142. Second... What Second?

Send in a poet, then a writer, a philosopher, and a rebel; lock them in a room and make them write a million-word book—only then could Vulkan's current feelings be described.

He had been holding Guilliman's Personal Portable Terminal for more than fifteen minutes without saying a word. Sitting opposite him, Roboute Guilliman wore a helpless expression, looking as if he wanted to say something but simply could not find a way to begin.

At last, after another five minutes, he could not take it anymore.

"Here's the thing, Vulkan. I have work to do. Reviewing official documents, issuing new decrees, and passing workable bills," he said tactfully. "I am the Regent—you understand that, right?"

"Ah, yes." Vulkan answered with obvious distraction, still cradling that Personal Terminal and staring at it endlessly, his fingers swiping rapidly the entire time.

Guilliman sighed.

"But if I want to finish that work, I need my Personal Terminal. You understand, don't you?" he said helplessly, putting extra emphasis on the words "my."

Vulkan finally raised his head, a little surprise appearing in his expression. "You use this thing to handle affairs of state?"

"Yes. What else? Arrange two Servitors and four Servo-skulls to stand where you're sitting, just like in the past, endlessly bringing me fresh parchment?"

Guilliman shook his head in amusement. "No, no. That method was eliminated long ago, and I am never doing it again. A Personal Terminal is far more efficient than paper documents that need to be transported by manpower. It is like the difference between a canoe and a cruiser."

"But are you not worried that the Evil God might tamper with it?" Vulkan asked carefully. "It would never let such an opportunity slip by. You must be careful, brother."

"...You still haven't seen the information about Tzeentch?"