Horus's Public Humiliation

As the saying goes, serving a ruler is like lying with a tiger—that's the truth.

But none of that had anything to do with Sandman anymore. The fact that he hadn't crushed those families outright already made him one of the rarest good men in the galaxy. Even if it was only because their fates were already sealed, that didn't stop Sandman from thinking of himself as a decent person.

"Chancellor Malcador, let's go." Sandman waved at Malcador. He had successfully delivered Sanguinius to the Emperor's presence; the rest was time for father and son to talk. Korax and Mortarion were already urging Sandman to hurry back from the Legion fortress, having organized a rare barbecue gathering.

The massive Stormbird rumbled to life, its superheated plasma generating tremendous thrust to propel the steel Great Beast and its passengers swiftly toward their destination.

"Korax, Stinky, I'm back!" As soon as they arrived over the Raven Guard fortress, Sandman had the pilot open the Stormbird's side hatch and jumped straight down from midair.

Thud... A dull sound rang out as Ceramite boots met steel deck plates. Sandman's tall figure landed unharmed on the Nineteenth Legion's grounds.

"Welcome back, Lord Sandman. Here are your favorite Ant Beef skewers." Erifania handed Sandman a skewer of grilled Ant Beef as he dropped from the sky.

"Haha, Erifania's always the thoughtful one, unlike you two just staring at me dumbly. What, do I look like a monkey?" Sandman said to the two Primarchs.

"I hope you break your leg so I can test my medicine on you legitimately." Mortarion greeted Sandman in his unique way.

"Boss." Korax handed over a heart of Ant Beef he'd grilled himself.

"Mmm, it's been ages since I've had such delicious Ant Beef, especially the heart. The chef on the Emperor's Dream must miss me terribly." Sandman stuffed the grilled heart and meat into his mouth, chewed a few times, and swallowed. His powerful stomach instantly broke down the high-quality protein into energy sent throughout his limbs.

These tiny amounts of energy meant nothing to Sandman now, but that didn't stop him from enjoying good food. In this messed-up universe, love was something he didn't dare hope for, but food? That he could still savor. After drifting outside for so long, when did he ever have the leisure to barbecue like this? On missions, Astartes just gnawed on energy bars.

"Mm, besides you two, who else is back?" Sandman asked Korax and Mortarion between mouthfuls of various grilled meats.

"Angron and the Lion, Ferrus and Russ. They should be arriving around now." Korax smiled.

"You invited them?" Sandman asked.

"Yeah. I was going to hold it in the Imperial Palace's inner court, but considering Father still needs to meet the other brothers, Mortarion and I decided to set it here at the Legion fortress. Everyone's close by—they can come right over after they're done." Korax said. Clearly, he'd planned this barbecue gathering well in advance.

It wasn't so much a banquet as a chance for brothers fighting across the galaxy to find a little relaxation. Hence this barbecue feast.

Not just Korax and Mortarion—the high-ranking commanders of the Raven Guard and Death Guard were also enjoying the barbecue together. The Legion fortress had plenty of space for private exchanges.

And not just these two Legions. The senior officers the other Primarchs brought could also gather and mingle. Astartes Legions didn't need to go through the same tearful bureaucratic nonsense as government departments just to get a slightly larger venue. As the Empire's most powerful instrument of violence, even a single Legion's fortress would make those departments weep with envy.

Even if the Raven Guard's grounds weren't big enough, they could just connect to the Salamanders' territory and solve the problem. After all, Vulkan would be joining the barbecue too.

"Hey, you started the barbecue without waiting for me!" The Lion, with his thick golden hair, strode in through the Raven Guard fortress gate, accompanied by a group of Calibanite knights. The moment he entered, he saw two brothers and his friend already eating.

"Haha, Lion, you came bearing gifts?" Sandman looked at the Calibanite knights carrying dressed beef and mutton carcasses, along with rare ingredients he couldn't name, and handed over a freshly grilled turkey wing.

Korax and Mortarion also greeted the Lion. Since the Lion was the first Primarch Sandman had found after himself, they were all very familiar. Meeting again after so many years, there was no awkwardness. The Lion even set aside the stern face he wore in the Legion.

Only in front of a few high-ranking Calibanites and his brothers could the Lion show his gentle side.

"So, is the Legion fully integrated?" Sandman asked the Lion. Though they'd had little contact in recent years, integrating the First Legion was no easy task. Besides reclaiming the high commanders of various chapters, the Lion also had to restructure the Legion's organization. Such a massive force couldn't be reorganized overnight.

"I've been busy as hell these past few years, but the Legion is finally integrated." The Lion poured himself a cup of wine and drank heartily. Golden liquid dripped through his thick beard, and the rich aroma of mead mixed with grilled meat made everyone's mouths water.

"I knew this wouldn't stump you. Come, cheers!" Sandman refilled the Lion's cup and signaled everyone to drink together.

"Cheers!" They all raised their glasses and drank.

"Drinking, drinking is good. Try my mead—I brought it all the way from Fenris. Aged over a decade, the good stuff I usually can't bear to touch." A bold voice cut through the open space where the Legion commanders and Primarchs were gathered.

Russ, dressed like a barbarian, was anything but reserved. Though it was his first time meeting these brothers, his barbarian exterior hid a sharp mind. The Wolf King's freakish nose had already picked up pheromones from his brothers from afar, confirming this barbecue was a purely casual gathering.

So Russ unceremoniously joined the feast.

"Let's have a contest! Since it's a barbecue party, two events: first, who can drink the most; second, who can eat the most!" Russ's opening words drew every brother's attention to him.

"Get out of here! You think we don't know that when the Emperor first found you, you lost two rounds and only won in the end thanks to that bottomless pit of a stomach?" Sandman poured a cup of wine and tossed it to Russ.

"Hahaha..." The place erupted with laughter. Clearly, everyone had heard of Russ's legendary exploits.

"Brother Sandman, the Frost Crystal you requested has been delivered. The Space Wolves' Tech Sergeants are handing it over to the Raven Guard." Though it was their first meeting, Russ instantly identified Sandman—the only non-Primarch who fit in here without standing out.

"Good, thank you, Wolf King." Sandman refilled his mead and clinked glasses with Russ.

Dealing with Russ required no scheming—just straight talk. And if you could get him drunk, even better. Then Russ would have to bow his head to you later.

"Small matter, small matter. Drink!" Russ accepted everything, downing a full cup of mead in one go. His boldness was almost ridiculous.

In this timeline, the Lion and Russ hadn't gone through the mess of their original background. Meeting for the first time, there was none of that dog-and-cat hostility. Instead, the two opposite Primarchs got along fairly well. The Lion looked civilized on the outside but was a beast within; Russ looked barbaric but had a wise, sensitive heart. Sandman found it fascinating.

"I've long heard that Brother Russ's unique mead can even get a Primarch drunk. Today I finally get to taste it." Angron arrived, the upper third of his head replaced by metal machinery. Sandman hadn't seen him since the War Hounds found him.

The last few times Sandman returned to Terra, Angron was out leading campaigns. Now he could finally see Angron without the Butcher's Nails. Word had it Angron was something of a psychologist, tasked with treating his Primarch brothers' mental issues.

Even among Primarchs, Angron's physique was imposing. His powerful arms coiled like dragons, veins bulging beneath the skin, ready to burst at any moment. He didn't look like a psychologist at all.

"A Primarch's doctor must need enough muscle to restrain his patients." That was the first thought that popped into Sandman's mind.

After all, in the Legions, Apothecaries were formidable fighters. They had to save lives or retrieve gene-seed from fallen battle-brothers in the chaos of battle, all while facing enemies at any moment. Their skills were rock-solid. (Just look at the Ultramarines Apothecary in the Spirit Haunting Death Domain.)

"Come, drink." Russ didn't know the meaning of modesty. Seeing Angron praise him so highly, he immediately poured a full cup of thick mead.

After downing a huge cup of Fenrisian mead with Russ, Angron came over to Sandman.

"Brother Sandman, thank you for sending word to the World Eaters. If they hadn't found me in time, I'd probably be a mindless killing machine by now." Angron openly admitted his failed past before his brothers. He had been a slave master's plaything, a toy the Butcher's Nails tried to tame—but he never surrendered.

"It was nothing. If I could have foreseen your location sooner, you might not have ended up like this." Sandman replied modestly.

"Stop being so girly. Come on, drink!" Russ, fully unleashed, barged into their conversation with a huge vat of mead. He'd already downed several vats since arriving.

"Right, drink." Sandman and Angron exchanged a smile, raised their glasses, and clinked with Russ and the other brothers once more.

As time passed, Vulkan, Guilliman, and the other Primarchs finished their own affairs and arrived. Not only them, but Ferrus, Fulgrim, and Perturabo—Primarchs who had just reached Terra—also joined this grand gathering.

In this unprecedented assembly, Sandman witnessed the unique facets of each Primarch. Fulgrim frowned the entire time, watching the already-drunk Russ, and meticulously used his knife and fork to eat the roasted meat he had pried off the skewer.

Perturabo had just opened his mouth to rebuke that a Primarch should not indulge so freely when he was promptly drunk under the table by Russ, who had gone wild and was letting loose. Clearly, Perturabo only talked a big game; his body was very honest. After a round of toasts from his brothers, he was quickly knocked out and tossed aside.

"Lord Horus has arrived..." The guard at the entrance announced the arrival of a heavyweight to the already raucous assembly of Primarchs.

"Horus is here?" Sandman's eyes lit up at the announcement. He had to get a good look at this future Warmaster. They said Horus was the most perfect of them all. He was intensely curious about what kind of being that was.

"Horus is here?" A dazed Russ reacted a beat late, and then his mouth seemed possessed by something, words spilling out uncontrollably.

"Half a lifetime gone," the four words rang out from Russ's bold mouth with their own special effects...

"Russ, shut your mouth!" Horus, who had just stepped into the Primarchs' gathering with an air of composed wisdom, suddenly turned panicked, roaring at Russ. Sandman even caught a glimpse of sheer terror in Horus's eyes.

Unfortunately, Horus's intervention came too late.

"Thirty years, oh thirty years, first-born son, oh first-born son.

Sagittarius, oh Sagittarius, golden ring, oh golden ring.

I love Father, Father loves me." The other Primarchs, eager to stir up trouble, picked up the thread from Russ's opening.

"Slurp, slurp." The final two onomatopoeic verbs echoed through the open space, earth-shattering in their resonance.

Abaddon, standing behind Horus, felt like he was about to explode. He had no idea that the little ditty he'd written on a whim had spread so far and wide...

"Abaddon!!!" Horus wished he could gouge out his First Captain with his glare.

"Father... I..."

"Get out!" Horus cut Abaddon off before he could finish.

He had imagined many scenarios for meeting his unknown brothers, but never in his wildest dreams had he expected this grand gathering to turn into his massive public humiliation.

Before, Abaddon's poem had only circulated among the Moon Wolves, and the warriors dared not gossip. Now, all the Legions knew about it. His father complex was thoroughly confirmed.