39: Mourning Funeral (Final)

As if his blood had frozen, Roboute Guilliman, with his almost extreme rationality, prevented himself from throwing a punch into the darkness the very first moment he heard the sound.

He turned his head, his gaze piercing the darkness without obstruction. He saw a pale face, a pale face belonging to Karyl Lohars, and that face was even smiling.

His cheeks began to twitch again.

"Karyl?" Angron frowned. "You—you're still alive?"

"I can show you a medical report to answer your question," Karyl said with a smile and a shake of his head. "But that would be too much trouble, so yes, I'm still alive."

"But Kharn said you're dead." Angron said, his eyes fixed on Karyl. "He said even your bones were burned to ashes."

"."

Karyl shook his head, a wry smile on his face. "Kharn. The last thing I said to him was, 'I'll be fine.' Clearly, he took that as my last words."

"How did you get to Nostramo?" Roboute Guilliman asked seriously, his expression tense. A breeze blew, causing his short blond hair to sway slightly in the dim light of the tarmac, but his eyes were incredibly serious.

"I'm afraid I can't answer that question in a way you can understand. But, as Konrad Curze said, we all need to thank his dagger."

"What does this have to do with that knife?" Roboute Guilliman pressed. "I know it looks dangerous, and I can tell it doesn't belong to the 'normal' world, but what does that have to do with it?"

Karyl sighed, then slowly extended his right hand.

"Okay, do you really want to know?" he asked briefly. "If you'd like, we could do it again."

"What's coming?" Angron asked.

"A handshake," Karyl replied. "A gesture whose original meaning has been distorted for your brother Roboute Guilliman."

Angron turned his head, glanced at Roboute Guilliman, and began to use his talent.

He sensed a tense mind; the windows that could be observed had all been closed by their owners. But simply closing the doors and windows was not enough; Angron could still observe the light spilling through the cracks and catch glimpses of Roboute Guilliman's thoughts.

"Doubt," "Is he real?", "To hell with Imperial Truth."

What does this have to do with Imperial Truth?

Angron frowned and turned to look at Karyl Lohars.

The latter was smiling, fully aware of his spying, and even allowing him to observe. Staring into those completely black eyes, Angron suddenly felt a strong impulse, and the next second, his talent began to operate at an extraordinary level.

"Some truths are destined never to be spoken, Angron. They are cursed knowledge, pages soaked in venom by monsters of the dark. At certain moments, the words on these pages will curl up and become murder weapons, harming those who know them."

The Nuceria shook his head; it was the first time he had received such complete words from his own talent, and the feeling was quite strange.

It was as if someone was speaking to him from inside his skull in a voice that didn't belong to anyone else.

But that's not the point.

The key point is—he has confirmed certain things.

Angron stepped forward and grasped the right hand. Karyl looked at him in surprise, and Roboute Guilliman let out a gasp of astonishment.

However, it was too late.

Angron's vision has reached a higher level.

Someone pushed open a door—a door that shouldn't exist—before his very eyes. From within this door, golden light spilled out. This Radiance wasn't dazzling; instead, it felt warm and comforting. Then, a voice came from within.

"Please come in, my son."

Angron turned around silently and saw a face that appeared even paler in the golden light. Karyl Lohars, who had somehow donned a Ghost black robe, was smiling silently at him.

"This isn't what I originally intended to show you or your brother, Angron," he said softly. "However, it would actually be better if he told the story himself. Would you like to go in and talk to him, Angron?"

The Nuceria nodded silently, then straightened his back and stepped through the empty door.

"What did you do to him?!" Roboute Guilliman suddenly rushed forward. "Who are you?!"

Karyl sighed, not answering the Lord of Macragge's question immediately. He helped Angron, allowing the War Hounds' Primarch to sit down against a metal ramp on the tarmac.

Angron's eyes were closed, and although his breathing was steady, he suddenly fell asleep. Therefore, Roboute Guilliman's tension was entirely understandable.

But this also raises a new question.

+You really know how to cause me trouble.+

I still need three more days to arrive, and given the urgency, I must speak with him first.

+What? Are you afraid you won't be able to bring yourself to say anything after we meet?+

+No.+

Really?

There was no reply; the psionic communication was disconnected.

Karyl reluctantly stood up and gestured to Roboute Guilliman, who was tense and looked as if he were about to launch an attack—or rather, to his back.

"Whatever you're planning to do, I hope you don't, Konrad Curze," he said softly. "Roboute means me no harm."

Roboute Guilliman didn't turn around immediately; he wasn't sure if the words were a simple trick to Deceit him, until his extraordinary senses caught a faint breath. Turning around, he saw Konrad Curze Curze with a perfectly calm expression.

"He just hasn't figured out who I am yet," Karyl said slowly. "So, stop twisting your wrist. I didn't give you this to do that kind of thing."

"What kind of thing?" Konrad Curze Curze asked softly. "I don't understand."

Roboute Guilliman's brow furrowed slowly, then slowly relaxed—he glanced at Konrad Curze Curze, then turned to look at Karyl Lohars. After repeatedly confirming this, he finally relaxed his tense muscles with a sigh of relief.

He wasn't a slow learner; although he had been caught up in some strange misunderstanding, that didn't prevent him from realizing the truth.

"Don't give me that." Karyl said in an almost ruthless tone. "You'd better apologize to your brother right now."

"What? No, no need—" Roboute Guilliman quickly moved out of their line of sight and stood at the other end of the road. " --Konrad Curze's behavior is completely understandable."

The commander of the Eighth Legion gave him a silent smile.

"Yes, it can be understood, but it cannot be forgiven just like that," Karyl said seriously.

"This farce should never have happened. It was my indulgence that led you into this awkward misunderstanding, and what he just tried to do has already exceeded my tolerance."

He looked at Konrad Curze Curze: "I don't recall telling you to do that, Konrad Curze."

"What for?" Konrad Curze Curze asked, his lips pressed tightly together.

"Hurting someone who is good to you."

"I don't."

"What would you have done if Roboute had lunged at me for Angron?"

"."

What can you do?

"I will—I will make him bleed," Konrad Curze Curze answered in a low voice, his gaze fixed on the floor tiles beneath his feet.

Roboute Guilliman was not surprised by the answer; in fact, he felt a little relieved—he gave a wry smile to himself, recalling the assassination attempt on his adoptive father and his reaction afterward.

Tarasha Euten said she almost thought Roboute Guilliman had gone mad.

She saw no trace of her former rationality in her adopted son; that beautiful quality had vanished, leaving only the purest rage—an rage beyond human comprehension, an emotion that made him appear extremely terrifying at the time.

Roboute Guilliman was glad he had eventually learned to control his anger, but his brother clearly hadn't. Roboute Guilliman wouldn't blame him for that, but the situation was now developing in a direction he didn't want to see.

So he spoke again.

"It's really nothing, Karyl, you're being too harsh on him."

"Really?" Karyl asked softly. "But I've actually been indulging him, Roboute, otherwise this whole thing wouldn't have happened. He's still angry with you, otherwise he wouldn't have made such a joke. And of course, he's probably still angry with me too."

"Is that right, Konrad Curze?" He smiled slightly.

Roboute Guilliman saw not a trace of displeasure or other emotion on that pale face.

Realizing that this incident stirred within him an urge to leave, Roboute Guilliman knew he was caught in a family dispute.

He looked at his unconscious brother.

I'm starting to envy you, Angron.

"Yes," Konrad Curze Curze finally said after a period of silence. "I'm angry."

Are you going to say this to me as Konrad Curze Curze?

"What else?" A hissing sound rang out, and Roboute Guilliman sighed silently, tilting his head back, trying to distract himself from the situation. He couldn't understand Nostraman, and now, he was actually starting to feel fortunate about it.

"Night Haunter is a two-year-old child, so he can get angry and act irrationally, because these things can be forgiven."

Karyl shook his head and began to speak in the same hissing language.

"But Konrad Curze Curze cannot. Konrad Curze Curze is the commander of the Eighth Legion. You represent not only yourself, but also Nostramo and the Eighth Legion. Wraith, your actions just now amount to attempted murder."

"I won't really kill him, I'll just make him suffer if he attacks you."

"I'm pretty sure I never taught you this, Wraith." Karyl frowned. "Besides, I don't need you to handle this for me."

"So what exactly do you need me to do?" the Wraith hissed.

The little box in his heart was finally opened, and the pent-up emotions exploded completely, sounding almost like a fierce roar in Nostraman.

Roboute Guilliman averted his gaze and began to observe the chaotic night of Nostramo. If he could, he wished he could be deaf for a moment. Although he couldn't understand Nostraman, the emotions in the words were crystal clear.

Karyl fell silent.

"We'll discuss this further tonight," he said. "As for now—let's return to Konrad Curze Curze's identity. The gathering of three Primarch deserves a celebratory dinner."

It's so awkward.

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