34 and His Self-Healed Patient

Roboute Guilliman slowly stood up, a difficult feat for him at this point. He braced himself on the handrails of his walker with both hands, his arms trembling violently, raising concerns that he might collapse at any moment.

But he didn't.

He straightened up slowly, and beneath his faded blond hair, his deep blue eyes, which were etched with weariness, appeared surprisingly calm. His first words could barely be considered a joke.

"I am now very worried that Dr. Jairzinho will receive many unnecessary invitations to medical discussions in the future."

Konrad Curze Curze smiled and shook his head. "Unless you publicize your injury, he will remain just a medic in my legion, not some medical genius capable of curing Roboute Guilliman."

Roboute Guilliman chuckled softly. Angron, standing to the side, crossed his arms, glanced at them disapprovingly, and shook his head.

"I strongly urge you to get another medical checkup, brother."

Angron spoke in a deep voice.

"You're awake, you can even walk, but that doesn't mean you're alright. Many gladiators I know died in their sleep after a great battle. We celebrate for them, they act as if nothing happened at the banquet, but the next day, all we get is a corpse."

"You're right, Angron, but I'm..."

Roboute Guilliman paused for a moment, then began to move himself little by little.

He pressed a button with his finger, unlocking the walker's locking mechanism. Its auxiliary wheels started working, and Roboute Guilliman pushed it, walking a short distance before stopping again.

"I'm pretty sure I'm alright."

"Are you sure?" Angron frowned. "Excuse my bluntness, brother, but you're a patient right now, and a patient can't possibly know the true state of their body."

Roboute Guilliman didn't answer the question; he simply shook his head. He bent down, picked up an office Dataslate from his desk, and placed it on the partition in the middle of the walker. Then, there was another long silence.

Roboute Guilliman silently scrolled through the Dataslate, looking at the various loss statistics compiled by the Ultramarines after the battle.

He was silent, and this silence felt familiar to Konrad Curze Curze —so he patted Angron on the shoulder and, after the latter turned around, gently shook his head at him.

About ten minutes later, Roboute Guilliman slowly let out a long breath. He lowered his head, raised his right hand, and slowly brushed away the hair that was obscuring his vision from his forehead.

His once handsome face now only showed a shockingly haggard appearance.

His cheeks were sunken, revealing the shape of his cheekbones and jawline. His eyes were deep-set, seemingly embedded in their sockets, still bright like jewels, but creating a more striking contrast. There wasn't an ounce of excess flesh on his face, only skin clinging tightly to his bones.

"How are you all?" he asked softly, his voice hoarse, yet surprisingly not weak.

"Three thousand six hundred and seventy-six people," Konrad Curze Curze replied with a smile. "The Midnight Blade has three thousand six hundred and seventy-six victims."

"Midnight Blade"?

"Ah, I've decided to give the legion a new name. It would be too strange to keep referring to them by their numbers, wouldn't it?"

Roboute Guilliman nodded silently, shifting his gaze away from Konrad Curze Curze's face.

His younger brother, who was still quite young, was now smiling without any warmth. He was laughing, but his eyes looked like he was undergoing an amputation without anesthesia.

The Lord of Macragge had experienced this feeling many times, and each time it caused him immense pain, so he did not intend to ask any further questions.

He looked at Angron, Nuceria grinned, his sharp canines flashing in a simple smile, but his tone was terrifyingly resolute. "The War Hounds have no dead."

Roboute Guilliman nodded silently.

He could roughly guess what Angron had done on Harkosus II, but he wouldn't question Angron about it—anything involving Xenos was never going to end well.

There is an eternal blood war between them and humans. Throughout the entire galaxy, there is almost no Xenos race that has not harmed humans. In those dark years, they committed countless blood debts, debts that go beyond the scope of mere crimes.

Crimes can still be forgiven, but these cannot.

"And you, Roboute?" Konrad Curze Curze asked.

He was now leaning casually against a bookshelf, tapping it absently with his right hand. He showed no sorrow for the enormous number of sacrifices—three thousand six hundred and seventy-six—as if he didn't care at all.

"The casualty figures are still being tallied," Roboute Guilliman said. "So far, the confirmed deaths are 1,324. The situation for the Auxilia is slightly better, which is a small consolation."

He closed his eyes and fell into deep thought, as if pondering or wandering through the corners of his memory.

Konrad Curze Curze and Angron remained silent; the former continued to rhythmically tap the side of the bookcase, while the latter went to the porthole and observed the Harkosus III through the rails.

A few minutes later, Angron broke the silence. "There is no living thing left on Harkosus II."

The Nuceria, with his back to his brothers, spoke in an extremely calm voice, thick cables swaying behind his head. "And what about Harkosus I and III?"

"There are no living creatures left on the One either," Konrad Curze Curze replied quietly. "My legion is currently inspecting the Harkosus civilians in the lower decks of the Nightfall; I haven't yet decided what to do with them."

Roboute Guilliman keenly caught the word "process," opened his eyes, lowered his head, and issued a new command on the Dataslate.

After finishing that, he looked up and said, "Number Three is the same, but I intend to go even further. The entire underground of Harkosus III is almost entirely contaminated with that stuff, so I will destroy it using orbital bombardment after the survivor search is completed."

"Then, the same goes for Halcosus II," Angron said. "I know the Imperium has a large colonial fleet on standby, but in my opinion, everything that happened on this planet Harkosus II should be completely destroyed."

Konrad Curze Curze nodded thoughtfully, but instead of answering the question immediately, he brought up another matter.

"Roboute, you've conquered quite a few planets by now, haven't you?"

"Yes."

"In other words, you've been involved in this Great Crusade for some time now."

Curze lowered his head, crossed his arms, and stopped banging on the bookshelf. Instead, he began tapping his left arm with his right index finger. The metal clashed and rubbed against each other, making a clanging sound, like a sharp blade being drawn from its sheath.

"So, what do you think it actually is?"

Roboute Guilliman looked up and began to stare at the two portraits on the wall.

Unlike his office in Macragge, these two portraits were hung directly above the bookshelf, not out of place at all, but rather as a natural fit.

The one on the left is a portrait of Conno Roboute Guilliman. The Archon, dressed in the Archon of his time, stands atop a mountain, riding a horse and gazing down at Macragge. The city is thriving, and Conno Roboute Guilliman's profile appears to be deep in thought.

The one on the right is a portrait of the Emperor, dressed in golden armor, holding a sharp blade, as if he is about to wield a sword. Thousands of troops rush out from behind his golden armor like Shadow, roaring and declaring war on a storm that is approaching from not far away.

"Everyone has a different answer to this, Konrad Curze," Roboute Guilliman began in a low voice. "Take Ferrus, for example. For him, the Great Crusade can be broken down into five steps: boarding the ship, reaching the destination, war, victory, boarding the ship again."

"The cycle repeats itself endlessly. But Ferrus is not weary of it; he harbors a considerable passion for war, a passion stemming from his identification with our father's ideals. Therefore, he willingly serves as a sentient weapon during the Great Crusade."

"But I am different. I have tried it before. I cannot accept leaving behind a world devastated and weeping civilians after a war. Moreover, if we use overly cruel methods, the world that has been reclaimed will not have much acceptance of us, and the result is often rebellion. And then there is the suppression of rebellion."

Roboute Guilliman suddenly gave a bitter smile; his excessive thinness made the smile look shocking and horrifying.

"The Imperium takes rebellion very seriously; there are no second chances. If the rebellious planet does not surrender immediately upon the arrival of the Imperial Navy, most of its inhabitants will be executed, and the rest will be reduced to slavery and forced labor."

"I've been through all of this, so I believe my legions can't simply cross the stars and fight war after war. Every time we conquer a world, we stay there until they are self-sufficient and have their own defense systems."

"We will help them, for example, by leaving an advisory team to assist them in establishing trade routes. A sense of belonging is very important; I even wrote a book about it, it's on the fourth shelf behind you, the first one. As for what the Great Crusade actually is..."

Lord Macragge closed his mouth with a complex expression and said nothing more; his expression alone was enough to answer the question.

An idealist only suffers so much when he is doing the right thing. Idealists are ridiculous; they suffer because they cannot achieve their ideals, but they suffer even more because they are on that path.

Because they understand the price of being right.

Konrad Curze Curze subtly curled the corners of his mouth into a smile, a smile that was a hundred times better than before.

"The Great Crusade is a process of reclaiming lost territory, and this war against Harkosus requires at least one planet to be preserved. Otherwise, what lost territory have we reclaimed? A broken asteroid? I will send those civilians back to Harkosus I after the inspection is complete, if they haven't been contaminated."

Angron frowned. "Are you sure, brother?"

"I'm certain." The Night Haunter nodded slowly, a half-smile playing on his lips. "The situation on Harkosus I is complicated, Angron. It was once contaminated by those things, but that contamination has completely disappeared."

"Then the Ultramarines will remain, continuing our tradition," Roboute Guilliman said. "Until the Imperium sends someone to take over, I and my First Chapter will stay here."

Konrad Curze Curze grinned. He walked to the door, opened it, and revealed Marius Gage, battered and bruised but still clad in armor, to his brothers. Roboute Guilliman pursed his lips, a complex expression on his face, and remained silent.

Gage gave Konrad Curze Curze a grateful look, but the latter smiled, shook his head, and pulled Angron away, not forgetting to close the door behind him.

His hearing was always excellent; he had once listened anxiously to someone's voice through a heavy door.

The doors slowly closed, and Marius Gage looked at his Primarch, remaining completely silent. Roboute Guilliman looked at his Chapter Master, equally silent, but not because he didn't know what to say.

In fact, quite the opposite, he had so much to say, which is why he remained silent. In the end, it was Gage took the initiative to speak.

"We almost thought we had lost you."

Roboute Guilliman shook his head.

"Blame them," he said softly. "They're not trying hard enough."

Gage chuckled. That's Roboute Guilliman for you; he always manages to ease the pressure and make everyone smile with a clever remark at certain moments—he's very good at it, and it's inseparable from his identity as a politician.

Gage was amused, and his smile gradually widened, becoming an emotion that was almost impossible to stop.

"I swore long ago that I would protect you, Primarch," Marius Gage in a low voice. "And today, I swore another oath."

"I swear I will bring you back. I said this to countless people in the underground. They trusted me because they trusted you, they were fearless, and I thought I was fearless too, until I saw you appear in the clearing with a beam of light. I almost thought you were dead."

"But I didn't, Gage. Like I said, it's their fault for not trying hard enough," Roboute Guilliman replied softly.

He looked up and gazed at one of the two portraits again. He said nothing more, nor did Gage.

The unspoken understanding between them was beyond words; the First Chapter Master understood the unspoken apology of his Primarch, just as Roboute Guilliman understood the twisted pain hidden beneath Marius Gage's calm exterior.

"But," Roboute Guilliman spoke again after a long pause, his eyes suddenly sharpening—not the look a patient should have.

He beckoned to Gage, signaling him to come over. "This matter has also given me many new ideas; come and discuss them with me, Marius."

Without hesitation, Gage walked over, just as always.

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