28. Bleeding Without End

Forever.

Angron thought.

Forever.

I will never forget what happened today.

His mind was screaming, a vortex of pain constantly gathering. This pain stemmed from his talent, an instinct—the emotions of the dead permeated the air, ultimately becoming his possession.

Every corpse, every bit of pain, the struggles and repentance before death, the resentment of being forced into slavery—all of these converged in his mind.

The Primarch's mountain-like body was trembling slightly, his face contorted, and the nails creaked. They didn't drill in, but rather pressed against his skull, causing a terrible tremor in his cerebral cortex and spine.

He tossed aside the Power Sword, a precious weapon coveted by many warriors, now stained with dried blood. It had traveled through countless worlds to reach Roboute Guilliman's private armory. Ultimately, however, it had fulfilled its purpose in the hands of Angron.

Leaning against the cold wall, Angron slowly closed his eyes. A few seconds later, he heard a rather heavy footstep. Without even looking, he knew it was his brother.

Angron did not allow him to participate in the killing.

"You don't have to get your hands dirty with this blood," he said then. "It's my duty."

Roboute Guilliman then fell silent.

He didn't participate; he could only observe.

Angron opened his eyes and saw a calm face. Roboute Guilliman stared at him and slowly spoke, his tone calm, almost like a strange provocation. "Are you alright, brother?"

The gladiator slowly shook his head.

He could sense the turbulent emotions beneath Roboute Guilliman's calm exterior. Roboute Guilliman was forcing himself to calm down, and the realization of this gave Angron an urge to smile and comfort him.

He twitched the corners of his mouth, but couldn't manage a smile; his canine teeth protruded from his lips, looking quite bizarre against his face covered in blood and black dust.

He failed.

"I hope I'm alright," Angron said, accepting his small setback. "I sincerely hope so."

He looked past Roboute Guilliman into the darkness not far down the corridor. Broken light refracted through the blood-stained portholes, ashes floated, and blue and white armor appeared and disappeared in the darkness. Forty-seven breaths waited there quietly.

Angron smiled.

"How long are you going to stand there?" He suppressed the pain, deliberately making his terrible voice rougher and carrying a hint of unintentional amusement, like when Oenomaus comforted others.

A few seconds later, footsteps echoed from the darkness. A group of warriors emerged, all wounded, none of their armor barely intact. Blood, dust, and mutilated limbs covered them, but their eyes were not blank.

They stared intently at Angron.

Roboute Guilliman slowly stepped back, unwilling to interrupt the moment—but he would admit it if you asked.

He would admit that he was overwhelmed with emotion for witnessing the moment, yet he was also overcome with sadness.

Things shouldn't have turned out this way.

How cruel it is to meet one's father amidst one's brother's corpse.

"Isn't anyone going to introduce himself to me?" Angron asked hoarsely, his voice still carrying a forced smile.

His pale blue eyes gleamed in the darkness, and the creaking of his skull was still clearly audible to the superhumans present. The War Hounds didn't understand what the sound was, but they could see the pain their Gene-Father was hiding.

They could tell from the trembling in his body, the spasms in his muscles, and the forced, bitter smile that tried to comfort him.

Why couldn't they see it?

So Baron Benson stepped forward.

"I am a company commander in your legion," he said, head held high. His missing left hand and charred armor made him look wretched, yet his expression still held pride. "My name is Baron Benson, Primarch."

What happened to your hand?

"It's just a minor injury."

"Regret," "Sadness," "Shame," "I will become disabled and unable to wield a sword with both hands again," "Will the Mechanicum heal me? Our relationship with them has always been terrible," "I hope you don't look down on me, Primarch."

Angron lowered his head and exhaled a breath of cold air from his throat.

His talent was functioning at an extraordinary level; such precise perception had never occurred before. He thought this might be due to some kind of blood connection, or perhaps because the War Hounds were completely unguarded around him.

Either way, it saddened Angron.

"Alright, Baron Benson, I'll remember you, Company Commander." Angron let out a snort. "A tenacious soldier."

Benson tilted his head back and returned to the group.

"Next?" Angron asked, gazing intently.

"I am Kharn, Primarch of the Eighth Company."

"Kharn —I remember you. You left your brother and charged into the enemy ranks," Angron said softly. "Reckless, but also brave."

Roboute Guilliman saw the young man who stepped forward in line's face rapidly turning red.

"I was blinded by rage, Primarch." He lowered his head, his unease evident. "I... I violated military discipline."

"What military discipline?"

"The first rule of military discipline, Primarch," a man whose face was half-disappeared answered Angron in a muffled voice. "And the most important one, which we call the Death Edict: No one is allowed to leave the main force without permission and fight alone among enemy ranks."

Angron looked at him. "What's your name, soldier?"

"He's looking at me," "I wish I still had a helmet," "My Lord, I beg you to look away!"

Angron did not look away; he gazed gently at the one-eyed warrior and awaited his reply.

"My name is Haren Kosen," the crippled man mumbled, his jaw trembling. "I'm from the Third Company."

Thank you for explaining it to me.

Angron looked back at Kharn, who nodded in shame under his gaze. "Yes, I broke the rules."

"We can discuss your disciplinary punishment later, Kharn of the Eighth Company. The important thing now is to tell me exactly what happened." Angron turned his gaze to them all and repeated, "Everything."

"Before that, there is something I wish to report to you in advance, Primarch," Kharn said.

Angron slowly frowned, the first time he had ever shown such an expression in front of the War Hounds. Baron Benson thought he was blaming Kharn and immediately tried to pull Kharn back to the group, but Angron raised his right hand, indicating that he didn't need to.

The War Hounds would never know that their Primarch frowned simply because of a name that flashed through Kharn's mind, and a cold, hard word.

Karyl Lohars

"Die"

--

Two and a half Terra hours later, Roboute Guilliman returned alone to the Macragge's Honour. His armor was spotless, covered only in black dust.

Fifteen minutes later, Marius Gage anxiously found his Primarch in the study. He wanted to question him—or at least offer a sarcastic remark about the dangerous Primarch he had committed—but he couldn't.

Because there was an indescribable heaviness on Roboute Guilliman's face.

At this moment, the Lord of Macragge turned and gazed silently at the stationary ship, frozen in the vacuum.

After a while, he finally spoke.

"Send medical assistance, Marius; the War Hounds have suffered heavy casualties. Also, send some repair technicians and Techmarine. We need to repair the Firm Resolve as quickly as possible."

"The Primarch?" Gage looked at Roboute Guilliman blankly.

"Do as I say, Marius."

His Primarch leaned back in his chair, closed his eyes, and spoke wearily. He had removed his armor, his uniform was disheveled, and he wasn't even wearing his crown.

"It's been restored to its original state, can't you see? A Gloriana-class Battleship -ship belonging to the Imperium should naturally continue to serve. As for today's events, I will draft a notification later that this matter will be classified as top secret and will not be disclosed or mentioned in any form."

"But, Primarch, why? No, where is Lord Angron?"

"He's with his legion," Roboute Guilliman said. "To be precise, less than half of the legion. It's ironic, Marius. The War Hounds emptied their ships, left all the mortals behind, and came to see their Gene-Father, but less than half actually saw him."

"Could I know what exactly happened aboard the Firm Resolve, Primarch?"

"No, you can't." Roboute Guilliman opened his eyes. "This matter should never be mentioned by anyone again. Listen to me, Marius, this matter..."

Lord Macragge fell silent, then sighed heavily, a deep sorrow flashing across his face.

"This matter should never be known to anyone else," he said slowly. "That's it, Marius, that's all I can say."

The First Chapter Master looked at his Primarch, almost at a loss— Roboute Guilliman had never spoken in this tone before; this was the first time.

He didn't understand why, and at the same time felt like he could hardly breathe.

"Also, there's one more thing." Roboute Guilliman sat up straight and placed his hands on the table. Marius Gage saw that his hands were clenched and trembling slightly.

"Anything, Primarch," Gage replied quickly.

"I also need to draft an apology, a confession, to the Eighth Legion and Konrad Curze Curze, I—"

" --Primarch?"

"Karyl Lohars is dead." After a deathly five minutes of silence, Roboute Guilliman finally spoke slowly.

He concealed his emotions with extreme restraint, not letting Gage see any clues. His false politician's face covered his true face. Gage could not see that he was bleeding, but he could smell it.

"Kharn of the Eighth Company War Hounds witnessed it firsthand; his body was never recovered. I have already discussed it with Angron, and we will proceed to Nostramo as quickly as possible after dealing with Nuceria's matter, to personally apologize to our brother Konrad Curze Curze."

Marius Gage did not answer; he didn't know how. Half a minute later, he silently left Roboute Guilliman's study and office. The door slowly closed.

Everything seemed normal.

One more chapter.