27. One-Day War (V)

Roboute Guilliman stormed into the Archon's Palace, his fury surging forth like a swarm of greedy insects from the dark corners beyond his sight.

They climbed into his heart, beginning to gnaw at his remaining sanity. Roboute Guilliman was oblivious to this; he simply continued running.

He didn't notice that he was wearing completely unfamiliar armor, nor did he notice that the palace floor had changed.

The floor tiles of the Archon's Palace were meticulously designed by many artists; they bear the weight of history, and you could even say that they are, in a sense, the history of Macragge itself.

But now, what he was stepping on was not the history of Macragge, but large swathes of rough and dirty stones, covered with blood and the shattered corpses of Xenos.

He ran past them, offering the utmost contempt and hatred to the remains of what he saw as rebels. He was still restraining himself, trying to suppress his anger with reason, otherwise things wouldn't have turned out this way.

Roboute Guilliman knew that enough people had died in Macragge today. Conno had warned him that peace should be won through better means than through violence and bloodshed. Peace achieved in that way would not last.

So he waved his arms and shouted at the insurgents hiding behind their bunkers, "Surrender!"

His voice echoed between the rock walls, splitting and extending—frantically reaching the deepest darkness. The rebels emerged blankly from behind their bunkers, unarmed.

Roboute Guilliman charged at them, grabbed the tallest one, and roared at him, "You betrayed Macragge! Why did you do this? Who ordered you to?!"

The man did not answer, his pale face showing a blank expression—for a moment, he was no longer himself, but "it". Roboute Guilliman saw its face clearly, saw its pale blue skin and eighteen rapidly blinking eyes.

A tremendous panic surged from the depths of his heart. Roboute Guilliman didn't understand what was happening, but he knew very well that this was not how a human being should behave.

Roboute Guilliman clenched his fists in shock, and the next second, accompanied by a spurt of blood, "he" was back.

Standing before Roboute Guilliman was a man screaming in agony, with a typical Macragge face: deep-set eyes, a high nose, and a deathly pale complexion. He had short blond hair and a resolute chin.

He looked familiar.

Roboute Guilliman frowned, not dwelling on the familiarity. Right now, he was more concerned with something else—he had just lost control.

Regret followed, and he began to recite a prayer.

Tarasha Euten gave it to him, teaching him it when he was young. Euten said, "If you sense that you are about to lose control, then recite it" —Roboute Guilliman did as she was told.

As he recited, his mind gradually calmed down. He calmed down, but he also forgot or overlooked some things. For example, why Captain Melothus and the guards were not following behind him, and why none of the rebels were carrying weapons.

These seemingly contradictory points, strung together, were so obvious and so suspicious, yet Roboute Guilliman remained completely unmoved. A fool could, of course, ignore them, but could Roboute Guilliman?

No one knows the answer.

The Macragge man chanted a prayer, muttered something, and released his grip, letting the man fall to the ground, feeling dizzy. He had calmed down, but felt an urge to vomit.

The urge came from his nostrils; he had just caught a horrifying odor—not of chemicals, but of thousands of corpses, thrown into thick piles of fallen leaves and damp earth, flesh and blood gone, bones decaying.

Roboute Guilliman stared blankly at all of this, still reciting prayers, trying to calm himself.

However, he was no longer reciting the prayer that Tarasha Euten had taught him.

The Xenos stared at the giant standing before them, at his face, and remained silent. The Xenos who had been nearly killed just seconds before opened the tentacles on its jaw and emitted a strange grunt from its throat.

They stepped forward and began to surround Roboute Guilliman.

They do not have the mark of the God of Burning Fire on their lower jaws.

They are not His followers.

Harkosus has three planets.

Three.

"Who sent you?" Roboute Guilliman stared intently at the rebel soldier and demanded an answer.

"Do you know what you've done? You've instigated a rebellion in Macragge! Many innocent people have died today, and their deaths are all your fault! So tell me, who sent you?!"

The man didn't answer. He was tall, and his haggard eyes beneath his short blond hair blinked weakly. Then, he let out a strange gurgling sound from his throat—fine, continuous, dense—and foul.

"Speak!" Roboute Guilliman roared at him. "You have no choice. Who did this? Who ordered it all?!"

The man stared at him, still silent—at that moment, in that brief instant, a scene suddenly flashed before Roboute Guilliman's eyes.

He saw a gloomy cave, monsters with pale blue skin surrounding him in layers, and their rapidly blinking, densely packed eyes—then everything returned to nothingness.

The silent man reappeared, his face haggard and even paler, his blond hair turned to brittle twigs, and his lips a sinister green. He kept his mouth shut and remained silent.

Roboute Guilliman cursed under his breath, angered by the man's stubbornness. He began reciting a prayer again, trying to convince himself not to be so angry. As he recited the prayer, he calmed down, a calmness he had never experienced before.

It was a true peace, like lying in a forest, on damp earth, letting reptiles crawl through your nostrils and lips, thick layers of dead leaves falling from the sky, bringing the smell of decay and burying you deep within.

Roboute Guilliman opened his eyes in a daze—he heard the man finally speak.

"Wake up," the man said weakly. "Wake up, please, wake up."

"What?" Roboute Guilliman frowned in disbelief. "What are you talking about?"

There was no answer; the man kept his mouth tightly shut. His face began to change, his skin and flesh twisting and turning like the ocean or waves.

Eighteen eyes and pale blue skin were replaced by flesh turning inside out. Roboute Guilliman looked at the creature in bewilderment, even reaching out to touch its cheek to feel its body temperature.

"You don't have a fever," he said. "That means you're mentally sound. Now tell me the truth, soldier. As you can see, you have no chance of winning."

He paused for a moment, then pointed to the corpses scattered throughout the palace behind him—corpses with long, thin limbs, reduced to bloody bits, now slowly rotting. Roboute Guilliman's expression remained unchanged, as if he were truly in the Archon's Palace. Then he continued speaking.

"You don't understand yet, but you will, soldier. You've been deceived. Whatever that person promised you, it's not the truth. Don't you know that Conno Roboute Guilliman is the most outstanding Archon in Macragge's history? He improved the irrigation system, invented new farming methods, and everyone can afford to eat. Go and see those farmers outside the city, soldier."

Roboute Guilliman began to persuade him earnestly.

"We are all children of farmers, you, me, Conno Roboute Guilliman —we all grew up eating crops. Do you believe that Consul Konor is a villain? Tell me, soldiers, who instilled these terrible lies in you? And where did that person take my father—"

He stopped talking, his brows furrowing tightly with suspicion.

Father?

Who? Who exactly is it?

A light appeared before his eyes.

He saw an ordinary, even somewhat short, old man standing beside him, smiling with worry in his eyes, "Roboute, this is your only chance."

What? No, wait, who are you?

He is your adoptive father.

A voice said. Roboute Guilliman turned his head and saw a man, a man with a tired face and skin that was not wrinkled but still looked as old as a parchment roll—the man turned his head and looked at him, his expression sad.

And you are forgetting him.

What?

"You are forgetting us," said the short old man.

"Think back, Roboute. You never spoke a word to those rebels back then. You killed them all. I was lying in my study, hearing your roars coming from downstairs. I knew you were angry then. You were frightening when you were a child, let alone that day."

Roboute Guilliman covered his forehead in confusion; his eyes stung—he felt as if he were crying, but why?

Do you remember?

The old man looked at him sadly.

"Remember, Roboute, you must remember that you saw me dying in the study, howling like a wild beast. I was poisoned, with an airborne toxin. I pointed a gun at you, and made you back away."

"You're crying, Roboute. I'm dying, but I still want to say something to you, yet I can't utter a word, so I'm giving you this coin."

The old man lowered his head and extended his right hand as if offering a precious treasure.

A coin lay there in his aged palm. Roboute Guilliman stared at it, bewildered. He mumbled something in his throat and stepped forward—

He tried to reach out and take it, but he was too weak, too weak to even hold the coin. It fell to the ground, rippled, and vanished quickly.

The light vanished in an instant.

Roboute Guilliman returned to reality, reciting a prayer. His face was gaunt, pale and sallow from illness. He continued reciting the prayer without stopping.

Besides.

It's a bit laggy today.