18. Red Sand (V)

The Orbit of Nuceria, the Macragge's Honour, the Primarch's Study. A conversation is taking place.

"War," Roboute Guilliman said. "Yes, it is our primary duty."

Angron didn't speak, but simply nodded silently. The steel cable throbbed heavily behind his head a few times, and the vicious grinding sound resounded again within his skull.

Roboute Guilliman looked away, unable to bear it. Two months had passed, but he still couldn't get used to it—he felt he would never get used to it; no normal person could remain unmoved when witnessing the suffering of others.

Gazing out the porthole, he continued his story.

These days, he has a conversation with his brother every afternoon. Sometimes it's just casual chatter, talking about the past or scenes in the mountains. But sometimes, the topic becomes very heavy, like it is now.

"But war will end one day. I don't know when it will come, but I hope that when that day comes, my legion will have become the leader of a peaceful world."

"Ruler?"

"No, they are helpers and protectors." Roboute Guilliman turned his gaze back solemnly. "I know this may sound arrogant, but the augmentation surgery and our blood have completely transformed the warriors of our legion. They are superhumans in the physical sense, and they will become superhumans in the conventional sense."

"And this is a very dangerous matter, I've been keeping it under strict control. So I can proudly tell you, brother, on Macragge, no one considers the Ultramarines to be superior to them. Everyone is equal."

Angron nodded calmly. He didn't quite understand what Roboute Guilliman was talking about, but he made a mental note of it. Anyone who speaks earnestly should be taken seriously.

"However, to be fair, this is just wishful thinking on my part; not everyone thinks like me."

The Lord of Macragge gave a sudden, slightly bitter smile. "One of our brothers once criticized me harshly, believing I was too involved in worldly affairs, which is not Primarch should do."

"Who?" Angron asked briefly, his light blue eyes narrowing slightly.

He couldn't fully understand Roboute Guilliman's words, but he could distinguish other things.

Roboute Guilliman's "stepping into the secular world" is a gentle admonition. He knows his extraordinary qualities, but deep down, these qualities only bring him a sense of responsibility, not arrogant disdain.

"Why are you asking this?" Roboute Guilliman said, half-jokingly. "You haven't even met them yet—and even if you did, I don't want you to speak for me. I'll debate him myself."

Angron shook his head. "I'm not here to speak for you, nor will I. I just want to know why he said that."

Roboute Guilliman fell into deep thought.

Yes, why is that?

A glittering golden face flashed through his mind, along with a conversation far less harmonious than the one he was having now—in fact, Roboute Guilliman preferred to call his conversation with Lorgar Aurelian an argument.

However, he must also admit one thing—whether it's arguing or talking, every interaction with his brother makes him think about many things he had never considered before.

Take Angron, for example. He possesses a unique philosophy of life, one that belongs only to gladiators. This rough, sand-like perspective always inspires Roboute Guilliman.

"Because he doesn't understand."

After a long pause, Roboute Guilliman gave this reply.

His brow was furrowed, as if he were dealing with a puzzle that no one could solve.

"Don't you understand?"

"Yes, he doesn't understand why I'm 'ha'." Roboute Guilliman shook his head and chuckled.

He then adopted a more archaic tone, almost like an aria, which made Angron feel extremely uncomfortable just hearing it.

"He didn't understand why I would give up my sacredness, why I, a son of God, would willingly walk into the flock of sheep, why I, a shepherd of God, would willingly relinquish my authority and take on responsibility."

He said I deprived the lambs of the opportunity to experience hardship, discern their true selves, and receive God's grace. In other words, he felt I was robbing ordinary people of the way to God, and he considered me selfish for doing so.

Angron frowned deeply.

"Who exactly is this person?" he asked incredulously. "What is he talking about? Receiving divine grace? Where is there a god? And what does selfishness mean?"

"He believed our father, the Emperor, was a god," Roboute Guilliman said calmly. "Frankly, this view isn't too difficult for me to understand."

"I've never seen him," Angron asked bluntly. "Do you think he is?"

"He absolutely is not," Roboute Guilliman replied firmly. "We all have different opinions about him, but to me, I'm pretty sure he's not a god."

Angron nodded thoughtfully, and as usual, he made a note of it before bringing up another matter.

When will they arrive?

--

When will we arrive?

Jill Baldwin, commander of the Twelfth Legion, the War Hounds, asked himself these questions, but could not find an answer.

He certainly couldn't find the answer; he wasn't Navigator, and he didn't have a third eye to observe the brilliant Radiance of the Astronomican to guide their unwavering resolve. Thinking of this, Jill couldn't help but smile.

He had just played a little joke on himself—"Unwavering Determination" was the name of their flagship. Of course, the brief smile didn't last long.

He knew very well that even the most experienced navigators probably couldn't figure out how long the journey would take during the voyage.

Warp travel typically takes two forms.

The first type is a calculated jump.

Before entering Warp, they calculate their planned route, then plunge in headfirst, constantly praying that the unpredictable ocean currents in Warp won't change during the voyage.

This method was described by most of the people Jill had met as "deliberate suicide," for a simple reason: the ocean in the Warp was constantly changing.

Entering in this way means you can only sail blindly. If you're lucky, you might be able to return to the material world after a while, but if you're unlucky...

The number of Imperium ships lost in the Warp each year is terrifying.

The second option is much safer— the Emperor built the Astronomican on Terra, and Navigator can see its Radiance in the Warp through their third eye, using it to report to the captain to adjust course in time. Unless things go too badly, reaching the destination is only a matter of time.

However, on the other hand, there's the issue of time.

Jill sighed.

The Warp is a terrifying world, vastly different from any place they know, with time being the most striking difference.

There is no distinction between day and night here. Although the clocks on the ship are still running, everyone knows that their time is merely an illusion. If you really want to know how long your Warp journey took, you can only calculate it upon returning to the material world.

Some say a day in the Warp is equivalent to twelve days in the material world, a claim Jill has reservations about. He'd love to ask the person who said that: Is your day based on Terra time (24 hours) or some other planet's time system?

Differences are objective and will always exist, just like those legions that found their Primarch before them.

For example, the Salamanders; they had interacted with the War Hounds, and Jill had spoken about it with one of their company commanders. The latter recounted, with a cheerful tone that he himself was unaware of, how they had remained atop that burning planet awaiting the Emperor's decree.

And then there's Novshendak—where the Iron Warriors found their Primarch, War Hounds were there too. They witnessed firsthand the commotion among the once-silent Iron Warriors after the Emperor's messenger announced the Primarch's impending return.

And what about them? They simply stood silently to the side, then slunk away, continuing their wanderings in the dark sea of stars, hoping one day to receive news that would stir their emotions as well.

They received it a month ago.

The messenger came from Macragge, the insignia of the lord of the Thirteenth Legion gleaming on the collar of his crisp uniform. He was a serious middle-aged man, not tall, and weary, but still standing tall, and spoke in his loudest voice the message Roboute Guilliman had brought to the War Hounds.

"I have located your father within the Ultima Segmentum; this is certain. His name is Angron. I have enclosed his coordinates with this letter, along with an official letter to Holy Terra. The supply fleet will depart immediately upon receipt. The Ultramarines and I will await here until the Emperor's Hounds arrive."

Jill Birdwin still remembers how he felt when he heard the news, and how he ran up to the messenger and grabbed him, questioning him repeatedly.

A wave of guilt washed over him. The messenger who had traveled a long way to tell them had been tormented by his excitement. If it hadn't been for Kunna, the champion of the First Company, stopping him in time, the messenger would have been injured because of his excitement.

He apologized afterward, but the messenger didn't seem to care. He simply smiled, nodded, and wished them good luck.

After that, the War Hounds erupted in jubilation—the entire legion of 120,000 men, upon hearing their legion commander's broadcast, ran wildly aboard the Firm Resolve, their howls and cheers filling the air. Discipline was briefly forgotten, and Gil did not stop them.

He understands them.

How could he not understand?

Jill Baldwin closed his eyes, anticipating the moment they would leap out of the Warp. On the bridge, the Navigator continued their work diligently, the Geller Field enveloping the massive flagship, protecting it as it traversed the endless darkness.

However, as you and I both know, there's always something lurking in the darkness.

Yes, forever.

Besides.

The card is incredibly powerful; it must be a conspiracy by Chaos!