25. Sixth Sense

With a swift, frenzied thrust of his sword, Van Cleef dismembered a Ral warrior who stood in his way.

Its body, split vertically in two, lay limply on the ground, its entrails spilling out and steaming. Other Laer, who had been hidden behind it, were now exposed; they were smaller in size, in fact, they could even be described as petite.

Van Cleef observed their trembling, expressionlessly hanging the Chainsword back at his waist.

Then he drew his Boltgun.

"I'm glad to see a soldier who has maintained his original aspirations after so many years. Hello, Van Cleef." A voice rang out from behind him after the gunfire subsided.

The accent is very archaic, and the vocabulary is extremely long and complex.

Van Cleef answered the man without turning his head, even calling him by name, "I don't think it's a good thing to start chatting on the battlefield, Vespasian."

"You actually remember me?" the man called Vespasian asked, slightly surprised.

"I've had many injuries, but none of them include damage to my brain's memory function," Van Cleef said.

He turned around, flicked his right hand, and the blood of the Laer splattered. An Astartes wearing purple-gold Terminator armor stood opposite him; the armor was rather simple compared to the style of the Emperor's Children.

However, for Van Cleef, it was still so luxurious it almost hurt his eyes.

"That's why I recognize your voice," Van Cleef continued. "But that doesn't mean I think chatting on the battlefield is a good thing."

"Aren't you already doing that?" Vespasian, the Emperor's Children, smiled slightly. "By the way, since we last met, I'm now a Lord Commander."

"Congratulations," Van Cleef said expressionlessly. "I'm truly happy for you; it's a joyous occasion, a testament to your excellence as a Lord Commander of Astartes."

Vespasian's smile vanished instantly.

"You don't know?" he asked, a hint of disbelief in his voice. "Don't you know what this position represents? If you don't know, why have you praised me so many times?"

"I was just kidding, can't you tell it's a joke?" Van Cleef replied, maintaining his expressionless face.

He didn't actually need to do that; he was wearing a helmet, Vespasian couldn't see his face at all.

His answer elicited a forced laugh from the Emperor's Children, his expression one of utter disbelief as if he were bound to a chair and had just witnessed his treasured portrait of the Primarch spontaneously combust.

"In short," Vespasian spoke again after a while, his expression now serious, "I didn't come to you just to chat. Our Primarch want to hold a victory celebration at the Pride of the Emperor, and that's why I'm here."

"Why are you bringing this up with me?" Van Cleef raised an eyebrow, casually removing his helmet. "Did your Primarch grant you the authority to invite me?"

"No, but I'm certain you will ascend to the Pride of the Emperor."

"Why?"

"Oh, you'll find out." The Emperor's Children smiled slightly again, his aristocratic silver hair fluttering in the wind.

"But I don't want to tell you now, lest I spoil the surprise. Anyway, you'll definitely be there, Van Cleef. It's going to be a grand event with three legions participating. When was the last time you saw something so magnificent?"

"The Emperor sent us to kill a bunch of bloated nobles. We encountered the Imperial Fists, Luna Wolves, and Blood Angels on the way," Van Cleef said. "There was also a victory celebration afterwards."

"You really have absolutely no sense of humor, don't you?" Vespasian looked at him incredulously, as if he were staring at a mathematical puzzle that no one could solve.

"No." The Night Lords's company commander shook his head. "If you don't believe me, I can tell you a few jokes to prove it."

"Alright, go ahead and tell me." Vespasian, oblivious to what was going on. "I'm honored to hear you tell this joke yourself; I'm sure our old acquaintances will be quite surprised."

Van Cleef's usually indifferent face finally broke into a smile.

Behind him, Xianni and Mollez hurriedly left.

--

Sword in hand, Fulgrim hurried toward the other side of the ruins before him.

The acrid, still-smelling wind ruffled his long hair, slightly diverting the flow of blood down the Primarch's face and causing a ticklish sensation.

Phoenix raised his hand and wiped away the Xenos's blood with the side of his finger. Not wearing a helmet meant this kind of thing would happen, but compared to the morale boost from removing the helmet and revealing his true face, Fulgrim would rather have his face splattered with blood.

Ordinary bullets couldn't possibly hit him anyway, and even those that managed to reach him by chance would be sliced in two. He strode over, but did not sheath his sword.

It still radiated a terrifying residual heat. Ferrus's work was excellent in every way, except for its poor heat dissipation. If it were to be sheathed now, it would turn the scabbard to ashes.

Fulgrim casually laid the sword flat on the ground, then without hesitation used both hands to prop up a corner of the ruins and moved the Rock to the other side.

Phoenix frowned and patiently and meticulously dug with his bare hands until an Astartes wearing a purple-gold painted MK4 Power Armour appeared in front of him, at which point he stopped.

Then, the Primarch reached out, using his shoulders to support the heavy coral reef wall, and carefully lifted the warrior out with both hands.

He was still conscious, and his breathing was very clear under the influence of the breathing grille, but he was unable to utter any words.

"Don't worry, Aibotu, you'll be fine," Fulgrim said gently. He remained in this position for more than three minutes until the Rhino carrying the Apothecary arrived.

This wasn't the first time Phoenix had saved his offspring in war—most of the wounded received timely treatment from their brothers, while a few were not so lucky.

Some people are suddenly buried under the rubble, while others fall into deep pits. Anything can happen in war, and that's why Fulgrim is completely focused on every battle.

The number of Emperor's Children has never been large, and he has sworn an oath. He vowed that none of his offspring would ever again wait in vain for death. Therefore, Fulgrim is not only focused on killing enemies, but also on others in the process.

Ferrus Manus once said that fighting alongside Phoenix is undoubtedly a pleasant experience. He can shield you from bullets coming from behind, warn you when enemies will appear, and lend a helping hand without hesitation when you are in danger.

Fulgrim bent down and picked up the Fireblade that Ferrus had forged for him. He ran his fingers over the hilt to feel the temperature of the blade before sheathing it.

The sky had turned completely black, though the rings and some stars not yet obscured by orbiting ships still shone brightly. However, the Laer would never see this sky again.

Fulgrim shook his head and turned to leave. He walked for a while, observing the battlefield along the way, and unsurprisingly, he encountered Lorgar Aurelian afterward.

He couldn't be surprised; everyone knew what Lorgar Aurelian would do first after a victory in a joint operation.

"Fulgrim!" the Great Word Bearers laughed gleefully. "I have utterly destroyed the Xenos' temples and priests!"

"Don't tell me you went in by yourself again." Fulgrim frowned. "Can't you change this habit, Lorgar? What if they have an ambush? What if there are some self-destruct mechanisms inside that we don't know about?"

"But that's my job," Lorgar Jia said apologetically. "I promise you, I'll be more careful next time, okay?"

No, don't apologize. Fulgrim sighed inwardly—apologizing won't change anything; you'll just repeat yourself the next time, saying, "It's my duty."

But did our father really ask you to do that?

"I won't comment, after all, we each have our own principles. You prefer to inspect these temples yourself, while I prefer using a sword. Konrad Curze and his offspring are basically silent in battle."

Fulgrim shook his head, his expression unconsciously becoming more relaxed.

His left hand rested on the scabbard, his posture quite relaxed. A clear smile was slowly blooming on his face, which was neither handsome nor beautiful.

"In short, it was a brilliant battle, brother," Phoenix said with a smile. "And I intend to celebrate it."

"You're planning another banquet?" Lorgar asked in surprise. "Where did you get so many banquet supplies on your ship, Fulgrim?"

"Never mind that, the Pride of the Emperor is a very large flagship," Fulgrim winked at him and quickly turned his head to the other side.

There, a giant, who had appeared out of nowhere, stood leaning against a wall of the ruins, arms folded. His scarlet cloak fluttered without wind, and his dark eyes were utterly calm.

"Also, Konrad Curze, would you like to participate?" Fulgrim asked with a hint of anticipation.

"I very much wish," the Night Lords said quietly. "But I'm afraid I cannot grant your request, dear Fulgrim. We still have many battles to fight."

But everyone should have time to rest.

"For the Midnight Blade, the journey to another battlefield is already a form of rest." The Night Lords shook his head. "I refuse, brother. Until next time."

He turned and left quietly and alone, as if he had come here solely to say hello to Fulgrim and Lorgar in person.

Gazing at that retreating figure, for some reason, a wave of sadness suddenly welled up in Fulgrim's heart.

He doesn't know where it came from yet, but one day he'd like to hope he never does.

Update complete.