The World Is Forever Cruel, but I Accept It (7k)

Someone was whispering, and he was already extremely weak. Something was wrong with his body; it must be, otherwise how could a normal person fall into such a chaotic hallucination?

He felt himself drifting naked, drifting between dying stars and a vast ocean. These two images should never have been linked, but that was the truth.

He is drifting.

Drift.

Lonely.

Alone.

Fear.

The boundless darkness enveloped everything. He walked through the darkness, his senses long gone. He couldn't even hear the whistling wind; there was only pure nothingness.

He didn't know how long he had been drifting; time had lost its meaning, and everything felt like an endless torment.

He passed through a burning sun, scorched and wounded all over. But the next second he would pass through an extremely cold storm, thrown into a broken glacier to suffer and sink, the icy water scraping away his flesh like a knife.

He had forgotten many things, even his name. He drifted and then saw stars, countless dying stars—they watched and gazed at him in the storm, yearning for him, greedily exhaling putrid air at him.

A sickly, pale yellow hue suddenly appeared from somewhere within the turbulent waves and seized him.

He didn't resist; he had forgotten the meaning of resistance. He only wanted everything to end.

This endless torment had to end; he could no longer endure it. The light flickered, rapidly shifting from a beige hue to a jet-black flame that enveloped him. Intense pain struck in the next second, overwhelming all his senses.

His blood began to congeal and burn in his veins, and his heart pounded violently.

He screamed, screamed, screamed—and then he fell.

He landed.

He opened his eyes and saw a person—wait, a person? He was bewildered by the concept; he didn't know what the word meant, only that he should use it to refer to it.

He looked at the other person, and more words welled up in his mind: giant, horror, skeleton, darkness, ferocity, monster.

"What do you remember?" the skeleton asked, its jaw not moving at all as it spoke, yet the voice came out naturally.

He caught this in his mind, and a chill ran down his spine. He curled up and backed away, trying to get away from the skeleton that had asked him the question. He refused to do certain things out of fear, such as thinking about why he understood the skeleton's words.

The skeleton stood there watching him, seemingly sighing, yet not quite. He stepped back, and the world began to shift in that instant.

The soft grass pressed beneath him. A gentle breeze blew from afar, fragrant and cool. Trees broke free from the soil's constraints, reaching for the sky, their leaves swaying to shield him from the sun's gaze.

He was covered in wounds and instinctively sought shelter, so he happily continued to retreat, yearning for more.

The skeleton stood on the other side of the world, gazing at him, as silent as the dead. The world beneath its feet began to change, but it was not beautiful; it could even be described as cruel to the point of being unbearable to look at.

One after another, worlds shrouded in clouds appeared beneath its feet, and without exception, they were all burning. Black flames roared, and people screamed and wailed, enduring eternal torment in the darkness.

Just staring at it filled him with dread. He trembled and pleaded with the skeleton in broken, incoherent syllables, begging it to stop. He didn't want to look; he really didn't want to look.

But the skeleton remained unmoved, its eyes glowing with fire beneath its hood. It stood still, slowly shaking its head.

"Roboute Guilliman," it said. "Don't back down any further."

He didn't answer, he dared not answer—he didn't even dare to look at the skeleton. In a daze, he heard a satisfied chuckle in his ear. It was deep and pleasant, like that of an old man, an old man sitting right next to him.

He turned his head, trembling, and indeed saw an old man.

He was old and fat, but still healthy. His cheeks were rosy, and he was smiling warmly at him. The old man spoke, his voice very kind, quite unlike the hoarse voice of the skeleton.

Are you going to listen to him?

No! Of course not!

He hunched over in fear, his shoulders hunched inward, and his pale, weak hands slightly raised to cover his face. The old man smiled even more broadly and patted him on the shoulder kindly.

"Don't be afraid, child, it won't hurt you."

Who are you?

"Does it matter?" the old man countered, still patient. "The name doesn't matter, child."

Really?

"Of course it's true."

The old man smiled kindly at him, and his patience made him involuntarily lower his guard. The old man was so gentle; he had been worried that he would be punished for asking too many questions.

"A name itself has no meaning; it's just a designation, a way to refer to yourself," the old man said gently. "So, you just need to—"

"--Enough," the skeleton said in a low voice.

Its voice was distorted, emitting a buzzing echo, and black flames suddenly rose from the cloak behind it, which floated like a living thing, hissing and roaring at the old man like a monster.

"Let him choose for himself, Nurgle."

Nurgle? He looked at the old man in confusion. The old man smiled and nodded at him, then blinked. "Yes, Nurgle, that's my name."

"And what's my name?" he asked.

"Roboute Guilliman," the skull said. "That's your name."

He glanced quickly at the skull, not daring to look any longer, his distrust evident. He then looked at the old man, who nodded slightly and smiled, acknowledging it. "Yes, you are Roboute Guilliman."

"Let him come over here, Nurgle," the skeleton spoke again. "Let him choose for himself."

"Didn't he already choose?" Nurgle asked, slightly surprised. "He came here on his own, and you like it here, don't you?"

The old man raised his hand, plucked a leaf for him, and pointed to the azure sky. Everything was so peaceful and beautiful. Green grass swayed, white birds flew, and insects chirped in the distance, their rhythm and melody like a ballad.

He suddenly felt an overwhelming drowsiness, which came without warning and overwhelmed him almost instantly. He couldn't help but tremble, and his eyelids slowly closed. However, in the next second, a clap of thunder rang out, drowning out everything else.

"Boom--!"

It was incredibly intense and terrifying. In an instant, it completely extinguished his drowsiness, and the smile on the old man's face vanished for a moment. In that instant, he seemed somewhat unfamiliar.

He shook his head and questioned the skeleton, "I thought this was just between you and me."

"No, this is between you, me, and him. So, let him come over and choose for himself," the skeleton said in a low voice. "Let him remember his name."

The old man squinted slightly, and the chirping of insects, which had stopped, began again.

His muscles immediately spasmed, and the pain swept over him like a tsunami. But within this pain, there was also a name. Like a victim of a shipwreck, his body washed ashore by the waves, swollen and pale, devoid of any sign of life.

Roboute Guilliman.

His name?

He raised his hands in confusion, covering his face, bewildered and helpless. Thunder rumbled again, with an angry roar faintly heard within it. When he lowered his hands again, the old man had vanished, leaving only the vibrant meadow and the skeleton standing not far away.

The scene beneath its feet was still terrifying. It stared at him, then uttered that name again.

"Roboute Guilliman," it said, as if calling out. "Do you remember me?"

What do you remember?

He instinctively began to think that he felt as if he hadn't done this for ten million years, yet he could still do it naturally if he wanted to.

He pondered, Roboute Guilliman, Roboute Guilliman, Roboute, Roboute Guilliman.

My name?

His eyes widened.

Yes, how could he forget?

He is Roboute Guilliman, the son of Conno Roboute Guilliman and Tarasha Euten. They are not husband and wife, but his adoptive parents. He is Macragge, his homeland, an ancient, beautiful, and proud world.

But why am I here?

Roboute Guilliman looked at the skull in bewilderment. The name had returned, and so had many other things. He was no longer cowering as before, but suddenly filled with courage.

Tarasha Euten taught him that one must be brave. Conno Roboute Guilliman told him that the brave are not fearless, but simply ignore them.

So, at this moment, ignoring the cruel world beneath the skeleton's feet, he forced himself to look into the skeleton's eyes and asked, "Who are you?"

"Karyl Lohars," the skeleton replied in a low voice, uttering a name.

Roboute Guilliman was certain he had never heard of the name before. He looked at the skeleton with a puzzled expression and began to observe it. He meticulously memorized every feature and started analyzing it. The skeleton, however, didn't give him time, speaking again, "I'm here to help you."

"Help me?" Roboute Guilliman frowned, his voice carrying an inexplicable arrogance—the kind of arrogance found in every ignorant youth. He held his head high, his jaw clenched. "What can you do to help me? I'm perfectly fine."

"Really?"

"Of course it's true." Roboute Guilliman shook his head with amusement.

"You're an extremely strange person, wearing such bizarre armor that seems to offer little in terms of actual protection, and even making your helmet into a skull shape. Are you an assassin, or some oddly dressed clown from somewhere? Are you trying to scare people with this outfit?"

He stared defiantly at the man, ready to await his next answer and analyze further. He appeared calm, but his back was already drenched in cold sweat.

These insulting words were, of course, just bluff; the man might indeed have been an assassin, but that couldn't explain the eerie and terrifying sight beneath his feet.

Roboute Guilliman had no idea where he was. He only remembered sleeping in his room, but how did he end up in this place after waking up?

He had no answer.

Without realizing it, he had forgotten the nightmarish ordeal he had endured, even the existence of Nurgle. He now knew only one thing—he had to rely on himself to escape.

He will never sit idly by and wait for his doom.

"I am sometimes an assassin," the skeleton said. "As for strange attire, I did wear dirty rags before."

"So, you're not a court jester?" Roboute Guilliman asked, deliberately in an arrogant and irritating tone.

"In some people's eyes, I might be even more ridiculous than that."

"Something? What are you talking about?"

"What do you think?" the skeleton asked in return, taking a step forward.

The raging flames on his body surged forward, scorching the grass with a crackling sound. This was definitely not normal; what kind of grass makes that sound when burned?

Roboute Guilliman lowered his head, staring intently at them, his nerves on edge. He was thinking, but instinctively ignored many other questions. The flames spread, and he looked up, forced to speak again, "Do you want to burn me alive with these flames?"

It won't burn you.

"Don't joke around, you—"

Roboute Guilliman abruptly stopped speaking. Black flames roared across the grass, pulsating as if they were alive. They approached him in an instant, and before he could even react, his entire body was engulfed in flames.

The world began to change, and he could no longer control his eyes, forced to watch it all with utter horror.

Grasslands vanished, trees disappeared, and decaying dust drifted everywhere. The air turned into a putrid miasma, in which pale yellow powder danced. The ground sank, becoming a swamp filled with corpses. The beautiful scenery was gone; pure ugliness and filth made everything so terrifying.

Roboute Guilliman felt nauseous. He clutched his throat in pain, knelt down, and felt a strange itch in his throat. He coughed, and blood mist floated in the air.

The ground beneath his feet began to gurgle and throb, and maggots crawled out, gathering around him as if guarding or watching over him. He stared at it all in shock and fear, instinctively trying to escape, but he was too weak, too weak to make his body react.

Just half a minute ago, he was perfectly healthy and strong, but now he is so weak that he is on the verge of death.

Something was wrong. He finally realized something, but he couldn't grasp the thought that was lingering in his mind.

He wanted to scream, but the ground began to sink, dragging him downwards as if he were about to fall into an abyss.

--Until a hand suddenly pulled him out.

Roboute Guilliman fell to the ground in a sorry state, but the hand did not let go, and slowly pulled him up.

The flames crackled and popped, and he vaguely heard the anger of someone or something. The sound was unbearable, and Roboute Guilliman screamed until a cold hand landed on his shoulder.

It's that skeleton. There's no mistake.

Roboute Guilliman turned to look at him; the bloodless, tearless white skeletal face remained calm and unchanged. Black flames still flickered in its eye sockets.

"Who... who are you?" Roboute Guilliman asked weakly.

"Does it matter?" the skeleton retorted. "Assassin, killer, court jester who flaunts his foolishness for laughable effect—is there a difference? Stop thinking about who I am, Roboute Guilliman. There's only one thing you really need to think about right now."

The skeleton seized him, forcing him to lower his head. The cruel galaxy surged wildly, ten million stars vanishing in an instant. Roboute Guilliman's eyes widened, his neck stiffened, and he felt as if he had been beheaded.

Millions of things he had long forgotten rushed back to him, forcibly cramming into his mind. It was chaotic and terrifying; there was no doubt that no one could bear it.

He screamed—a genuine scream—while the skeleton merely stared calmly, its fists slowly clenching.

The man before him was as withered as a walking corpse; his strong muscles had long since disappeared, leaving him as skin and bones. His skin was deathly pale, devoid of any color, and filthy, foul blood covered his entire body.

Even at the height of his career, Roboute Guilliman might not have been able to withstand this form of torture. Now, having been tormented to this state, can he really pull through?

Karyl had no answer; he couldn't find one. He had exhausted all means, as had the Emperor —if the thunder hadn't sounded, Nurgle would still be here.

As long as He is here, Roboute Guilliman cannot be pulled out of that meadow.

Now, it seems, is a time when we can only hope for a miracle.

But can a miracle really happen?

No one knew the answer, not even Karyl. He only heard a sigh, a sigh belonging to the Emperor.

I couldn't hold them off for long; I could only briefly force their attention away. After that, you'd be fighting alone.

Karyl looked calmly at Roboute Guilliman, at his closed eyes, and heard a sob coming from his throat.

Perhaps I'm not fighting alone.

A sigh fades into the distance.

A vast and terrifying form slowly approached from the sky beyond the grassland; its form was extremely frightening and terrifying.

It was a colossal creature composed of countless decaying corpses, its skin rotting and riddled with holes from which maggots burrowed freely, and pustules constantly forming, twinkling like diseased stars. Strange, gurgling liquid flowed from its thick blood vessels. It possessed three separate claws, and its horrifying, porous skin was covered with bizarre, trifoliate markings that grew and destroyed like a honeycomb, ceaselessly.

It's like cancer.

"Return--!"

He roared and howled, his voice sweeping in from the other side of Chaos: "Come back to me--!"

Roboute Guilliman suddenly opened his eyes; it wasn't of his own volition, but rather his body moving on its own. Something lurking in his blood drove him to do this.

Roboute Guilliman opened his eyes in agony, raised his head, and looked up at the sky. The world changed again, and the kind old man floated in the air, smiling at him with pity, as if he could feel his pain and despair at this moment.

"Does it hurt a lot?" he asked in a fatherly tone. "Child, does it hurt a lot?"

Roboute Guilliman felt a lump in his throat, almost bursting into tears. He had lost his ability to think, like a machine programmed with a set script.

He answered whatever people asked, and made corresponding gestures. The old man asked with fatherly love, and he truly began to weep. The darkness still burned within him, helping him to resist.

But does he really still want to resist?

Does he really want to endure this endless torment?

"Come to me, child." The old man gently extended a hand to him.

"You will be reborn, you will have a new name. In the chaos of a future destiny, you already have a brother waiting for you. Together you will become my princes, you will rise from death and torment. You will never have to endure any more suffering, for you will become the source of suffering."

"Come," He whispered earnestly, with utmost tenderness.

Roboute Guilliman closed his eyes in agony, the black flames burning away what lay dormant in his blood, preventing him from looking directly at the old man again.

With his eyes closed, the things and people he had forgotten were storming through his mind. Every second he was experiencing at this moment was an unimaginable torment.

His muscles were dismantled, his blood vessels were cut out with a blade, his bones were bent, his eyes were gouged out, and his tongue was cut off. He seemed to have died a thousand times, yet also seemed to have lived a thousand years—he sorted through his memories with a detached and unfamiliar perspective.

Macragge, the Emperor, his legions, his brothers, his sons. Every name, every scene.

In the very end, the image froze on the two of them.

Conno Roboute Guilliman. Tarasha Euten.

Father. Mother.

"What should I do?" he asked, weeping—he asked, weeping with a blank expression.

His perspective shifted; he tried to grieve, but he couldn't. The very thing that had forced him to forget everything returned, beginning to haunt him again, trying to make him forget these precious treasures, trying to turn him into a blank slate, giving him a new name.

Does he want to do that?

He didn't know, but he did want to be free from pain and torment. He wanted peace.

Amidst the bloodshed and decay, Roboute Guilliman, a boy from Macragge, heard a voice.

"I was sometimes afraid of you, my son." The voice spoke slowly, and it felt extremely familiar to him.

"Because you are so tall, so outstanding, you are the best among us. But, every time the night is quiet, I sometimes have doubts. I wonder, are you really human?"

"Medical tests prove you won't age, Roboute; you may stay this way forever. You're an anomaly, I'm sure of that, but you also possess a human heart. You're kind, rational, and wise. You're full of compassion. But we aren't, Roboute, we aren't."

"One day, everyone you know will die, becoming an insignificant ripple in the river of time. But you will always exist; you will go further than any of us. You were born to shoulder a certain responsibility. I don't like to say it like that, but if such a responsibility truly exists, then who else but you can bear it?"

The voice sighed deeply, and an old man slowly appeared before Roboute Guilliman. He was transparent, like Embers in the wind, about to vanish completely. He was weeping, and his right hand was outstretched, on which a coin waited quietly.

"I used to dream a lot. Before I met you, I had this dream at least ten million times."

I dreamt I was riding a horse, alone, into the cold mountains. Cold, dark, and lonely. I could only hear the sound of hooves and the howling wind. The sky was empty, without a single star. The rivers were frozen, and the trees were withered. I rode and wandered here, and finally, I found you beside a meadow.

"You were just a baby then, Roboute, and you smiled at me countless times in my dreams. I'm not brave; I'm even afraid of the images in my dreams. But the bravest thing I ever did was gather people to search for you in the forest. I never believe in prophecies or so-called magic, but I believe in a dream, and I believe in you, Roboute."

The old man smiled and nodded at him, his face frozen in that moment.

Behind him appeared the blue sky and forests of Macragge, rivers began to flow, trees grew anew, the sky was filled with stars, the frost melted away, and the sun shone brightly. A middle-aged man was joyfully cradling a baby on the grass, on Macragge.

The baby was smiling too.

Roboute Guilliman was crying.

His mouth was agape, his teeth clenched tightly, and tears streamed silently down his face. Everything before him was blurred, and the salty, bitter tears flowed down his cheeks. All was silent except for the sound of a coin falling to the ground.

Roboute Guilliman lunged forward and picked it up. Sensation returned rapidly, followed by a piercing scream of pain. He forced his eyes open, his right hand clenched tightly together, the shape of a coin digging into his flesh.

He looked up at the sky, where the thing was still waiting eagerly, a broad smile on its face, as if it thought it had already won. It noticed Roboute Guilliman's gaze and spoke again.

But this time, His voice no longer sounded gentle to Roboute Guilliman; He could no longer Deceit him.

"Come, child." He opened his arms, waiting. "You will receive everything; you will no longer suffer, you will no longer have to face that cruel world, and everyone will love you from the bottom of their hearts."

Roboute Guilliman, trembling, slowly rose to his feet. The skeleton stood beside him, silent and offering no assistance. The old man's smile grew wider, as if victory were assured.

Roboute Guilliman simply shook his head slowly and firmly.

"No," he said hoarsely, enduring immense pain. "No."

He held up the coin, just as Conno Roboute Guilliman held up the baby on the grass. He held it high, and it began to shine brightly. The light was so intense that it began to horrify the world from the very first second it appeared.

The rotting meadow began to melt away, like a melting wax figure. His smile vanished, and a roar followed, but Roboute Guilliman looked at him without fear.

He was still weeping, but he was no longer afraid. A primal rage surged across his face, and it was this rage that drove the light. It was not the power of the Emperor or Karyl Lohars; it was the power of Roboute Guilliman himself.

It is the most primal, profound, and surging anger that a son can unleash upon witnessing his father's death again.

At this moment, here, in this place that is both illusory and real, it surpasses everything.

I only have one name.

Roboute Guilliman roared, tears streaming down his face, his anger boiling beneath the surface, yet his emotions remained firmly in control.

"Did you hear me?! You filthy monster, I have only one name, and I will only ever have one name! I am Roboute Guilliman of Macragge, and I will exterminate you all!"

As soon as he finished speaking, he vanished into the light. The skeleton remained in the same spot, its skull mask gone, a broad smile on its face.

"Don't get too cocky," Nurgle said grimly. "You can't save everyone. Don't forget the price you paid."

"Yes, the price... yes, I can't save everyone, but..." Karyl lowered his head, his laughter piercingly loud. "... I didn't save him in the first place."

He burst into laughter.

"He beat you."

Two chapters combined, 1KB more added, update complete.