7 War Prelude (I)

A Servitor walked blankly through the hall, passing between huge red cloths hanging from the beams. Its pale, bloodless skin was made even more terrifying by the red. But this was irrelevant to it; the Servitor itself had no self-awareness.

They are born to be enslaved.

Angron glanced at it, then looked away.

"How many years has this transformation been going on?" he asked.

The person being questioned shook their head, not giving a definite answer, but did indeed answer his question, "A long time."

The Nuceria's brows furrowed, and he made no attempt to hide his disgust. Perhaps it was disdain, or perhaps he thought it unnecessary—but whatever the reason, Roboute Guilliman saw the full expression on his brother's face.

"If you want to know an exact number, you'd probably need to find a Tech-Priest," Roboute Guilliman said. "But I don't think they actually know the right answer either. Knowledge is, to some extent, their currency and their life, especially mechanical knowledge. And if knowledge is to retain its value, it needs to be kept secret."

So they won't tell me the answer?

"They can tell you if you want to know," Roboute Guilliman said, shaking his head in a strange tone, as if he had tried it himself.

Angron smiled and dropped the subject. Perhaps as a reward, after he remained silent for five minutes, the person he and Roboute Guilliman had been waiting for finally arrived.

Konrad Curze Curze.

The Lord of the Eighth Legion hurried through the ordinary crew members and the artists who were decorating, and greeted them one by one.

He entered through the main entrance of the hall, a considerable distance from where Angron and Guilliman were, making his journey extremely difficult. Konrad Curze Curze did not ignore anyone's greetings, so it was fifteen minutes later when he finally reached his brothers.

"It's tough," Angron smiled slightly, his tone affectionate. "I think you don't even need to pay those artists anymore; you are their payment."

"It's still necessary," Konrad Curze Curze said. "But I didn't expect the Nightfall's lobby to need renovations, and I certainly didn't expect you to come without prior notice."

"The way you phrased that makes it sound a bit misleading," Roboute Guilliman replied, his hands behind his back, watching the painters document the scene and occasionally glancing up at the people sculpting on the ceiling of the Nightfall Hall.

They were protected by a raised iron platform, a massive machine that had boarded the ship with the painters and looked quite old. Looking up from below, they could see a huge Aquila. This signified some kind of proof, permission, and honor.

The Servitor below were busy handing them various tools and collecting debris that spilled from the gaps in the iron platform via servo engineering arms mounted on their backs.

It's unclear whether the designer of the Nightfall had anticipated that its owner might modify it from the very beginning, but that anonymous designer designed the ceiling of the hall to be a single, undecorated block of marble.

The sculptors were overjoyed upon discovering this and quickly reported it. The Nightfall's "office" responded promptly.

To be precise, there were two replies. One was from Karyl Lohars, succinctly stating, "May your inspiration never run dry."

The other one came from Konrad Curze Curze —in fact, it was less of a reply and more of an inquiry, "My brothers are in the hall of my ship? Wait, the hall is going to be redecorated?"

Thinking of this, Roboute Guilliman couldn't help but laugh out loud, "You knew absolutely nothing about this?"

"I know," Curze replied, sounding slightly annoyed. "But that report was stuck in my pile of documents when I received your boarding notice."

"Looks like you've run into a careless messenger," Roboute Guilliman chuckled, patting him on the back as a gesture of comfort. "But actually, it's a good thing; these are Father's personal artists."

Konrad Curze Curze looked up and observed the artists who served the Emperor.

At this moment, only a few people have started working, and most of them are not actually sculpting the shape, but are just roughly carving out a huge oval. Most people are standing together, exchanging ideas, debating, arguing—and even fighting.

Whenever things reached the final stage, the Eighth Legion's officers on duty would emerge from the darkness to separate them. This was a novelty, even for Konrad Curze Curze.

He couldn't help but laugh, "I never expected they'd actually fight each other over this. And without even using their hands!"

"After all, they rely on their hands to perform their skills," Angron said.

The Nuceria turned his head thoughtfully and met the gaze of a painter who was observing them. The painter was startled at first, but then made a gesture to Angron without any hesitation, hoping that he would change his posture.

The Primarch raised an eyebrow, but still complied with the man's request. The painter smiled with delight and began to carefully apply his pencil to his canvas.

"And it seems we'll have to become part of the painting too." The gladiator withdrew his gaze and began to adjust his facial muscles, trying to make himself look more gentle.

His actions were obvious and did not escape his brothers' notice. The attempt failed after a dozen seconds, and Angron sighed. He couldn't bring himself to put on a more amiable face in everyday life; the effects of the nail were still there.

He didn't mind, but...

He knew that the War Hounds would always glare at the back of his head with hatred.

"What?" Konrad Curze Curze's eyes widened. "No—no, I can't stay here any longer. I still have two hundred and twenty-one documents from Nostramo that I haven't signed!"

"Actually, please allow me to interrupt for a moment, gentlemen."

A voice rang out not far from them. The First Company of the Eighth Legion Van Cleef, standing in the crowd in his full armor, nodded to them.

"You don't need to worry about the documents anymore," Konrad Curze Curze heard his company commander say, expressionless as always. "The instructor informed us about this three minutes ago via the comms channel, and he specifically reminded you to take a simple communication device with you next time you leave the office."

"Huh?" Konrad Curze Curze looked blankly at Van Cleef Angron and Roboute Guilliman behind him, and couldn't help but smile at each other.

Is there anything else you don't understand?

"--Why did he take my job?"

"Because you have a meeting to attend later," Van Cleef said. "Didn't you receive the report?"

The commander of the Eighth Legion frowned and began searching his own memory. He quickly arrived at a less-than-ideal answer—he had indeed received it, but the document had been placed in the pile of files in the order it arrived. It hadn't been marked as "important" or "urgent."

"I think I received it." Curze sighed.

Roboute Guilliman nodded in empathy. "One of the unavoidable problems with paper documents is that when they're all piled up, it's hard to find the one you need. That's why I now prefer using Dataslate."

"I'll ask the Mechanicum about this Dataslate later. So, Van Cleef, you said a meeting? What meeting?"

"A meeting regarding the recapture of the human colony of Harkosus," the company commander said, disregarding Roboute Guilliman and Angron.

The Lord of Macragge quickly grasped the significance of this matter with his statesman's instincts. He looked inquiringly at Van Cleef, who nodded to him. "Yes, the instructor hopes that both of you can participate."

Roboute Guilliman's expression immediately turned serious.

One more chapter.

I typed slowly today; I'm suffering from a double whammy of toothache and hand pain, so it's hard to say what will happen.