16. Red Sand (IV)

Roboute Guilliman slowly walked out of his study.

This is quite rare. In the past, he would have carried out his work without fail. Although paperwork is tedious, the significance behind it is irreplaceable. As the lord of Macragge, he is naturally responsible for everyone in Macragge.

In a sense, you could say he has a certain degree of obsession—but who doesn't?

However, he left his study today not because he had finished his work early or ended his obsession, but because he wanted to leave it to others.

Roboute Guilliman approached the porthole in the corridor with a serious expression.

The Ultramarines' U-shaped insignia gleamed quietly along the top of the portholes. The metal floors were gleaming and clean; the Servitor had silently swept the entire ship four hours earlier. He didn't look at them, nor did he observe them; he simply caught them all in the gaps between his steps.

All these details coalesced in his mind, and even the faint scents in the air told him something, such as the fact that the armor of the two Victrix Guards who had stood guard at the gate had been waxed.

He stared at the planet below the orbit, a cacophony of thoughts racing through his mind.

Noble.

The way his brother pronounced the word struck Roboute Guilliman deeply at some point.

He considered himself an aristocrat, a view he had held since a very young age. To him, nobility represented protection, honor, and a heavy responsibility.

He was well aware that some incompetent officials would squander the people's trust in their positions, but at least in Macragge, such people were a minority.

But it seems that this is only a minority in Macragge.

He looked up at the boundless sea of stars outside the porthole. Ten million stars gazed back at him silently, disappearing, being reborn, and quietly rotating. But all of this was actually irrelevant to him.

What can I do?

Roboute Guilliman asked himself a question, and a heavy answer surfaced in his mind, which he then uttered in a low voice.

"Sacrifice," he muttered to himself. "That's all."

--

"Four hundred and seventy-one," Angron said.

He uttered the word, then fell silent.

The gladiator's silence was terrifying.

He was thinking, which was obvious, and this made his face a distorted contrast of ferocity and tranquility.

His skin was a rough, bronze color, with a coarse surface and many unhealed tiny wounds. His light blue eyes gazed thoughtfully at a corner of the air, unfocused, simply staring calmly. The muscles below his cheekbones twitched constantly, forcing him to lift his lips, revealing sharp canines, as if he were about to pounce and bite someone's throat at any moment.

As the person standing opposite him, Karyl should have been wary of such a giant, but he wasn't; he simply waited quietly.

"You know that, don't you?" the gladiator said after a long while.

His gaze shifted upwards, landing on those completely black eyes, seeking an answer. His eyes were heavy, containing a complex mix of emotions.

"Know what?" Karyl asked softly.

"Why have these nails stopped?" the gladiator asked confidently. "You must know the reason."

"Yes, I know." Karyl nodded. "How did you feel about that battle?"

The gladiator smiled, clenching his right fist and forcing himself to ignore the trembling caused by the pain. Thus, the nail's effect on him was minimized—and his smile was finally free of pain.

There is only a detached tranquility.

"For the first time in my life, I'm not fighting alone," he said. "I don't know how to thank you; in fact, I still feel like this is all unreal."

"In just one day, I suddenly became one of the sons of some emperor, and possessed immense power among these stars—I don't believe in these things or the identity they bestowed upon me unless I can see their forms with my own eyes. But I believe in you, Karyl Lohars."

"Such a huge contrast and level of trust is something I'm afraid I can't easily accept," Karyl shook his head. "Besides, your brother didn't lie to you."

"I know he didn't," Angron said. "But what if he's been deceived?"

Karyl narrowed his eyes, while Angron continued.

"Although I am just a gladiator with little experience, and cannot compare to someone like him who can travel freely among the stars, I know just how fragile people's will is. Many times, slave owners don't even need to torture people to gain countless lackeys."

"You're making a very subtle, but also dangerous, accusation," Karyl said thoughtfully. "But I think people should have the right to maintain their own opinions."

What does that mean?

"That means I'm not going to try to persuade you." Karyl smiled slightly. "The stars are vast, Angron, in fact, far more vast than you can imagine. The first human to stand beneath the stars and gaze upon them felt not longing, but fear of the unknowable world and reverence for the stars."

"Nowadays, we can travel between stars, build enormous ships, and even alter the landscape of planets. But we still can't truly empathize. I understand that your past experiences have instilled in you a deep hatred and distrust of things like nobility and power. In fact, I share similar feelings, but they are only similar."

"I can never fully understand you, Angron, just as you can't understand why I can be so calm, can you?"

"Yes," Angron said in a muffled voice. "But I understand even less why you saved me in the first place."

"Why not?" Karyl countered.

"If I were just an ordinary person, not some Primarch as Roboute described, would you still have saved me?"

"I will," Karyl said calmly.

Angron stared intently at him, his face trembling, his lips moving as if he wanted to say something. However, after a few attempts, he finally fell silent.

He was silent, then stared, while Karyl responded with complete openness, standing calmly in place, his pale face fully bathed in light.

". Why?"

After a long while, Angron asked this question.

He didn't understand; he truly didn't understand.

Karyl smiled.

"No reason," he said softly. "I no longer judge the world I see with simple morality, so whether it's worthwhile or not has become an irrelevant question. I see it, and I must save it; what reason do I need?"

"You can't save everyone, and you sound arrogant." Angron frowned. "I've met many arrogant people, but I've never met anyone like you."

"You're right, in some ways I am indeed terribly arrogant. And yes, I certainly can't save everyone." Karyl nodded thoughtfully. "But I'll still try."

"."

Angron fell silent.

He is the Primarch, that's for sure, the real deal. The Primarch is evident in him. He has been a gladiator for over a decade, yet he still manages to speak with remarkable eloquence, and can even succinctly defeat his brother Roboute Guilliman in a conversation. However, he is unable to comprehend anything beyond his comprehension.

Inside the arena, the slaves huddled together for warmth. They helped each other because they had no other choice. They were family to each other; in fact, they had no one else left to rely on.

But what about this person? Who's this taller, thinner person standing opposite him?

Angron couldn't understand, but

"I believe you," he said briefly. "I don't understand you, but I respect you, Karyl Lohars."

Karyl did not answer that question; he simply smiled slightly and shook his head.

"You'll understand later," he said softly. "Because this is the only path humanity can take. But since you say you trust me, can I ask you a favor, Angron?"

"Of course," the gladiator said firmly.

I would like to ask you to set aside your prejudices.

". What?"

"Your view of your legion," Karyl said. "You haven't even met them, yet you've already imagined them as a bunch of slaves. This attitude will hinder communication between you."

"But."

Angron hesitated, frowning, without uttering the next sentence. However, this slight hesitation was enough for Karyl to know what he wanted to say.

"You don't understand yet, but you will," Karyl said. "Trust me, won't you?"

"."

Angron pursed his lips tightly, thinking rapidly, but he did more than that; he was also doing things beyond the scope of his thoughts.

During this time, the steel cable behind his head began to sway slightly, as if it had come alive, making a soft grinding sound inside his skull. Visible pain appeared on Angron's face; he clenched his teeth tightly and let out a muffled groan from his throat.

Karyl stared at him calmly; he knew perfectly well what Angron was doing, but he did not stop him.

In fact, quite the opposite.

He even allowed his spying.

On what grounds could he refuse? He was asking someone who had spent half his life tormented by slave owners to try to become a "slave owner"—the very idea was absurd enough, so on what grounds could he refuse?

After a long while, Angron's expression returned to calm. He raised his trembling hand, wiped away the blood that had seeped from his nose, and slowly took two steps back before sitting down on the sofa.

He looked up.

"I believe you," the gladiator said. "But what if they really are a group of slaves?"

"Then we'll see when the time comes." Karyl smiled gently.

Also, the connection was really bad today, sorry.