38: Mourning Funeral (III)

"I don't understand," Marius Gage said rapidly. "Why don't you need anyone with you? Even if you don't need the Victrix Guard, you should at least have an honor guard, right?"

"And then have them play those tunes I've heard hundreds of thousands of times to torture my ears and their own lungs? No, forget it, thank you, Marius, but I really don't need anyone to accompany me."

Roboute Guilliman shook his head, casually buttoned the third button of his collar, and then sighed.

"I know what you want to say, Marius," the Lord of Macragge said in a low voice. "But I also want you to trust my brother."

"I trust your brother, but considering you intend to tell him directly about his adoptive father's death, I think you'd better bring some men with you," Marius Gage replied curtly. "Otherwise, I'll have to report this to Ms. Euten as well."

Roboute Guilliman looked at him with a mixture of amusement and exasperation. After a few seconds of staring, Marius Gage finally lowered his head.

"Sometimes, people's actions reveal more than their words," said Roboute Guilliman, the First Chapter Master, in a deep voice. "You're not planning to take anyone down with you. What are you planning to do?"

"I believe you already know the answer, Marius," Roboute Guilliman replied calmly. "I will bear all the anger I need to bear—it is what I deserve. Karyl Lohars didn't have to die if I hadn't invited him here."

Marius Gage finally had nothing to say.

Their Primarch is usually very reasonable, and he will listen carefully to the suggestions of everyone who raises a different opinion. Except for this occasion.

At times like these, Roboute Guilliman becomes extremely stubborn—his principles and certain bottom lines prevent him from backing down to anyone unless he achieves his goal.

Ten minutes later, he met his brother inside a transport plane.

Angron was still wearing the same clothes; he had nothing else suitable for a formal occasion. He stood side by side with Roboute Guilliman. The Lord of Macragge could glean some subtle clues from his brother's face.

"You must have spent a lot of time persuading them, right?" Roboute Guilliman asked.

"It's more than just a lot of time," Angron replied in a gruff voice. "I've never spoken so much in my life as I have today. Every company commander, every adjutant, everyone I know—they all tried to persuade me not to do this."

Roboute Guilliman imagined the absurd scene; he should have laughed, but he didn't. He simply lowered his head heavily.

"They're just worried about you," Roboute Guilliman said softly.

"Are you worried I'll be killed by one of my brothers?" Angron shook his head. "I believe he's not that kind of person."

"You've never even seen him, Angron."

Aren't you the same?

"I corresponded with him. He acted very maturely in his letters, which was inconsistent with his age. Judging by the timeline, he was already two years old. And now, we are going to tell a two-year-old child that the man he considered his father is dead, or even that his body has been completely destroyed."

He stopped talking and began to gaze through the porthole at the eternal night of Nostramo. He knew some basic things about the planet and just how harsh its environment was; he had heard specific descriptions from his brothers.

Angron, however, is different.

The gladiator from Nuceria unconsciously frowned and began to stare at the bizarre city.

He could see the areas of architecture that had been altered, but he could also see the gloomy cluster of buildings and the still-polluted sky. From these things alone, it wasn't hard for him to imagine what Nostramo used to be like. Moreover, he had actually heard snippets of information from Roboute Guilliman.

The upper-class nobles who led cannibalism, and the extremely harsh living conditions—these two things sounded terrifying enough, let alone witnessing them firsthand. As he stared, Angron almost regarded this gloomy world as some kind of monster that fed on human lives.

"You know what, Roboute?" he suddenly asked after a brief silence.

"What?"

"There are two kinds of slaves in this world, two kinds that are fundamentally different. I've pondered this question for a long time, and now I finally have the answer."

The gladiator turned to his brother and spoke solemnly.

"One type is the born slave. They forever crave to be controlled by another person or something. Essentially, they are simply drawn to strength, but it's not just that simple."

"The second type is slaves created through oppression. These slaves could be Nuceria forced into gladiatorship by violence, or people on Nostramo who were caught up in the environment and forced to kneel."

Angron shook his head seriously. "No one should live like this."

"And that's how Konrad Curze Curze used to live, brother." Roboute Guilliman smiled faintly, a pale smile.

Silence.

As the aircraft descended, the metallic vibrations of the ground beneath them vibrated incessantly, producing an unpleasant noise that was almost torture, mirroring the Primarch's restlessness. However, they all landed smoothly ten minutes later, touching down on the ground.

The five-month wait is about to culminate in its final outcome today.

Angron exhaled a heavy breath and walked out of the cabin side by side with Roboute Guilliman. They were greeted by the cold air and the foul smell. A figure in a black robe was waiting for them not far from the obviously newly built tarmac.

With the vision of the Primarch, they could easily see that pale face.

His completely black eyes rested quietly above his high cheekbones, his nose was straight, and his lips were thin, now pressed into a curved line. Konrad Curze Curze smiled, his appearance like that of a perfect, pale sculpture.

His face was already perfect enough, but his long black hair draped behind his head and his tall, slender figure, illuminated by the night, added an even more mysterious aura to him, as if the night itself were smiling and greeting him.

"Good evening, my brothers, nice to meet you." Konrad Curze Curze approached with a smile. "I hope my abrupt request has not confused you, but I truly cannot return to the Nightfall to meet you today; Nostramo needs me."

Roboute Guilliman did not answer Konrad Curze Curze immediately. His gaze swept past the commander of the Eighth Legion into the darkness behind him.

"Good evening, Konrad Curze," Roboute Guilliman finally spoke. "You're waiting here all alone?"

"Ah, my legion. We don't have many men." Konrad Curze Curze spread his hands apologetically. "Therefore, there's no way to display them for your inspection—they need to be on duty, and I can't let them be absent without leave."

"I believe this isn't a big problem," Angron replied quickly. "After all, we didn't bring anyone with us."

"Um"

Konrad Curze Curze frowned, puzzled. "Why is that?"

"It's nothing, Konrad Curze," Roboute Guilliman said, subtly glossing over the matter. "Nostramo is very different from what I heard from Fulgrim and the others. I hope the supplies I sent were helpful."

"Certainly!"

Konrad Curze Curze laughed gleefully, "And those five hundred Ultramarines you sent—they were a huge help too!"

Out of the corner of his eye, Angron saw Roboute Guilliman's eye twitching slightly.

"."

"Roboute? Why aren't you saying anything?"

"No, no, it's nothing, I just—"

"--only?"

Konrad Curze Curze raised an eyebrow and continued asking in a soft tone.

"If you have anything to say, just say it. You too, Angron, although this is indeed our first meeting, I think you feel the same way I do, right?"

He turned his head and looked at Angron. The Nuceria silently accepted the gentle gaze, feeling a stinging pain in his cheeks as if he were being sliced into a thousand pieces.

After a moment, he nodded, acknowledging Konrad Curze Curze's statement. He knew at a glance that this man was undoubtedly his brother; the instinctive call could not be wrong.

But it was precisely because of this that Angron began to feel increasingly guilty. He suppressed his talent, preventing it from functioning, and he didn't want to perceive Konrad Curze Curze's thoughts, because Roboute Guilliman was about to reveal the truth.

Lord Macragge took a deep breath.

"Angron and I have brought you bad news, which I believe you've already noticed. Your legion's instructor Karyl Lohars, did not land with us. He was invited by me to participate in the exploration of the star system surrounding Macragge and perished in a disaster. We were unable to find his body."

Roboute Guilliman lowered his head deeply, still adorned with his laurel wreath, and after a brief silence, Angron took over the conversation.

"He died to save my legion," the Nuceria said hoarsely. "I don't know how to express my apology to you, and my respect for him, Konrad Curze Curze. But I hope you can—"

Angron frowned sharply, for he noticed that his pale brother was still smiling, and in fact, the smile seemed to be widening.

"--Forgive you?" Konrad Curze Curze asked softly. "No, no, I don't think it's necessary."

Roboute Guilliman looked up in surprise and saw Konrad Curze Curze flip his wrist. A flash of silver light disappeared in an instant, and a short, sharp dagger was grasped by the Eighth Legion Commander in a flash. At that moment, his expression finally returned to calm.

The air began to grow increasingly cold.

Amidst his brothers' silence—even a barely concealed sense of relief— Konrad Curze Curze spoke slowly.

"Because he didn't die, I don't have to forgive you," he said calmly. "But you should thank this knife."

After he finished speaking, he turned around without looking back and disappeared into the darkness. Roboute Guilliman and Angron stood there in astonishment, when they heard a sigh behind them, followed by a familiar voice.

"I tried to dissuade him, but he insisted." Karyl Lohars's voice echoed in the darkness. "I'm sorry your long journey has yielded such a result. But I'm actually quite relieved; if this funeral had actually been held, I would have been quite embarrassed."

Roboute Guilliman turned around as if facing a formidable enemy.

Update complete. Including tomorrow's 6,000 words, I've updated 270,000 words this month. I'm exhausted. I was thinking of just letting it go, but...