The Emperor and His Sons (II)

The first delicacy served on the long table in the banquet hall of the Macragge's Honour was a dangerous deep-sea fish.

It was ugly in appearance and enormous in size, taking up a third of the long table, which surprised the three Primarch sitting on the same side. Even Roboute Guilliman, the most knowledgeable of the three, had never seen it before.

However, there was one thing he had to admit: the fish was cooked exceptionally well by the chef from the Emperor's Dream.

Its aroma is irresistible, and the tender fish meat is faintly visible beneath the thick and chewy skin. The deep red broth spreads beneath it, like its own blood, but it is not fishy at all; instead, it exudes an intoxicating aroma of wine.

Its head was wide open, and its terrifyingly Great Maw contained dreadful, fine, sharp teeth.

"An extinct fish, originating from a cold satellite of the Sol System," the human the Emperor spoke slowly.

His voice was authoritative, but by no means aloof. Now, he looked quite different from the man Konrad Curze Curze remembered; though the face was the same, his demeanor was much gentler.

He wore no armor, and a golden laurel wreath nestled among his long black hair. It did not add to his divinity; in fact, it appeared sacred only because it was worn by the Emperor.

He wore a long white robe and gold wristbands on both hands, with intricate and exquisite carvings engraved on the gold surface by craftsmen using silver strokes.

"You mean it's extinct?" Roboute Guilliman asked.

"Yes, genetic engineering has turned it into a delicacy that only a select few can enjoy, but I hope to reduce costs within five years and develop an effective breeding method to make it available throughout the Imperium."

The Emperor nodded, his expression calm and gentle. "It's very nutritious and delicious. It's an excellent food for growing children."

He glanced at Konrad Curze Curze, who was aware of his gaze but didn't know how to respond.

"And this is just the first course?" Angron finally spoke, the gladiator's expression complex. "There are only four of us, do we really need so many dishes?"

"In terms of simply filling one's stomach, there's naturally no need for twenty-six dishes."

The Emperor nodded slightly to him.

"But the problem is that sometimes your status can distort your will. If I were to specifically order that today's banquet should only have ten dishes, my chefs would experience a period of unease, thinking that I no longer need them. Of course, this would also raise some political issues. For example, why am I eating so little when I meet with you? What are my intentions?"

Roboute Guilliman's eyes widened, feeling a little overwhelmed by his father's barrage of words, as did Konrad Curze Curze, while Angron remained calm.

The Nuceria can even crack a joke.

"If I were in your shoes, I might think you just want to live a simple life for a while," he said. "But, are you also bothered by these things?"

"Why shouldn't I?" The Emperor smiled. "They labor for me, spending time and effort preparing food, so of course I should care about their feelings."

Angron nodded, took out his knife and fork, and speared away a large piece of skin and fish meat.

"That's very fair," he said.

He put the fish into his mouth and began to chew carefully. The Emperor watched him with a smile, without saying a word, but also reached out and used his fork to take a piece of fish.

The banquet then officially began.

More dishes were served one after another, scattered among the white-clothed tables, with burning gold candlesticks casting a bright glow. These precious ingredients from the Emperor's Dream's warehouses were revealed in their processed form under the candlelight. Fine wine swirled in silver glasses, vibrating with the Primarch's words and movements.

Konrad Curze Curze didn't eat much; he only ate a little of almost every dish, except for a particular type of soft bread which he ate more of. He enjoyed dipping it in Grox mince broth, finding it quite delicious.

Angron ate the most. The gladiator didn't care about formalities or even frankness. He preferred to talk about these things after the meal rather than during the meal, and he made no secret of his love for the food.

Roboute Guilliman joined in, inspired by him. However, the Lord of Macragge didn't eat many proper meals; he ate a lot of desserts, from honey-dipped mille-feuille to puff pastry tarts adorned with apples and peaches—he ate almost everything.

As for their father...

The Emperor ate nothing but that piece of fish.

"Are you not having a good appetite today?" Roboute Guilliman finally asked the question after a long period of holding back.

"You could say that, Roboute," The Emperor replied gently, his eyes fixed on Roboute Guilliman as he spoke.

"But more than the food, I'd like to write down your performance. Angron enjoys meat, but he won't refuse vegetables as a side dish. You prefer dessert to a fine piece of Grox. And Konrad Curze, Konrad Curze, why don't you eat more?"

His single sentence instantly made Konrad Curze Curze the center of attention at the dinner table.

The pale-faced Primarch pursed his lips, forced to answer the question, "I don't like eating too much."

"But you're still growing," The Emperor said thoughtfully, raising his hands, the four fingers of his left hand resting on the index finger of his right, palms pressed tightly together. "You should eat more."

"I don't really like stuffing my stomach," Konrad Curze Curze said. "Yes, I know I can turn it into nutrition quickly, and the feeling of fullness disappears fast, but I'd rather eat less."

"The same old routine?" The Emperor pressed, his behavior increasingly bewildering Roboute Guilliman.

Angron, however, was not surprised and calmly stuffed another whole steak into his mouth.

"More or less," Curze replied. "Food reserves are finite; eating too much at one meal means eating less at the next. I'd rather distribute my hunger evenly throughout the day than watch someone else feast while they walk alone in hunger."

"Another person?" Roboute Guilliman realized his brother hadn't just been using a metaphor. "Is it Instructor Karyl?"

"Yes." Konrad Curze Curze looked at him quietly, his face expressionless. "He goes to collect a batch of nutritional paste that's about to expire every three days. Most of it goes to me; he only eats one meal a day."

Roboute Guilliman frowned. Angron picked up his silver cup and downed the wine in one gulp. His throat bobbed, and his eyes offered comfort to Curze, the Eighth Legion Commander smiling slightly to indicate that he didn't care.

And the Emperor.

The Emperor made no comment.

"You've suffered," he said calmly. "But that was the best your adoptive father could give you. Now it's different, Konrad Curze. Your body will need these nutrients, so eat more."

No, thank you.

"Alright." The Emperor nodded slightly, a hint of regret in his voice. "I guess I'm still not very good at talking to you."

Roboute Guilliman looked at his father, then at his brother, his face filled with a bewildered expression, unsure if he was even lucid.

Konrad Curze Curze smiled, a clear and gentle smile, "And you don't need to."

"Do what?"

"Trying to bribe me with those words," Curze said quietly. "I prefer the honesty you showed last time to lies wrapped in honey."

Roboute Guilliman took a deep breath. "--Brother, what are you talking about?"

"Let me tell you something you don't know, Roboute. But that doesn't mean I'm going to start an argument, and he's not angry, is he?"

The Emperor responded with a smile; he was indeed not angry, and the smile even carried a hint of encouragement.

"But—" Roboute Guilliman muttered, puzzled and frustrated. "—Father?"

"What's wrong, Roboute?"

"You"

"Um?"

Roboute Guilliman fell silent, shook his head, and said nothing more.

He didn't quite understand why his brothers would interact with their father in this way—the most bizarre part of the whole thing was that their father clearly seemed to enjoy it.

Angron chuckled softly, but said nothing. He leaned back quietly in his chair, displaying a similarly subtle curiosity about what was to come.

And what about the two people involved in this conversation?

They remained silent.

Konrad Curze Curze remained calmly silent, and the Emperor smiled in silence; neither spoke.

Perhaps he had nothing to say, or perhaps his eyes had already conveyed enough information—in any case, a minute later, the human the Emperor stood up with a smile.

The doors to the banquet hall were immediately pushed open, and Constantine Valdor's face appeared in the middle of the doorway. The Emperor nodded slightly to him, and then looked at his sons.

"This is the most comfortable banquet I've had in recent years, my sons," he said gently. "As for now, I must leave for a while. Please come to my ship at nine o'clock tomorrow morning to meet me."

With that, he turned and left, leaving the Primarch to continue in the banquet hall. As Constantine Valdor closed the door, Roboute Guilliman's bewilderment finally dissipated.

He sighed deeply, giving Konrad Curze Curze a complicated look. "What you just said almost made me jump out of my chair, Konrad Curze."

"He won't be angry," Curze replied softly. "He even hopes I'll answer that way."

Angron chuckled again and continued eating. He never wasted any food.

As for what the Emperor is going to do?

Nobody knows the answer.

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