The Emperor and His Sons (Final)

The pen is sharper than the blade— Roboute Guilliman knew this saying long ago, and now he has a new understanding of it.

Words, writing, and all other means of communication can be a hundred times sharper than a blade, as long as you know how to hurt the person you are talking to.

He had just witnessed Konrad Curze Curze's exceptional abilities in this area and was greatly astonished. In his memory and experience, there was probably only one person who could have influenced him in this regard.

Karyl Lohars is clearly not the type of person who would verbally abuse someone.

So, is this some kind of talent of Konrad Curze Curze himself?

Roboute Guilliman dismissed the speculation and followed his father and brothers into a room.

The Emperor's Dream has countless rooms, but this one is visibly special. There is no gold in it, only pure gray. Not the gray of building materials, but a deathly gray-white.

There were no chairs, no tables; the room was silent, and a chilling frost covered the floor. What surprised Roboute Guilliman most was that there was already someone else waiting there.

A pale giant.

Konrad Curze Curze opened his mouth in surprise; he was speaking, that much was certain, yet no sound came out.

He frowned in suspicion, as did Roboute Guilliman, Angron narrowed his eyes—they all harbored considerable skepticism about the current situation, until the voice of the Master of Mankind sounded behind them.

"From now on, you need not speak," he said slowly. "Silence is sufficient. Your thoughts will be presented to me and him in your hearts in a way that is different from words. This method of communication will not be more efficient, but if we are to discuss what comes next, it is necessary."

A cold wind blew by, Angron felt a chill. It took him half a second to realize that this was not some natural phenomenon, but because Karyl Lohars was speaking.

"Because what we're going to talk about next is Warp."

He raised his right hand.

Long, strong, calloused fingers slowly pressed against the palm— Konrad Curze Curze captured this detail.

At that moment, he realized that Karyl Lohars's "self-healing" was probably not what they had imagined, because he saw a dripping tattoo on that wrist.

What does it mean that a person whose flesh and blood have been completely burned away will grow new flesh and blood after recovering?

He looked at Karyl seriously, who noticed his gaze but did not respond, instead slowly tightening his grip on his fingers as if holding a knife.

After a brief burst of power, a flash of cold light appeared and disappeared—it was definitely not Shadow created by a weapon. Roboute Guilliman was quite certain of this. He did not see any weapon in Karyl's hand, but there was an extreme sense of sharpness slowly approaching from the other side of the air.

Immediately afterwards, the frost began to spread rapidly, following someone's will, spreading from the ground to the entire room, completely freezing it.

Then, the Master of Mankind also raised his right hand. He slowly pressed it against the wall, and just like that, the deathly gray began to change, golden light danced, and flames began to appear within the frost.

"But it certainly won't stop at the Warp," The Emperor said solemnly. "We still can't reveal much, because it's poisonous, and even you can't withstand too much of it. However, within permissible limits, we will speak frankly."

He looked at them—his gaze was so heavy it was terrifying, as if the weight of the cargo weighing down on the porters, causing the Primarch's shoulders to sag involuntarily.

Angron frowned, his muscles twitching, and he began to resist. Roboute Guilliman, with his reason, forced himself to ignore the pain and grit his teeth to persevere. Konrad Curze Curze silently changed his posture, stretched his back, and slowly adapted to it.

Then, the Master of Mankind slowly spoke, "Who will ask the first question?"

I'll do it.

Roboute Guilliman spoke these words in his mind. He could hear his own voice—not the silent voice he used to hear talking to himself, but the real, genuine voice that came from within himself.

He knew perfectly well that he hadn't spoken.

"What do you want to ask, Roboute?"

Imperial Truth, Father, I want to know the truth about it.

I trust you. I know you wouldn't design and promote it without a reason, but it's clearly a lie. Konrad Curze and Angron would both agree with me. We've seen too many things that Imperial Truth can't explain.

"Good question." The Emperor nodded to him, his expression still serious. He remained silent for a while before speaking. Roboute Guilliman was still persevering in his pain; his rationality was not impaired, but suddenly a dazed vision appeared before his eyes.

He actually saw a deep abyss that had split open.

"The Imperial Truth contains many rules and doctrines. For example, rationality, atheism, and the requirement for people to learn a scientific worldview and use it to analyze the world before them. Superstition is rejected, and irrational so-called supernatural phenomena are condemned."

"I wish there were no more so-called witchcraft practices, afterlife fantasies, spiritual studies, or primitive deity worship within the Imperium's borders. But yes, that's a lie, Roboute Guilliman."

"It's a colossal lie that I designed and personally orchestrated. It will eventually be exposed by humanity itself, but by then, people will no longer need it. You can call it a lie, Roboute, and it truly is."

"However, everything has two sides. It is both a lie and a shield. It is a false shield, yet it can truly protect everyone's soul in certain ways."

Roboute Guilliman remained silent for a long time.

Father.

"I'm here, Roboute."

What's the deal with Lorgar? He regards you as a god.

"He is an exception, the most obvious flaw in my lies. I tolerate him because he is my son, and he himself has been completely blinded by the power of religion. He cannot see the truth or what people need, but he is kind by nature, so I hope he can get out of this predicament on his own."

You speak of protection, but who has the Imperial Truth protected?

"Human beings."

Their souls?

"Yes."

If protection is needed, it means there are indeed enemies. Those enemies—where do they come from?

The Emperor looked calmly at his son, and that very gaze made Roboute Guilliman gasp for breath.

His reason was warning him, screaming at him to stop, to stop listening. To be fair, the Emperor hadn't hidden anything this time; he patiently and meticulously explained Roboute Guilliman's question, but it was precisely this meticulousness that made it unbearable for him.

The agonizing pain of gritting his teeth and persevering was spreading until it became a colossal wave that overwhelmed his rationality. It leaped up and then crashed down heavily.

Roboute Guilliman opened his mouth, his pupils dilated, and pain overwhelmed his reason.

"You cannot bear the truth yet, Roboute," The Emperor sighed.

He took two steps forward and caught Roboute Guilliman before he fell to the ground. Golden light gathered, and a chair appeared, which later became Roboute Guilliman's temporary support.

Angron silently withdrew his gaze, his vision now blurred. Blood trickled down the dark red lines on his face, shattering on the frost.

He struggled against the shock of the truth, veins bulging on his forehead and neck. The nails throbbed in his brain, and the combined pain caused the gladiator to involuntarily chuckle.

"Who's next?" The Emperor asked briefly.

"I'm here," said Angron.

The Emperor looked at him, and deep lines appeared between his brows, like deep cracks appearing on a piece of wood chopped by a lumberjack. Angron felt a pure concern, without the slightest pretense.

"Don't worry about me," the gladiator replied breathlessly. "I'm still holding on, and besides, I don't have many problems."

"Then ask," the still-unappreciated father replied, his voice devoid of pity.

That's enough.

Angron laughed, his lips and teeth revealing a terrifying crimson stain.

Who harmed them?

"It is a monster," The Emperor said. "A monster that lurks in the darkness, feeding on blood and life to sustain its eternal war. It is blade, armor, battle, death. It is the roar of warriors and their thirst for victory, it is also a symbol of honor, but it is evil."

I know.

The gladiator breathed silently, his head bowed, but his back remained straight. He smiled cruelly, his face contorted, but his light blue eyes were never obscured by bloodshot veins.

Can He be killed?

"Not now," The Emperor replied solemnly.

So, is it possible in the future?

"Perhaps that day will come."

Good.

Angron silently relaxed, no longer resisting the pain, and simply passed out.

Konrad Curze Curze caught him first. Roboute Guilliman's fall was unexpected, but this time, Curze was prepared. He wouldn't just stand by and watch his brother fall.

However, although he helped Angron up, he himself felt a sudden difficulty breathing due to the change in posture. The golden light flashed again, and another chair appeared, which the Nuceria sat on, blood flowing freely on his face.

The Emperor looked at him, wiped away the blood, and glanced at the nails with hatred. They were too deeply entangled with Angron; they might still be removed physically, but the gladiator himself was unwilling to do so.

They symbolized his past; they were another kind of triumphant rope—that's what Angron had told his father during their private conversation that day.

"Now it's just you, Konrad Curze," The Emperor said slowly. "And what do you want to ask?"

Konrad Curze Curze looked at his father—and his other father.

Then he shook his head.

"I already have the answer," he said. "I have no questions."

One more chapter.

My hand hurts a bit, so I wrote a little slowly. Sorry. By the way, please vote!