He wore no weapons and no armor, yet somehow walked with the presence of a man fully armed.
Fulgrim, whose attention had been drawn by the sound of him pushing the door open, turned and raised an eyebrow—now this was interesting. Roboute Guilliman had actually left his desk during working hours?
Without a word, he glanced back at Sanguinius, who gave him an apologetic smile.
Roboute Guilliman slowly came to a halt before Konrad Curze. There was no smile, no small talk, and no courtesy, only a blunt question: "Why are you here?"
"Roboute—" Vulkan tried to cut in.
"—I can more or less guess the reason. After all, I was the one who turned down this morning's meeting," Guilliman said calmly. "But I want to hear him say it himself."
"Why?" Konrad Curze asked with keen interest. "If you can guess everything, why do you still need my testimony? What else do I need to prove, brother?"
He deliberately drew out the word brother.
"You need to prove many things, but not to me. As far as I'm concerned, you only need to prove one thing." Guilliman answered coolly. "I believe you know what that is."
"I don't."
Curze smiled slyly. "Nor am I particularly eager to know, Guilliman. This is your ship. I know that. You don't welcome me. I know that too. But do I look like I care? I have a nation to govern. The only reason I returned here is that there are still some things I have yet to finish."
"Govern a nation? In what way? Flaying, torture, or wiping out the sinful nation in your eyes with orbital bombardment?"
The smile on Konrad Curze's face gradually vanished. The orbital bombardment Guilliman mentioned was the pain of his life, proof of the failure that