Meeting of Three Primarchs (II)

Sanguinius averted his gaze in surprise, giving Curze a probing look. The Night Lords nodded, maintaining his wicked smile.

Yes, he has "recovered."

"."

The archangel temporarily ignored Konrad Curze Curze's peculiar pronunciation and breathed a sigh of relief, and smiled as well.

"I was worried at first, but now it seems there was no need for that."

"Oh, it's still very necessary, Sanguinius."

Curze casually reached out his right hand and grasped the archangel's left hand. The movement was sudden, yet carried a swiftness that had been planned for a long time. Sanguinius was slightly taken aback, but did not stop his brother, instead letting the cold seep into his bones.

"It's best to be worried," the Night Lords said softly, a glint of light flashing in his jet-black eyes. "Once is never enough; he'll do it again sooner or later. That's just the kind of person he is, brother, never one to learn."

"Is that so?" Sanguinius lowered his head and sighed softly. "Thank you for your hard work, Konrad Curze."

Curze didn't answer, but chuckled and released his hand, drifting away like Wraith. Sanguinius watched him leave, then turned to see Rogal Dorn's serious face.

"What happened?" Wanshi asked in a low voice. "There's something secretive about your conversation that I don't quite understand."

"Your description makes Konrad Curze and me sound like members of some secret society, Rogal," Sanguinius chuckled, shook his head, and then spoke to Karyl, "Anyway, it's good to see you back, Instructor Karyl."

"Strictly speaking, I never left," Karyl said. "But I'm still curious to know what I did during those eighteen years that made you all express this same sentiment."

"You"

Dorn uttered a single syllable, then frowned, clearly pondering for a moment. He was thinking, seemingly trying to make his description sound less abrupt.

"You did something completely different from your usual style. You refused to meet or discuss anything with anyone, even a simple holographic dialogue, considering it a waste of time. You suddenly became a efficiency-obsessed maniac, without any warning. And..."

"And what?"

"Furthermore, you give the impression that you don't exist."

Sanguinius took over the conversation softly, and the archangel's expression also turned serious, a seriousness unlike his usual demeanor, almost like the cruel mask he only wore during wartime.

"Even seeing you in person wouldn't dispel that feeling; it would instead come crashing down on you along with another kind of coldness. You seemed devoid of emotion then, just a machine, or something worse."

Karyl nodded thoughtfully. So that's how it appeared to others from his detached perspective? This didn't surprise him much, but...

"I have no idea--"

" --Karyl!"

A voice came from the other end of the platform, loud and hoarse, with an obvious concern. A giant strode over, wearing armor of bright silver and dark blue, with thick steel braids extending from the back of his forehead, shaking in the air.

He approached them, his gaze sharp and intense, fixed intently on Karyl.

"Is the person standing before me now the real Karyl Lohars?" Angron asked in a deep voice.

Karyl did not answer.

He merely loosened some kind of constraint, like granting permission, or perhaps a brief escape from shackles. Angron's talent flashed by in a vision imperceptible to ordinary people, and the gladiator was slightly taken aback, not expecting his spying to succeed this time.

He had tried three times before, and each time he was turned away and given a cold warning.

"How was it?" Karyl asked gently. "Did you see what you wanted to see?"

"That's enough," the Nuceria said in a muffled, nasal voice. "You seem even paler than before."

"That's not really appropriate to say on such a long-awaited reunion occasion," Karyl chuckled. "But speaking of which, this is the first time I've seen you in such ceremonial armor. How does it look?"

"It's terrible," the Nuceria replied hoarsely. "Roboute is right, ceremonial armor is indeed not as light as Power Armour. I especially hate this cloak—"

He reached up and pulled up a corner of his cloak over his shoulder.

"--See? It's so heavy. I don't understand its purpose at all."

"Its purpose is to signify identity," Dorn said. "Like this platform, or like Father's attempt to completely transform the face of Ullanor, ultimately, this armor is meant to make you a symbol."

"Symbols are usually idols." Angron squinted. "Hello, Rogal."

"Hello, Angron." Dorn nodded to him. "It's been a long time, at least ten years?"

"Yes." Angron grinned at him, his smile as gentle as he could muster. He then looked at Sanguinius, who was looking at him with concern, his gaze unabashedly fixed on the steel nails.

"Oh, don't say that." Angron shook his head. "Didn't I tell you they wouldn't get worse? They're just old wounds, nothing to worry about."

"Not pay attention?" Sanguinius looked at him sternly. "Are you expecting me to ignore the occasional pain you show? You can't ask that of me, Angron, it's not fair."

"What did I ask of you?" Angron muttered, tilting his head back. "I didn't say anything, did I, brother?"

The archangel stared at him seriously for a moment, then suddenly reached out and pulled him towards him. The force wasn't great, but it left no room for refusal.

"Come with me, you rascal," Sanguinius warned sternly. "I'm going to give you a proper lesson in medical basics."

Angron stared wide-eyed at Karyl and Dorn, seeking some form of help, but received only a helpless smile and a calm refusal.

The archangel pulled him away so easily, and judging from his serious expression, Angron was likely to face a situation from which he would have little chance of escape.

Dorn watched for a while before looking away. He was one of the few people present, like Curze, who wasn't wearing armor, but still in his signature Archon's uniform, every button fastened tightly and meticulously.

Stubborn Stone turned his head and looked at Karyl with a peculiar look that he rarely showed, before speaking after a while.

"Have you talked to him?" he asked seriously.

"Who?" Karyl asked, feigning ignorance.

"Who else could it be?" Dorn shook his head. "The Master of Mankind, the Emperor, our father—who else could it be but him?"

"You sound a little angry," Karyl said, keenly catching the underlying resentment in Dorn's words. This wasn't easy to do unless you knew Rogal Dorn very well.

"It's not anger, but confusion about what he's about to do," Dorn corrected. "He must have told you, Karyl, I'm sure he did."

Yes, he did say that.

Karyl chuckled. "I think I know what you're worried about—so, he didn't tell anyone else?"

"He didn't even tell me, I just guessed." Dorn crossed his arms, stroking the medal hanging on his chest with his right hand, a rare melancholy emerging on his face beneath his short, gray hair.

If a painter were here, he would most likely kneel down immediately to thank God for this blessing—that Rogal Dorn could display a third expression besides seriousness and calmness?

"He must have his own reasons," Karyl blinked, beginning to defend the Emperor. "I believe he must have his own considerations."

"Simply believing isn't enough; what he's about to do will shake the Imperium. He must present sufficiently convincing reasons, not just—"

Dorn stopped speaking and took a deep breath.

"--Instead of remaining silent as before, or simply delivering a grand speech that reveals nothing to make us temporarily forget what he actually wants to do."

Karyl raised an eyebrow in surprise; he hadn't expected Rogal Dorn to say such a thing. Even more surprising was that Dorn continued, showing no sign of stopping.

"And I know he will do it. He will explain in detail some things he has already thought of, make some decisions that we cannot accept, and then force these decisions on us, compelling us to accept them. If someone says no, he will press them with his eyes, and if that person still refuses, he will show a look of disappointment. You see, he has so many ways to communicate with us, but he just doesn't want to make things clear."

Karyl silently sent this long message to someone, and the reply he received was a sigh and a helpless warning.

+If you really have nothing better to do, I can temporarily assign you a post inspecting the entire army, Karyl +

Really? It's an honor, Your Majesty, my great, wise, and eloquent ruler.

The Emperor hung up the communication swiftly, decisively, and without hesitation. Dorn took another deep breath; Karyl had expected him to continue, but he didn't. In fact, Dorn even reminded him of something else.

"It seems Konrad Curze wants to introduce you to some people."

Karyl looked up. He saw Konrad Curze Curze, and another tall figure.

The latter was clad in pale armor, wearing an old-fashioned respirator, and a gray hood covered his withered long hair. His amber eyes held a hint of curiosity as he gazed in this direction.

"That's Mortarion," Dorn explained softly. "The Lord of Death, a man who doesn't talk much."

Karyl nodded slowly.

Update complete.