127. The Solution

Human beings always looked back at the past, as though doing so could let them find some slight turning point in things that had already happened, in time that had already flowed away. Whatever their motives, they were always chasing after the past.

A major reason for yearning for the past was simply that the present was not going well.

That was all.

Fulgrim woke with a splitting headache. He had never felt like this before; even in all those years on Chemos, he had never had a hangover. He groaned, rolled over, and climbed out of bed, his muddled mind holding only a few fragmented scraps of memory.

Was that wine really that strong?

What did I do last night?

He began to think back—yes, I drank Russ and the Khan under the table, and even threw a few taunts at Roboute, who was watching from the side. And then? Ah, that Mr. He came back. And then?

His memory cut off there, as though someone had abruptly pressed pause. Fulgrim had no choice but to give up searching any further, so he simply used the time before his brain had fully awakened to observe his surroundings.

A few seconds later, he reached a conclusion.

Obviously, this was some room aboard Macragge's Honour.

How did he know?

Well, not every Astartes was so enthusiastic about hanging tapestries inscribed with their glorious history on every aspect of every room, down to the most insignificant corners—and those tapestries were basically all woven by themselves.

Considering the image of the Ultramarines and the contrast created by this tapestry-weaving habit, it was not a bad little joke.

Won over by his own sense of humor, Fulgrim gave a bitter laugh. He stood up, yet his thoughts drifted far away.

More precisely, they drifted