15. The Eye That Glimpses the Truth

Outside the shuttle's porthole was darkness, and twelve rivets gleamed along its circular edge—even these, the artists responsible for the shuttle's interior decoration, hadn't overlooked. In a sense, their level of meticulousness was downright insane.

A pale, slender index finger traced the surface of the porthole. Watching this, a sudden chill ran through Corax.

Where does this unreal, illusory perception originate? He had no answer.

He stared at the porthole, his vision suddenly blurring for a moment. When his vision returned, the owner of that finger was no longer there.

Corax silently tensed his muscles and turned his head. At that moment, Karyl was already standing beside him, leaning against the bulkhead, his posture relaxed and casual, seemingly without any intention of attacking.

But when he spoke, his voice was like flint striking each other.

"Your father wants you to get involved in a war."

Karyl began his narration with an almost detached and indifferent tone.

"He wants you to be, to some extent, the embodiment of justice and a blood-stained executioner. This war will affect countless planets like Lycaeus. Sometimes, you will be the savior. But most of the time, you will be the one who goes against justice."

"The more crucial point is, Lord Corax, you have no choice. You may appear to, but you don't."

The lines of the Primarch's face tightened silently.

He showed no anger, but two streaks of crimson rose precisely on his alabaster-white skin. Even so, he made no reply, simply waiting silently for what would happen next.

"And I believe," Karyl finally turned his head, his gaze so cold, "That he has probably already spoken to you about this."

Corax finally responded, a low, echoing sound, "Yes."

So, what do you think?

After a brief hesitation, Corax decided to be honest—he didn't detect any hostility from Karyl, so he remained quite polite despite the latter's words sounding almost provocative.

"I don't like it," said Kolus Corax. "I understand its necessity, but I don't like it."

Karyl nodded noncommittally.

"As for what you call the right to choose, do you think he would force me?" Corax asked, his eyes fixed on Karyl.

These eyes are different from the completely black eyes of the Nostramo people, but compared to the clear black and white eyes of ordinary people, they are still quite strange. In fact, they can indeed be roughly described as "pitch black".

Karyl smiled but didn't answer the question. He temporarily looked away, tilting his head back to look at the shuttle's ceiling.

Golden fluid, confined within silver pipes, twisted and contorted, with glass embellishing its gaps. The pipes twisted, forming an intricate pattern. A hazy Radiance flickered within the pipes, echoing the gold and radiating a dazzling Radiance.

From some angles, it looks like a warship. From other angles, it looks like a sphere. It is dazzling and complex.

Corax forced himself to lower his head. He didn't want to stare at the so-called ornament anymore; it made his eyes itch. The metaphors it contained seemed so coincidental at this moment that they were almost chilling.

"You have made your choice, Lord Corax," Karyl said, his voice devoid of any humor. "In other words, you have accepted the vision he has presented."

"I accept," Corax replied softly. "If it's necessary, why shouldn't I accept it? I understand the necessity of sacrifice."

Karyl turned and looked at him for a moment, then suddenly shook his head.

"Yes, you understand, but he's demanding more, greater sacrifices. He's asking you to join the Great Crusade now, Lord Corax. In other words, he wants you to abandon your comrades and your homeworld and head straight into the galaxy. He even wants you to do it willingly."

Corax looked over in astonishment.

"Are you kidding me?" the Primarch asked in astonishment. "How could he possibly..."

He was speaking when he suddenly stopped, and the astonishment on his face gradually changed.

"It seems you've realized that," Karyl said. "Before being your father, he was first and foremost the Emperor, and therefore he will not allow anyone or anything to delay the Great Crusade."

"So even though he was amiable in his conversation with you, and sounded almost like a poet in that meeting, without revealing a trace of ambition, it was all just a choice he made. He chose to present this image to you, or rather, to you."

Corax remained silent for a while, and when he spoke again, his voice was no longer as deep. "But he still sent you."

"So?"

"If he were really as heartless as you say, then why would he go through all this trouble? He could have just told me directly what to do and what to do."

Karyl raised an eyebrow, slightly surprised.

In his memory, Kolus Corax was the first Primarch to realize, to some extent, that the Emperor was extremely lenient with them, although the way he realized this was not exactly pleasant.

"Yes." He nodded slightly, his eyes gleaming slyly. "Therefore, we can now discuss how this matter should be concluded gracefully. You have many conditions to set, Lord Corax. He will be more than happy to agree."

"Many conditions?" Corax repeated.

"Yes."

"Then I would like you to remove the honorific title after my name," Corax said. "That is my first condition. In Lycaeus, 'sir' is usually used to address the armed overseer and the foreman of the great enterprise. I am neither."

Karyl finally showed a more normal smile.

"Okay, Corax," he said. "So, what's the second condition?"

--

Sanguinius saw a monster.

It possessed wings, sharp teeth, and horns. Its body was bronze, and its eyes were two obsidian stones polished to near perfection. The angel gazed at it, touched its eyes with his finger, and his thoughts were stirred.

His expression remained calm. Inside the studio, candles burned discreetly. Sanguinius turned off the ventilation system and closed the studio door.

He could taste the unique aroma of a burning candle with every breath, and his tongue unraveled the secrets contained within that aroma.

He exhaled, a fragrance lingering between his lips and teeth. The fragrance came from a dead creature, skinned and deboned, its inedible parts made into candles.

Make the best use of resources?

Sanguinius pondered the word and sighed softly.

He turned his head and looked at the studio door. The vermilion door was wrapped in leather, and the biometric identification device was carefully made into the shape of a doorknob, encased in silver metal, with a ring of gemstones glittering around its edge.

He stood up, went over and opened the door. Horus Lupercal was standing outside, holding a large silver platter.

"Good evening, brother," Horus greeted warmly. "How did you know I was outside without knocking?"

Sanguinius managed to force a smile, "Intuition."

Horus smiled, walked into the studio, and went straight to the only table. The aroma of ribs filled the air, along with the scent of Kharash.

The angel closed the door, but couldn't help feeling a momentary urge to salivate. The Kharash that Horus had brought was mixed with blood and tasted delicious. Sanguinius looked at his brother, trying to say something, but Horus stopped him without even looking up.

The Cthonia people are busy cutting up steaks, completely absorbed in their work.

"Don't say it," he said, head bowed. "If it's something you find difficult to talk about, something you need to keep hidden, then don't say it, Sanguinius. I can't be completely honest with you either, so I won't ask you to."

"Now, come and eat the dinner you missed. It's a pity, it's just my father and me at the dinner."

Upon hearing this, Sanguinius walked over to him and even cracked a joke—a genuinely heartfelt one. For some reason, his mood suddenly improved.

"Isn't this a good thing for you?"

"What?" Horus looked up. "What good news?"

"Attending a dinner party alone with my father."

The Cthonia man's expression turned serious. He heavily put down his knife, leaned back, and sank into the open-backed chair in Sanguinius, resting his hands quietly on his knees.

He said nothing, yet it was as if he had said everything.

Sanguinius couldn't help but laugh. As he laughed, he brought over a chair and slowly sat down. The aroma of the steak was still enticing, but Sanguinius was more interested in the wine glass on the other end of the silver plate.

Through the glass, Sanguinius could see the blood-red liquid inside. The angel picked it up, tilted his head back, and drank the entire cup of Kharash in one gulp. When he put the cup down, two bright red streaks appeared on his face.

The unique brewing method of Kharash makes it comparable to the most terrifying spirits in some ways, and when blood is added, its potency can only be described as scorching. Sanguinius coughed lightly to let the burning sensation in his throat subside slightly.

Horus stared at him intently.

"Are you feeling better?" he asked softly.

"Much better, brother," Sanguinius replied with a smile. "I've never been drunk before, and Russ's 'state of bliss' sounded more like a term he made up. But now, I'm starting to believe him."

"If I drank Kharash like he drinks Fenrisian Mead, I'm afraid I'd quickly enter that 'realm of bliss.'"

"Drunkenness is no good," Horus said, somewhat seriously. "Believe me, Sanguinius, it's definitely not a good thing. And the state of joy Russ speaks of doesn't actually refer to drunkenness."

"Once the banquet begins, he's already in his blissful state. The wine is merely an add-on for him, something he can do without."

"You mean, he was never truly drunk?"

"I think so," Horus nodded slightly. "He tries very hard to make us see him as a barbarian, but we all know in our hearts that he isn't. Russ is just pretending, and his pretense isn't even good; it just fits his appearance."

Sanguinius nodded thoughtfully. Instead of using utensils, he picked up a strip of meat with his fingers and ate it little by little.

Skin and bone intact, overflowing with juice. Bright red liquid, like blood, slowly slid from the corner of his mouth, but the angel seemed completely unconcerned.

"I saw something terrible," Sanguinius said softly after a few minutes. "It is undoubtedly sad, and its metaphors and details, if examined closely, are maddening, yet I cannot detach myself from it."

"Why?" Horus patiently played along with his brother's riddle, without the slightest impatience. He didn't even want to ask Sanguinius what the truth was.

"Because, besides these things, there is also hope in that matter," Baal's angel replied sadly. "Hope, brother. The rarest thing in the world appears in a scene of despair. How ironic."

"I do not possess your talent to unravel complexities and foresee the future, Sanguinius," Horus said slowly.

"I cannot, like Magnus, offer any interpretation or analysis of the scene you described using his extensive reading. All I can do is listen. In my view, the fact that there is still hope in this matter is a good thing."

Good thing

Sanguinius fell silent, his thoughts inevitably drifting to the inner room of the conference room. "Extreme Darkness"—those completely black eyes slowly emerged from his memory, terrifyingly clear, almost like a mirror.

Sanguinius sculpted them through his imagination and gazed at them once more. He saw his own reflection, and a child with blood and tears on his face.

"Hope remains," Karyl Lohars said.

"Hope remains, my son," his father said in a psionic voice.

"Yes," Sanguinius said to his brother. "Hope remains. So, this is indeed a good thing."

Horus smiled, the worry on his face disappearing.

"Then hurry up and finish it!" The Cthonia man pointed sternly at the plate. "I didn't bring it here to sit on the plate and slowly get cold!"

Sanguinius chuckled to himself.

There's more.