36 Judgment Day (V)

"Is this a Judgment, Father? For what I did? But what crime have they committed?!"

--Lorgar Aurelian, the bearer of the truth, the great Word Bearers, in the Perfect City.

"No."

--The Emperor of Mankind, echoing in pain through the psychic realm.

"He has come, but the Son of God is already in my hands. The work is done."

--The Dark Apostle, the Hand of Fate, Erebus in the Perfect City.

I will kill you.

-- False God, Dead Man, Darkest Hour, Missed Man, Karyl Lohars in the Perfect City.

--

He ran, strode forward. Xianni ran without stopping; this wasn't his maximum speed, but it was the limit the wide, dark corridors of the Nightfall allowed him to reach.

He was fully armed, his upgraded MK4 Power Armour devoid of any sashes or medals. He continued running expressionlessly, his helmet swaying and rattling on the buckle of his belt.

He passed four Servitor carrying documents and thirteen crew members before finally reaching his destination. It was a large black door with a sharp blade dripping blood on it.

The champion of the First Company walked forward, his completely black eyes passing through the biometrics of the door. Its built-in mechanism began to operate, slowly opening it, while Xianni's heart began to race.

Once again, he will face Karyl Lohars head-on.

The champion lowered his head, his proud head bowed, and began to stare at the ground. A few seconds later, a cold voice came from inside the door.

"Come in."

So Xianni did as he was told, his head still bowed. The Night Lords instructors' office on the Nightfall was exactly the same as it had been eighteen years ago, unchanged. Nothing had increased, and nothing had decreased.

Documents requiring his approval still came and went every day, but only the Night Lords themselves knew just how much had changed. Xianni walked with his head down to the enormous desk and once again heard that cold, emotionless voice.

"It's you, Xianni from the First Company. What's the matter?"

"The Lord of the Thirteenth Legion wishes to see you," said Xianni. "He says he has brought gifts from Ultramar and hopes you will speak with him. The Primarch will also be present."

"Casual chat?" The coldness in the voice grew even more pronounced. "I don't have time for that, First Company, Xianni."

Clutching at a tiny hope that flickered every day, only to be extinguished just as quickly, Xianni raised her head. "But, Instructor..."

He stopped making a sound; he had to.

The gaze of the person seated behind the Adamantium table was so cold it almost froze his soul. Xianni knew he had to stop and leave, or he would face a severe lesson.

But this was unusual; Roboute Guilliman, the Lord of Ultramar, had personally extended the invitation. For both reason and sentiment, Xianni felt he should try again.

He rekindled that tiny hope, even though it had just been extinguished once.

"I beg you," Xianni said, his voice laced with pleading. "This is no small matter, it's like an order from the Emperor. We must be much more cautious about the Perfect City. The Ultramarines are also among those who carry out these orders, don't you think we need to speak with them before it begins?"

Karyl Lohars did not answer him, but slowly stood up from his seat.

He wore a cloak and a long, black robe. A skull mask concealed his true expression. He had put on this mask many years ago and had never taken it off.

Xianni pursed his lips and silently lowered his head. He knew what was about to happen, and he was prepared.

However, a few seconds later, he heard a sentence that was completely different from the previous one.

"Indeed," their instructor said thoughtfully. "You're right, Xianni. This whole matter certainly requires careful consideration; the idea of rashly destroying an entire model city is simply appalling."

The Terra looked up in disbelief, just in time to see the mask peel off the man's face, pale white, like ashes.

Karyl Lohars looked up and smiled slightly at him, "Good evening, Xianni. It's evening now, isn't it?"

Xianni was speechless; he stood frozen in place, his expression a mixture of ecstasy and utter shock. Two full minutes later, he finally came to his senses and uttered a short, urgent question.

". ah?"

--

"Huh?" Konrad Curze Curze exclaimed, repeating, "Huh?"

Roboute Guilliman went to great lengths to avoid making that sound himself. The thirteenth son, somewhat bewildered, put down the book wrapped in soft paper, his expression quite blank.

After a long pause, he turned to his brother. "This is different from what you and Angron described to me, Konrad Curze."

His brother ignored him, for the time being. Roboute Guilliman knew why, so he wasn't angry. He turned his gaze, just like Konrad Curze Curze, to the giant who stood before them with his hands behind his back.

The latter was silently staring at a pale blue star chart, clearly deep in thought.

"This should only be a punishment or a lesson," Karyl said thoughtfully. "The Emperor had no reason to destroy the Perfect City, yet he still demanded it."

"Looking at it from another angle, this is quite interesting, filled with a disappointed father's warning to his wayward son. It's just a pity he didn't come in person; he had the other two legions handle it for him, hmm."

He hesitated for a moment, while Konrad Curze Curze had already left his seat. The Primarch clenched his fists and walked to Karyl's side. Roboute Guilliman watched this scene with slight tension, unsure of what would happen next.

He and Angron had discussed Konrad Curze Curze, and they agreed that although the Night Lords was mostly a wise ruler, that was only in appearance.

Deep within the Night Lords, there still lingers a Shadow called the Night Haunter.

"You're finally back?" Konrad Curze Curze asked softly after stopping.

His voice and tone made Roboute Guilliman increasingly nervous. Roboute Guilliman didn't know what would happen next, but he hoped things wouldn't get too ugly. He didn't want to experience something like what happened on the Nostramo tarmac again.

"I never left, Konrad Curze," Karyl turned his head and answered gently.

The Night Lords gazed at him for a moment, then shook his head. "In a sense, yes, you never truly left. But something that only you could share has been gone from us for eighteen years, and I don't know if you can understand it."

"In fact, I'm still not sure whether the person standing in front of me is Karyl Lohars, or just a phantom in his body."

Karyl remained silent for a moment, while Roboute Guilliman had already begun to sit up straight. If he weren't the Primarch but just a commoner, he would definitely be sweating. This kind of scene was truly torturous, and Roboute Guilliman had never been good at staying in such situations for long.

If necessary, he would sometimes even try to avoid certain emotional expressions from Euten Tarasha. But he couldn't escape them, and then he witnessed everything firsthand.

Karyl Lohars slowly opened his arms.

"Do you want to confirm it yourself?" he asked.

"Don't tell anyone about today, Roboute," the Night Lords said, seemingly gentle, his hands clasped tightly together, trembling like a pale, perfectly sculpted statue. "Otherwise, I'll have to do something less pleasant."

Roboute Guilliman looked away from his brother's hands and asked, "What are you going to do?"

"I don't know, whether you went out of your way to tell Ms. Euten that you strayed from your guard during a boarding incident, or to tell her that you thought she should retire and complained about it for hours."

"You can't do this." Roboute Guilliman's gaze suddenly turned serious. "You shouldn't do this, Konrad Curze. This is a betrayal, and if you do it, I'll tell everyone you're a traitor."

Whom did I betray?

"I."

"I only said a couple of words, how can that be considered betrayal?" The Night Lords casually raised his head, released his hand, and rubbed his cheek.

He glanced at Karyl sitting beside him out of the corner of his eye, focusing on the latter's face. Only after confirming that it was a familiar face and not a mask did he lower his hand.

"Tsk, did you learn that rhetoric from Fulgrim?" The Lord of Ultramar raised his hand, slightly annoyed, and tapped the table with his finger. "Don't try to imitate his sophistry, Konrad Curze. You have no idea how he used those tactics to torture Ferrus."

"Ferrus is clearly enjoying himself. Who among us, besides Fulgrim, can call him Gorgon?" Curze grinned, a genuine joy that had become rare in recent years appearing on his pale face.

"You insist on arguing with me about this, don't you?" Roboute Guilliman sighed heavily. The Macragge shook his head helplessly, as always, not good at dealing with his brother.

Fortunately, a communication request from his legion quickly rescued him from this predicament. A few minutes later, after putting down the communication device, which had been improved many times, his expression turned serious.

"Malcador," Roboute Guilliman explained briefly. "This means we only have a few hours left, and once it really starts, there's no turning back."

Konrad Curze Curze nodded slightly.

"Yes, I know," he said. "So, Karyl, what's your opinion?"

The instructor of the Eighth Legion, who was reading the Emperor's order, slowly raised his head.

This chapter is 3k words; I'll update another 7k words after I wake up.