10: Prelude to War (End)
Jairzinho Guzman's theological remarks may have been an unintentional joke, but Karyl can assure you that the death of senior trader Tracy had absolutely nothing to do with the gods.
Despite its bizarre nature, her death was indeed a purely physical natural phenomenon and had nothing to do with psychic powers.
However, if we disregard these factors, there are indeed plenty of reasons to doubt her death. A person suffocates within five seconds, as if her body thought she was supposed to die after saying those words.
This is quite interesting.
"So, this Harkosus Federation might possess some kind of power that we don't currently understand?" Roboute Guilliman asked.
He asked Karyl this question via holographic projection. After yesterday's meeting, Angron and he both returned to their ships to prepare for the upcoming war.
The gladiator showed no resistance to what he was about to do, but don't expect him to have any positive attitude towards it either.
Roboute Guilliman was quite pleased— the Emperor's pre-recorded message was filled with words he couldn't refuse.
For example, phrases like, "This conquest will become a new anchor point, a symbol of your brotherhood," or "I believe this will also give rise to new cultural exchanges between your legions."
However, at the end of the meeting, the Emperor bluntly told his sons via ship's communications that he was leaving.
He wasn't joking; five minutes after the message was sent, the Emperor's Dream departed Nostramo's orbit.
"Perhaps," Karyl said noncommittally. "It's too early to draw conclusions. In any case, we need more relevant evidence. The questioning is still ongoing, but the matter concerning the Burning Fire Chamber of Commerce has been ruled out."
"So, when shall we set off, brother? After all, you were the one who discovered Harkosus," Roboute Guilliman asked.
He wasn't asking Karyl, but rather Konrad Curze Curze, who stood beside Karyl. The commander of the Eighth Legion stood with his arms crossed, tapping his fingers on his arm, his brows furrowed.
"It can be done tomorrow." After a moment of silence, he replied.
--
Participating in a new war is nothing unusual for any Astartes; it's simply their life. They are born for war, and they die for war. In the meantime, they will rush to new battlefields countless times.
The same was true for the Eighth Legion, but not for the Eighth Legion's Primarch. Konrad Curze Curze calmly moved his arms so that the Tech-Priest could make some minor adjustments to his precision-engineered Power Armour.
Before leaving, the Emperor gifted him this Power Armour, as did Angron, who also received a set of armor. He should have been happy about the gift, but he wasn't, because he knew its purpose.
Therefore, even though it was personally crafted by the Emperor, he did not feel a moment of joy.
But that doesn't mean he won't accept it.
He knows who he is.
The adjustment was completed in five minutes. The priest bowed his head slightly to show respect to the son of Omnissiah, and then left.
It displayed extreme restraint towards this meticulously crafted Power Armour, which clearly contained special designs. Curze watched it go, unable to discern any possible gender characteristics in the hunched red-robed figure.
He couldn't help but wonder—were all Tech-Priest so cold-hearted?
He had no answer, after all, he hadn't seen many of them at all.
A Servitor brought over a huge mirror and placed it in front of him so that he could see his current appearance. The Servitor's arms were steady and powerful, with mechanical implants replacing fragile flesh and blood, and gears and steel replacing the muscles themselves.
It does its job without complaint.
The armor itself is composed of three colors: gold, blue, and red. The somber blue is the most prominent color, followed by gold, which is only used as embellishment on the edges of the shoulder or arm armor. On the chest is a huge, scarlet winged skull, a variant of the Imperial Aquila.
A similarly crimson cloak was placed behind him. Lightning-like patterns shone brightly on the surface of the armor, a special effect of the Nostraman Adamantium Mines. However, the Emperor could not have forged this finely crafted Power Armour in just one day, especially since he did not require any Nostramo Adamantium.
Konrad Curze Curze didn't know how the Emperor had acquired them, but he didn't really care.
Some questions don't need answers.
At that moment, as he stared at the giant in the mirror, a chill suddenly welled up inside him. The pale skin of the man in the mirror and the armor itself were not at all out of place, but rather seemed perfect, as if he was meant to wear it.
He frowned, realizing his true identity once again from this detail.
A weapon.
A cold weapon used for killing and punishing, for spreading justice.
He took a deep breath, put on his helmet, feeling neither sorrow nor joy at the impending war, nor even anticipation. He only longed for peace after the war ended.
Through the scarlet visor, he examined the helmet's appearance. It had a sinister shape, and to enhance the effect of fear, the visor was even painted with white skull designs.
The eyepieces were blood-red, shining brightly and persistently within the skull's eye sockets. Unlike the wings of Aquila, the longer, more menacing crimson wings extended along his sides, adorned with golden patterns. This armor was exquisitely magnificent, and the enhancement it provided was immense.
But
Konrad Curze Curze lowered his head and looked at his gauntlets. He used his long-dormant talent, which he had actively resisted and sealed away. It surged joyfully from the depths of his bones and began to spread, taking over every blood vessel, every muscle, and even the tips of his fingers.
A chilling sensation and a shiver ran through him in the next second. Curze gritted his teeth, resisting the deep fear, while silently waving his arm to dismiss the Servitor.
It looked at him with a puzzled expression, then turned and left. In the blink of an eye, he was the only one left in the armory.
He exhaled the icy air, but the Power Armour's built-in temperature control system did nothing to dispel the chill; in fact, it was powerless to resist it. Several incorrect readings came through the eyepiece, alerting Curze that something was wrong and needed to be checked, but he couldn't care less about that now.
He slowly knelt down, the mirror shattered into pieces of broken glass. He gasped for breath, staring at them, and saw ten million possibilities for the future.
However, they are all blurry and indistinct; they only have one thing in common.
In the fragment, his hands are covered in blood, and his face is deathly pale as he smiles at the person outside the mirror. His smile is full of satisfaction derived from killing.
Konrad Curze Curze stood up a few minutes later, regaining his composure. He silently summoned his Servitor to gather the shards of the mirror. Outside the armory's observation window, stars twinkled. A massive fleet was heading towards Harkosus.
The war has begun, whether it is sudden or not, whether you accept it or not.
One more chapter.