38 Judgment Day (VII)

Angron Tey stared silently at the ruins before him, feeling a chill slowly creeping up from somewhere within him. It spread little by little, gradually transforming into a resentment powerful enough to destroy his reason.

He removed his helmet and took a deep breath. The smell of dust and ash filled the air, casting a somber shadow on the Word Bearers's face. He looked up to his left, then to his right. He surveyed his surroundings once, twice, three times.

After a long silence, Angron Tai let out a deep sigh, so long and deathly that it sounded like the terrible creak of a coffin lid rubbing against itself, trying to close.

He bent down, half-kneeling, and scooped up a handful of ashes with his fingers. Without the aid of his glasses, he could analyze what the ashes in his hand were made of—buildings, ashes, parchment scrolls inscribed with scriptures.

What else could it be besides these?

Besides these, what else does the Perfect City have?

The Word Bearers stood up and looked around again. This time, he focused his attention on his brothers.

Most remained silent, while a few bent down and dug through the rubble with their bare hands, like farmers who had lost their tools. Angron Tai could also hear mutterings, chanting scriptures, or simply whispering the name of Aurelian.

It doesn't matter anymore.

The Perfect City has been destroyed.

"When I was observing from orbit, I thought things would be different," a voice said behind him. "From orbit, the Perfect City still seemed to stand."

Angron turned around silently and saw a face covered with scriptures and a pair of eyes that held a hint of sadness.

"Chief Chaplain," the Word Bearers bowed respectfully, "I thought you would be late."

"How late can it be?" The man called the Chief Chaplain shook his head.

"After receiving that news, all the Word Bearers rushed into the Warp, not just you, but us too. And the Twenty-Third Expeditionary Fleet as well. Everyone, Angron Tai, everyone came back. They rampaged through the Warp like madmen, and I saw many people lose their lives."

"Is he there too?" the Word Bearers asked, clinging to a sliver of hope.

"Of course he is." The Chief Chaplain looked up at the sky. "Aurelian is on his way, but I need you to prepare in advance, Angron Tye."

"Prepare? Prepare for what?" The Word Bearers didn't ask, nor did he need to; their Chief Chaplain always had a keen eye for people's hearts. Sure enough, he explained to Angron Te in the next second.

"You should have seen those two fleets on your way to orbit. They didn't respond to our communication requests. They're here, but they refuse to communicate with us. In a sense, that's an answer."

Angron Tai remained silent for a while.

"I don't want to believe this," he said, his face looking like a whirlpool. "How could Ultramarines and Midnight Blade team up to do something like this?"

"Facts speak louder than words," the Chief Chaplain said.

His right hand still gripped his scepter. It looked like a smaller Illuminarum, and arcs of psionic energy flowed along the points where his fingers touched, as if they were alive.

"Billions of followers, sixteen cities, an entire planet—the killer didn't even bother to hide himself. Have you observed the ruins, Angron Tai? Look at this ash and the shell casings buried within."

The Chief Chaplain raised his hand and struck the ground hard with the end of his scepter, a sound as loud as a whip and as dull as a falling stone.

His scepter was driven deep into the ground, ashes rose and dispersed, drawn by psychic energy, revealing the subtle traces buried within.

Angron Tei's eyes saw many types of shell casings, as well as burn marks left by some weapons he recognized. The face of the Word Bearers was illuminated by the psionic Radiance belonging to the Chief Chaplain, while other shadows began to emerge from beneath the Radiance.

He clenched his fists, a slight tremor appearing at the corner of his eye. After a few seconds, he nodded heavily and turned to leave with his company. The Chief Chaplain stood there, shrouded in dust and ashes, gazing at his retreating figure.

The wind whistled past, and a slow smile appeared on his face, which was covered with scriptures.

"Come quickly," he murmured, bowing his head to the ground. "Aurelian, come and witness the truth, come and witness the cruelty of the false god."

--

"Another new communication request, Primarch," Marius Gage said. "From the Sixth Expeditionary Fleet of the Word Bearers. Shall we respond?"

"No," Roboute Guilliman said.

He stood with his hands behind his back on the bridge of the Macragge's Honour. The dim light of the galaxy shone through the extremely reinforced glass onto his head, making his hair color revert to its original state for a fleeting moment.

Unfortunately, the light quickly faded. His hair returned to its original pale gold and deathly white color. The Lord of Ultramar had once lost something, and it left a mark on him, so obvious that anyone could see it.

Through the porthole, Roboute Guilliman gazed at the blue-green planet, the scene from weeks before flashing before his eyes again. He remembered the marches, the bombings, and the murders.

They piled up together, causing Roboute Guilliman to experience a noticeable spasm in his stomach.

Lord of Ultramar frowned, suppressing the discomfort with sheer willpower. Maintaining a calm expression, he slowly left the bridge and went to a private room.

There are many such tactical simulation rooms on the Macragge's Honour, but only one of them actually belongs to Roboute Guilliman, though he can use any of them at any time.

He approached the large tactical sand table and verified the biometric code with his finger. Blue light shone, and in the light, the Perfect City was rebuilt by the power of technology.

Sixteen religious cities of varying sizes unfolded before Roboute Guilliman's eyes, revealing their details. Regardless of the specific structure of each city, they all shared one thing in common—their most magnificent and luxurious building was invariably a church.

Each of these churches was enough to eclipse any religious building Roboute Guilliman had ever seen before, and the Lord of Ultramar did not want to delve into how much effort Lorgar had put into them.

He is now the destroyer, and when he plays this role, it is difficult for him to empathize with the builders.

Roboute Guilliman continued to observe them for a while until the door to the tactical simulation room was opened, at which point he stopped his thoughts.

Marius Gage walked in once again. The First Chapter Master did not look noticeably older than he had twenty years ago, except for a significant change in his hairstyle.

His short hair, which he had kept for the war, had now reached a new extreme, almost revealing his scalp. Two piercing wounds ran from his forehead to the back of his head, looking quite gruesome.

Roboute Guilliman looked at his friends and offspring, and unsurprisingly caught a serious look on the latter's face.

"It was him?"

"Yes," Gage replied slowly. "He requests an audience with you and the Lord of the Blades."

"That's all?"

"And so, Primarch."

"Very good," Roboute Guilliman said. "Tell the servants to prepare; I'm going to put on my armor."

Forty-six minutes later, he arrived at the ruins of Perfect City aboard a Thunderhawk. The hatch slowly opened, and Lorgar Aurelian stood before him, wielding the Illuminarum, his golden armor reflecting the intense sunlight.

His skin was also golden, and thousands of prayers written in the language of Colchis shimmered on it, inscribed with golden ink, which had transformed his skin from white to its current pale gold hue.

Roboute Guilliman looked at him but said nothing. Twenty Ultramarines emerged from the Thunderhawk behind him, wearing eagle-faced helmets, finely crafted armor, and carrying weapons, but they were not activated.

Lorgar watched all this, his expression a mixture of anger and confusion. He stepped forward, approaching the Lord of Ultramar at a rather offensive distance under the Word Bearers.

"Just you?" the Great Word Bearers whispered amidst the ruins. "Where is he? I want to see all the murderers."

"Konrad Curze will be here soon," Roboute Guilliman said, his expression unchanged and his voice calm.

"You haven't denied being the murderer, have you, Roboute?" Lorgar Aurelian smiled, gripping the Illuminarum tightly but not swinging it.

He turned around, raised his unarmed hand and pointed to the other end of the city, and began to describe each ruin to Roboute Guilliman as if he knew it by heart.

He used his past memories to discern Shadow of the past in the ashes, and Angron Tey, standing in the crowd, grew even more sorrowful. The Word Bearers stood in platoons under the setting sun, shoulder to shoulder, foot to foot.

They are silent gray reefs, mired in pale ashes.

Each company's flag was raised high by the honor guard, the flags, worn to varying degrees, fluttering in the air, stained with ashes. Then came the flags of the expeditionary fleet, and then the legion's flags.

An unusual atmosphere began to spread.

"That's the trading area. Every morning, vendors come here to sell their produce: fresh vegetables and meat products, milk, fruit, and their own handcrafted drinks and snacks."

"Next to the trade zone is a square with a golden statue of the Emperor and his ten sayings. Children play under the statue, where two large trees provide shade from the midday sun."

Beyond that are schools, churches, and residential areas. Outside the town are vast fields of farmland, which turn into golden waves of wheat when the sun sets and the wind blows from the distant mountains.

Lorgar narrated with a dazed expression, his demeanor gentle even as he gripped his weapon tightly. His tone was even milder, devoid of hostility or anger, as if he were simply telling a story.

Roboute Guilliman listened in silence, offering no comment. A surge of air rose overhead, and a few minutes later, a Thunderhawk slowly descended.

Its edges still bore the charred marks from the rapid descent, but it was already painted a somber midnight blue, a color that did not detract from its appearance.

The hatch opened, Konrad Curze Curze slowly stepped out. Unlike Roboute Guilliman, he had no guards; he was all alone.

Angron Thai didn't know how to describe the scene—he should have been thrilled by it; how could one not be moved by three divine children standing side by side?

But he couldn't do that, so he began to observe the two Primarch. Thanks to the magnification function of his helmet visor and his relatively forward position as the commander of the 7th Assault Company of the Serrated Sun, he was able to clearly see the appearances of the two Primarch.

Roboute Guilliman's skin was a healthy, proud white, and his eyes were a deep blue, which should have been beautiful, but at this moment they seemed devoid of human emotion, as deep as the midday sea.

Konrad Curze Curze, on the other hand, was much more somber. Legend had it that the Lord of Blades, who relentlessly eradicated evil, possessed an extremely ghastly pale skin, a color impossible for even the long-dead to have. His eyes were completely black, like obsidian or black agate.

But it doesn't look like a human.

They were not like humans.

They were all too calm, too composed, except for Lorgar Aurelian. Angron Tai turned his gaze to his Primarch and saw a face gradually turning crimson with excitement. A face full of humanity, and a sense of comfort welled up in the Word Bearers's heart.

"How could you do such a thing?" Far from the Word Bearers, Lorgar whispered. "I know you may misunderstand me, but how could you do this? Billions of people reduced to ashes by flames, cities where they had lived for over sixty years turned to ruins—what an atrocity!"

He looked up at Konrad Curze Curze, then at Roboute Guilliman. His expression twisted, a crimson hue spreading across it—and you could see the Primarch's rage even without his eyes.

Humans have many definitions of madness, including the loss of reason and descent into madness due to anger. Lorgar Aurelian stood before the gates of madness, his right hand raised, and the Illuminarum began to hum, its light shimmering.

Needless to say, if he doesn't get a reasonable explanation, he will definitely smash it.

And what about Konrad Curze Curze and Roboute Guilliman? Did they answer Lorgar's questions?

No.

They remained silent.

So, did Lorgar unleash the Illuminarum?

No, not either.

Angron Te let out a startled, urgent cry, as he heard many similar sounds. The grey reef was being shaken, by a short, old man in a grey robe.

He emerged from the Thunderhawk of the Lord of Blades, holding a golden scepter, his gait slow and unassuming, appearing as insignificant as a stone among the Primarch.

But they were all looking at him, Lorgar's gaze particularly intense. A few seconds later, the Great Word Bearers spoke in a breathless voice, barely audible.

What does this mean?

Malcador looked at him calmly yet sadly, and slowly began to speak.

4K, and there's another chapter in 4K.