"So, now you have become... this?"
Mortarion rubbed the dagger that had killed him with his fingers, from its edge to its bright runes, from the cold metal to its burning heat. As he asked, he pulled the hood on his head a little lower, as if he was very unused to the bright light of the docking bay.
"What do you mean, this?"
Konrad Curze replied lazily, "You are currently standing on a planet-sized ship and talking to us, Mortarion, so you can let your imagination run a little wild. That way, you might get an answer that comes close."
"...I do not think you are answering my question seriously."
Mortarion wrapped some bandages around his face to conceal his pale features. At the same time, he said, "And I still believe the Empire is not worth fighting for. Over those ten thousand years, I already learned what it had become."
"Ah, now that really hurts."
Curze smiled faintly. "Ignorant, benighted, cruel. What more do you want, Mortarion? Perhaps some walking rotting corpses?"
The Lord of Death ignored his mockery, while Corax coughed with an unfriendly look. "That is enough, Curze. Not everyone has your sense of humor."
"You mean a sense of humor on the same level as the captain's?"
"The captain has never made that kind of joke."
"Really? I hold the opposite opinion."
"Then produce evidence to refute me."
"Ah—I see. So that's what you're doing." Curze put on a look of sudden realization. "You want me to say those jokes aloud, jokes so blasphemous that even xenos would shout the Emperor's name, is that it? Ha. I will not fall for it."
"You."
Mortarion finally finished wrapping all the bandages. At that moment, only a pair of eyes showed on his face.
The bandages made