1 Leman Russ

The deck shuddered as the Thunderhawk slowly entered the atmosphere. Karyl leaned against the porthole, tilting his head to gaze at the view below.

He had never seen what Ullanor used to look like, which was teeming with Orks, but it was easy to see how much effort the laborers, Servitor, and Mechanicum had put into the transformation.

Mountains were leveled, hills and plains were all altered, and the earth is now covered with granite. These were transported from all over the Milky Way, a feat accomplished by Rogue Trader.

Their efforts were not in vain; an entire landmass now revealed its pale white granite behind a thin layer of clouds, along with a deliberately left huge crater filled with Phosphex, which was now burning.

A pillar of fire rose from the sky, not quite reaching the Thunderhawk, but enough to turn the sky crimson. Amidst the billowing smoke and dust, millions of skinned Orks heads, nailed together on either side of the road, created another spectacle.

At the end of that pale white granite road, there stood a golden platform, gleaming in the sunlight.

Karyl glanced at it, then looked away to look at the other Titans.

He couldn't take it anymore; it was too dazzling. His eyes stung and he almost cried.

The Titans stood on the other side of the road, alongside the armored vehicles and Imperial Army, appearing majestic against the backdrop of the raised battle banners.

Karyl observed them very carefully for a while, and couldn't help but nod—good stuff, really good stuff, it still feels good even after looking at it a few times.

The Thunderhawk flew on their own for a while. The Thunderhawk formation of the Eighth Legion was neither the first nor the last to land.

Next to the already assigned helipad, there were still several empty spaces where no airships had been parked. Karyl looked at this scene and casually pressed the switch of the hatch. The scorching air from outside immediately rushed in.

The scent of Phosphex permeated the air, but besides it, another scent was silently announcing its arrival.

A turning point in history? Karyl thought to himself, glancing back at the scene.

The platoon of the First Company silently returned his gaze. The entire command of the First Company, led by Van Cleef, had changed into Tartaros Pattern Terminator Armour. It was a luxurious scene, even for the current Eighth Legion.

He turned and walked out of the cabin. Konrad Curze Curze stepped out of another Thunderhawk, his face tense.

Behind him, a male and a female official were chattering incessantly. "Sir, the clothes you've chosen are far too ordinary for this occasion!"

"I know, I know," Curze said expressionlessly. "But what's wrong with black? I like black."

"But, sir!" the woman among the officials shrieked, several pieces of clothing, far too large for her, draped over her right arm. The woman was already quite tall, her legs modified to be at least two meters high, yet the clothing still nearly engulfed her entirely.

"This is Ullanor!" she cried out hoarsely.

"So what?" The Night Lords sighed helplessly, his face filled with a sense of utter despair left behind after being bombarded with loud noise.

"Does Ullanor forbid anyone from wearing black? I like black, so please stop saying I'm not going to wear those tight-fitting, court-style tops you've chosen."

"But you would definitely look great in it."

The man spoke, insisting on the woman's point of view. He held his head high, appearing extremely professional and proud. "Believe me, my lord. Our taste has been praised by Lord Fulgrim; isn't that enough proof?"

Curze pursed his lips, tilted his head back, and muttered, "That's exactly why I don't want to wear the clothes you picked out."

He was bothered by them for a while longer, but the Primarch is the Primarch after all. After Curze put on a stern face, the two officials left reluctantly.

They kept turning back, their eyes filled with intense longing— Karyl didn't know what they were longing for, it was really strange. But, the thought that Konrad Curze Curze had accompanied them all the way because he was choosing clothes made Karyl smile.

"Are you really planning to wear all black?" Karyl approached him and asked.

"What's wrong with it?" The Night Lords shrugged. "I can't be bothered to wear those heavy clothes that weigh over ten pounds like everyone else. Think about it, Karyl."

What are you thinking about?

Konrad Curze Curze made a gesture and began to speak at length.

"A massive, ornate cape that needs to be held up from behind. Made of gold, jade, and silver, with extra-long tassels that hang from the shoulders to the ground. A ceremonial weapon that serves no purpose other than being aesthetically pleasing and annoying. Even your hairstyle needs to be redesigned."

"Sounds alright, though," Karyl commented noncommittally. Curze gave him an enigmatic look and quickly realized what he was up to.

The Night Lords sneered, "Of course it's fine if you're not wearing them, Instructor."

Why did your tone just now sound so much like Fulgrim's?

How is it similar?

"It looks the same everywhere," Karyl shook his head, shadows creeping up from the gaps in his skeletal armor, forming a skull-like face on his features. His eye sockets were sinister, his bones pale, hardly the appearance one would expect at such a grand event.

More Thunderhawk belonging to the Eighth Legion slowly descended from the sky, the company reorganized, and Ghost from the dark world stood on the land of Ullanor, clad in gloomy armor.

They remained silent and soon departed— the Astartes, too, had been assigned positions for a grand military parade that they could not miss.

For a moment, only Karyl and Konrad Curze Curze remained. They exchanged a glance, both sensing the other's intention.

"Shall we postpone going there for now?" Curze asked meaningfully.

"Which way?" the skeleton asked quietly.

"You have to ask a question you already know the answer to, don't you?"

"Yes." Karyl chuckled.

"Let's find the others first." The Night Lords ignored his laughter and made a decisive decision. "Find those who just landed recently. I don't want to go there now."

He turned around and strode confidently to the other side.

Karyl floated behind him like a Ghost, his body barely moving, his shadowy cloak swirling beneath his feet like a living thing, and his voice was equally soft. "Why? Are you planning to form cliques like a child?"

"No," the Primarch said. "I simply don't want it to be over now."

Why?

"Do you really have to get to the bottom of this?" Curze sighed deliberately. "Don't be like that, Karyl. There are many reasons why I don't want to go now, one of which is that I want to catch up with old friends beforehand."

With whom?

"You'll find out," Curze promised mysteriously—and he was right; Karyl did indeed find out who it was very quickly.

He looked at the barbarian before him with a hint of surprise, and the latter, surrounded by Space Wolves, also glanced at him. It was just a glance, but his gaze was meaningful enough.

Then, the Primarch, clad in the fur of a wild beast, grinned and strode over, greeting his brother with a wild smile, his canines gleaming in the air.

"Konrad Curze Curze!" The giant wolf from Fenris strode forward without hesitation, giving the Night Lords a warm embrace with the force of someone about to attack. The latter, though uncomfortable, allowed him to do so.

However, complaints are inevitable.

"Do you have to do this every time we meet?" Curze asked, frowning and feigning displeasure.

Leman Russ Russ was not frightened by this expression; he laughed again. His blond hair, braided into a warrior's plait, fluttered in the wind; his thick hair made it look almost like sideburns rather than head hair.

"Yes!" The Wolf Lord chuckled, reaching out to pat his brother on the shoulder. "You didn't really refuse! If you had, you would have run into the darkness like our raven!"

I don't think your nose can't smell in the dark.

"Smelling and seeing are two different things—" Russ shrugged. "—By the way, Corax hasn't arrived yet."

"I know he hasn't arrived," Curze said. "If he had, I would have brought him to you."

"Oh, please don't. I thank you for your great kindness, but you still shouldn't do that."

Russ raised his hands exaggeratedly, his tone comical but his expression serious. The Wolf King clearly had his own ideas. Karyl glanced past him and looked behind him.

Russ's pack of wolves were pacing slowly, instinctively responding to his gaze with a certain unease. They had been relaxed before he looked over, but not now. Some of them had even crouched down, letting out low growls from their throats.

Without turning his head, Russ raised his right hand, and in an instant, all the strange phenomena vanished.

The Wolf King raised his head, glanced at Karyl, and remained relaxed. Karyl nodded apologetically to him, but the latter smiled again and returned to the conversation.

"Listen, Konrad Curze, I'll handle things between him and me myself. I don't want anyone else interfering, okay? Just like my conflict with Lion, didn't I handle it very well?"

"Are you sure?" Curze narrowed his eyes. "You're quite right, are you referring to that fight between the two of you?"

"That's not a fight, it's normal for brothers to fight," Leman Russ Russ told him very seriously. "Even brothers in ordinary families fight over small disagreements, let alone a bunch of megalomaniacs like us. He held back, and so did I, otherwise..."

"Otherwise what?"

"It's nothing." Russ grinned, finally looking at Karyl formally. "So—Instructor, right?"

Karyl nodded.

"I've long admired your name." The Fenrisian's smile vanished, replaced by a serious expression. His voice was full of energy, yet his demeanor was as solemn as if he were facing the legendary Kraken King Fenris.

"You're as tall as the rumors say," Russ said. "At least a bit taller than me, but you're not strong enough."

"I don't need to be too strong," Karyl, raising his hand and tearing off the skull mask. He could have let it simply vanish into shadow, but he didn't. Sometimes, the more conventional approach is better.

"Everyone needs to be strong!" Russ's eyes widened. "How can you manage without being strong! Don't you think Konrad Curze is a bit too skinny? He eats so little at every banquet! He should be like me!"

"Don't drag me into your conversation," Curze said quietly.

Karyl smiled; he could hear the metaphor hidden in Russ's words. It was a gentle admonition, thoughtful in its intent, but Russ made it sound like a simple joke.

"He is indeed a bit thin. But that's everyone's own choice," Karyl replied gently. "I won't interfere with his choices, what do you think, Russ?"

"Don't call me 'sir'," Russ waved his hands repeatedly. "I know what you do. If you call me that, my brothers might have to call me 'uncle' from now on—you agree, right, Magnus? Come here! How about calling me 'Uncle Russ'?"

He shouted at a group of people passing by, and the red-skinned giant at the head of the group frowned in disbelief.

Update complete. That's all for today. I'm working on the outline for the new volume and getting ready to start writing a lot more, otherwise I might not make it in time for Christmas.