15 Red Sand (3)

At 10:30 a. m., Karyl returned to the Macragge's Honour. Like the Nightfall, this ship was a Gloriana-class warship, but its boarding deck was not as simple as the Nightfall's, which was almost gloomy.

Stepping off the transport plane, Karyl's first sight was of the heavy tapestries woven by the various Chapter of the Ultramarines. They were meticulously maintained every day, so they were not only shiny and new, but even their colors remained unchanged.

He sighed imperceptibly, feeling a slight headache from the pervasive solemnity—it wasn't necessarily a bad thing, but he couldn't help but recall the empty Nightfall and those dark, dilapidated corridors.

Repairs are a minor matter, but does anyone in the Eighth Legion know how to weave tapestries? We can't possibly ask the Ultramarines for advice on even that, can we?

Karyl shook his head, cutting off his thoughts. Twenty minutes later, he arrived at his destination via elevator. After greeting the two Victrix Guards on guard, he pushed open the door to Roboute Guilliman's study and saw the scene inside.

"."

Silence.

No one spoke.

One of the Victrix Guard turned around, wondering what had happened, but Karyl, as if possessed, raised his hand to stop him and gestured for the Victrix Guard to move away.

The Primarch's guards were puzzled. One of them peeked inside, then abruptly turned around and led his companion to the other side of the corridor.

As for Karyl...

He silently observed the scene inside, and the two people in the room fell into an awkward silence.

Half a minute later, Roboute Guilliman coughed lightly and took off his head the helmet that he had taken out from somewhere— Karyl saw it clearly; it was forged from metal, had some protective capabilities, and was surprisingly ancient with a T-shaped opening.

Moreover, it is the Primarch size.

As for Angron, the reborn gladiator, dressed in a hospital gown and holding one of two wooden short swords, stood awkwardly between the moved sofa and coffee table.

Just moments ago, he was intently explaining to Roboute Guilliman how gladiators used dual swords in the arena. The details of the two swords in his hand didn't escape Karyl's notice; both were engraved with Roboute Guilliman's name on their hilts.

"To be honest, I was surprised."

Standing in front of the door, Karyl slowly spoke, deciding to break the silence, but not in a very serious manner.

In fact, he's currently trying hard not to laugh.

"However, I must admit, this is a truly rare kind of brotherhood."

"Laugh if you want to, Karyl," Roboute Guilliman said, pursing his lips as he tucked his helmet under his arm, looking like a warrior who had just finished a battle.

However, the laurel wreath on the soldier's head was surprisingly crooked, and his hair was a mess, though he himself was clearly unaware of this.

"No, I won't laugh."

"I'm serious—but I want you to close the door."

Karyl nodded and slowly closed the door.

From the outside.

Half a minute later, he walked in with a serious expression. The short sword and helmet had completely disappeared, and the coffee table and sofa had returned to their original state, sitting quietly on the carpet.

Wearing a hospital gown, Angron sat upright on one of the chairs, staring intently at Roboute Guilliman, who stood before him holding a thick book and telling him something.

"."

Karyl walked silently into the study, turned his back to them, closed the door, and slowly exhaled a breath of stale air.

The next second, Angron and Guilliman were certain they heard a soft chuckle.

Karyl turned around expressionlessly. "Good day, Roboute, Angron."

"."

The gladiator glanced silently at his brother—similar things had happened before in the arena. Although he couldn't find the specific details in his fragmented memories, he could clearly recall the surging emotions he felt at those moments.

That feeling wasn't much different from what I feel now. It was a rare joy that should be cherished.

Sensing his gaze, Roboute Guilliman silently put down the book in his hands. He lowered his head, flipping through the heavy tome from front to back and back to front, and finally settled on a chapter that had little to do with what they had been discussing before.

"There's a tradition of cooperation between legions," Roboute Guilliman said seriously. "I mean—perhaps one day in the future, War Hounds and Ultramarines could cooperate."

"Yes, yes." Angron nodded quickly. "No problem, brother."

"Well then, that concludes today's lesson," Roboute Guilliman said with the composure of a politician, before turning away and employing another of his political skills.

"Good day, Instructor Karyl," he greeted solemnly, his face expressionless.

Karyl did not respond to his greeting verbally. He remained silent for a moment, nodded, and then couldn't help but turn his face away with a laugh. Laughter finally began to linger in the room, but it did not come from Karyl; it came from Roboute Guilliman's brother.

Roboute Guilliman sighed deeply, then surprisingly laughed.

A few minutes later, the atmosphere finally returned to normal, and the serious conversation could finally resume.

--

"Your legion may need three to five months to reach Nuceria. This is assuming the Warp travel goes smoothly. We need to get this message to them, and they also need to set off for Nuceria. In short—"

Roboute Guilliman paused for a moment, then made a gesture from behind his marble table.

"You still have plenty of time to think about this whole thing, brother."

Angron nodded to him, his rough face covered in scars.

At this moment, a slow and serious contemplation is taking root on that mutilated face.

This caused the Butcher's Nails to tremble once more. Instead of wriggling and drilling downwards, they began to punish Angron's actions with pain, but the gladiator himself remained indifferent.

Karyl, sitting to the side, glanced at them but said nothing.

Several minutes later, Angron finally spoke again, "No matter what orders I give, will they obey them?"

"Yes."

Even if I asked them to slaughter unarmed people?

"..." Roboute Guilliman pursed his lips and nodded solemnly. "Similar things are not without precedent; sometimes, sacrifice is inevitable."

"Even if I asked them to attack each other?"

"It is common practice for Primarch to consider the combat skills of Legion warriors."

"No, I mean mutual slaughter," the gladiator said in a low voice, his breathing heavy like that of a wild beast. "It's a fight to the death between one side."

Roboute Guilliman lowered his head, then raised it again. He realized what his brother was saying, what he was implying, but he didn't know how to refute it.

So he could only nod dejectedly.

"I understand," Angron said calmly. "So, my biological father arranged a group of slaves for me when I was just born?"

"They are not slaves!" Roboute Guilliman retorted instinctively. "They are your offspring, they are connected to you, Angron, you would understand if you saw it with your own eyes!"

"But I can't see them now," Angron said. "I can only guess what they look like based on your description. If it's really as you say, Roboute, I'd rather they all stay far away from me and not listen to a single word I say."

"However, the Legion cannot exist without Primarch."

"Really? So, what were they doing before you met your Ultramarines?"

"."

"What are they doing, brother?"

"It seems I can't win against you in a simple verbal battle."

Roboute Guilliman gave Karyl a wry smile, who calmly shook his head, rejecting his offer, so he had no choice but to continue.

"But, Angron, I want you to understand that while they will obey all your orders, that doesn't mean they are your slaves."

"Do they have freedom?" the gladiator frowned. "Do they have the right to disobey me? Or rather, the right not to accept me?"

No Legion will refuse their Primarch.

"So, this is a form of enslavement," Angron said gravely. "I still don't know the full details of the relationship between the Legion and the Primarch, brother, but I do know something else, something you know very little about."

"What's up?"

"Slavery."

Angron spoke slowly.

"I spent over a decade in the Desh'ea arena, and in those years I witnessed countless ways of enslaving others. The simplest of these is brainwashing; all it takes is hunger, darkness, and fear to turn a person into a numb, unaware accomplice in a few days. Now, you're telling me there's a huge group of people who will unconditionally obey any of my orders. This includes, but is not limited to, dying for me, or slaughtering unarmed innocents—even if I make them kill each other. What's that, brother?"

Roboute Guilliman was speechless—his brother had offered him a completely new way of seeing the world, a way that was entirely foreign to him.

It's like someone who knows a monster exists but has never seen it with their own eyes, and one day on their way home, they stumble upon the monster and its bloodied victim—it's as horrifying as that encounter.

"If you don't mind, Angron— " a voice broke the silence of the room. Karyl slowly rose and smiled slightly at the two Primarch who looked over, "--I can inform you of the special relationship between the Primarch and the Legion on Roboute's behalf."

"Alright, but before that, I have something to say to you, Karyl."

Angron also slowly rose to his feet, like a graceful mountain range.