whelps couldn’t care less whether what they were chugging was top-tier vintage or horse piss; as long as there was enough, that was all that mattered."

"So I never took out my treasured collection to drink with Ruth. I’d only let him have cheap malt beer and the Fenris blood-wine he brought himself." As if recalling what Ruth looked like charging onto the battlefield to chop people up after getting plastered, Fugen actually smiled: "No matter how fine a wine that needed to be slowly savored, Ruth would always use his teeth to bite out the cork, then down the whole bottle in one go, drain it clean—how utterly stupid."

"As for Angerong, none of us ever wanted him near alcohol. He’s already a madman on a normal day—who knows what would happen once he’s drunk." Clarkson added: "I for one have no desire to face him one on one."

"Besides Angerong, Petrabo also liked good wine." The Emperor nodded: "Whenever Petrabo was assigned to crack the toughest fortress or to carry out his most precise and proud designs, he’d drink wine, venting his discontent as he drank."

Fugen agreed: "That was very likely the only time among all his hours when he was even the tiniest bit unhappy—that was when he drank."

"But if we’re talking about which of us had the biggest wine collection, then without a doubt it would be Kiliman and Zhuangsen." Clarkson nodded: "I once had the honor of going to Makulage to drink with Kiliman, raising our cups in that stiff, dead, reception chamber in his Royal Palace piled high with Gold. Unlike Fugen’s flagship, which is a fist soaked in perfume, Kiliman’s palace is a slab of leather inlaid with Gold—the former is too gaudy, the latter unbearably tacky."

"You remember everyone this clearly, Clarkson, I’m very pleased to hear you speak of me that way." Fugen replied without the slightest modesty: "It’s still better than your black-or-white lair full of weird statues. The place is basically a prison, and you live in the largest cell."

"Heh~ yeah, that’s us—proud, complacent, and absolutely certain of ourselves." A deep sneer flashed across Clarkson’s pale face: "That personality dragged you into corruption, and made me commit terrible mistakes."

Even though the Primarch of the Raven Guard said that, in his heart he actually felt very at ease.

His brothers were returning one after another; he no longer felt alone.

"Enough, let’s bring the topic back to alcohol." The Emperor immediately realized his sons were about to start another argument. The Master of Humans wisely cut off that trend: "No one’s tastes are exactly the same."

"Kiliman’s cellared wine is called Felenas—thick, full-bodied, and with a certain sweetness, very pleasant on the palate." Clarkson very naturally obeyed the Emperor’s order, as if he hadn’t just said what he did: "As for Zhuangsen, no one knows where on Caliban he hid his private stash, but without a doubt, somewhere in the deepest part of Caliban Zhuangsen has a personal wine cellar filled with whisky, gin, and beer... oh, and a cow."

"A cow?" Fugen asked in puzzlement: "Why a cow?"

"He swiped it from Angerong during Laine’s last grand wedding ceremony." Mentioning this, Clarkson’s face uncharacteristically showed a hint of helplessness: "Zhuangsen had no idea what to do with the cow, so he handed it to the Dark Angels’ Grand Tutor Azriel and told him to arrange it properly. Azriel then ordered the core circle of the Dark Angels to convene, and classified the fact that the Dark Angels possessed a cow as top secret. Aside from the Inner Ring, no one knows where that cow is, or where it came from, or what it looks like. All information related to the cow was secretly destroyed, and every Warrior who saw the cow that day was forced to swear a deadly oath never to reveal anything about it. Zhuangsen was the one who told me all this."

"..." Fugen nearly sprayed the red wine out of his mouth when he heard that. He shook his head speechlessly, and only after forcing himself to swallow the wine did the Primarch of the Emperor’s Sons say: "So next you’re going to silence witnesses, right? Drag everyone who has ever seen this cow or heard about it back to Caliban for interrogation so they can confess, and eventually turn loyal?"