7. An Inhumane, Inarticulate, Efficiency-Obsessed Workaholic

The ultimate workaholic

The rain curtain of Ullanor trembled amidst solemn singing, as hundreds of thousands of singers were summoned from all corners of the galaxy, their lifelong honing skills now shining brightly in the triumphant ceremony. They added Radiance to the ceremony, and their artistry was finally brought to fruition here.

At this moment, some sang softly, some praised loudly, and some hummed incoherent, mumbled songs. Their voices blended together, rising to a higher realm under the coordination of some force. Complex, yet harmonious, everything was so perfect, so solemn that it almost brought tears to one's eyes.

To the strains of the song, the soldiers of the Imperial Army led the way across the pre-paved grey-white path, stepping onto another obsidian avenue. Armored vehicles, tanks, and self-propelled artillery followed behind, rumbling and surging forward like an unstoppable torrent of steel.

The Imperium banners fluttered at both ends of the road, towering high yet barely reaching the heads of the Titans. Hundreds of massive war machines marched forward, shaking the ground, their majestic presence amplifying the thunder.

The Astartes phalanx followed closely behind, with almost every legion represented within it. Even Lorgar Aurelian, who had refused to come, sent a contingent of Word Bearers. Their armor gleamed, their expressions proud; even the most indifferent to fame and fortune stood tall with their chests puffed out.

However, it wasn't just the ground that was occupied by the Imperium power; the sky was also blocked out.

The clouds were dark, and the massive entity above the orbit cast a shadow downwards. Countless steel falcons streaked across the sky in orderly fashion, and the ammunition that should have been mounted on weapons exploded in mid-air like brilliant fragments of stars.

On the high platform, Karyl silently withdrew his gaze.

He couldn't comment on the scene; it wasn't his area of expertise. Besides, he didn't think he needed to—even a blind person could probably tell what a grand event it was from the sounds.

Moreover, the military parade is merely a prelude to the triumphant celebration; the real highlight is yet to come.

He looked into the shadows and caught sight of the Adeptus Custodes. They were meticulously inspecting the entire platform with unprecedented vigor, the implications of which were self-evident; only one person in the entire Milky Way possessed such qualifications.

Karyl habitually crossed his arms, silently emptying his mind. He didn't stand with the Primarch, but chose a separate corner. The parade had begun, and everyone had their place.

The Primarch stood in the best positions, their guards standing not far behind them, followed by the painters, Remembrancers, officials, and servants.

Karyl's chosen corner wasn't any different from any of theirs; the platform's ingenious design ensured a good view from every corner, so it didn't really matter where you stood.

The Primarch' so-called "best" place was really just the closest place to the Emperor.

Thinking of this, he couldn't help but chuckle. Not out of mockery, but simply because he found the whole thing rather absurd—yes, his sense of humor had never been normal, and signs of it had already appeared back in Nostramo.

After all, you can't expect someone who greets Gargoyle to have a normal sense of humor.

"What are you laughing at?" a voice sounded from behind him, accompanied by the slight thud of a robe dragging on the ground and the metallic clang of a scepter hitting the ground heavily.

Karyl didn't need to turn around to know who it was; although he knew, he was still slightly surprised by the man's appearance.

"You're here too?" he asked without turning his head.

"A loyal servant like me certainly wouldn't miss such an occasion." Malcador approached him, laughing hoarsely. "Although I didn't really want to come, he threatened me."

"A threat?" Karyl raised an eyebrow. "What did he say?"

"He threatened to auction off all my little collections— Da Vinci's manuscripts, portraits of Napoleon," the Sigillites sighed, shaking his head. "He didn't even choose the right option; who knows the true value of these antiques these days?"

"Perhaps I will make an offer," Karyl smiled slightly. "These are priceless treasures."

"Just useless trash, a slightly larger grain in the dust of history, not worth mentioning," Malcador said, then surprisingly released his grip on the scepter.

A Radiance flashed across the surface of the golden Aquila, and the scepter stood calmly upright in place. The Sigillites adjusted his posture so that he could lean against it and temporarily share some of his fatigue.

Karyl squinted, lowered his head, and carefully observed Malcador for a while.

The latter did not refuse his visit, and even took off his hood in a very generous manner. His face looked older than when he last saw him; he was so frail that only his eyes still resembled those of the once spirited old man.

Karyl immediately grasped his hand firmly.

"What are you doing, Malcador?" He frowned, almost angrily. "How could you have aged so much in just a few decades?"

"Oh, sir, I'm just a mortal, of course I'll grow old—" the Sigillites replied humorously, a smile fleeting before he immediately changed the subject. "--Of course, if you'd like to know, I'm not unwilling to tell you..."

"Then tell me."

"To spy on fate," Malcador replied softly. "And that's the price I paid; he was watched by them, almost becoming blind. I'm different; they despise me, and thus tolerate my slightest overstepping."

"Just for this?" Karyl finally couldn't contain his anger, his voice suddenly rising. "You ruined yourself like this just for this?"

"Before you accuse me, you should take a look at what you've done in the past, Karyl," Malcador laughed, his magnanimity astonishing.

He pulled his hand from Karyl's grasp and took the scepter in it, a flash of golden light appearing in his eyes. His hood moved without wind, covering his white hair and aged face.

The Sigillites spoke again in a low voice.

"What we're doing allows no room for failure, so even at a higher cost, I'm going to get a glimpse of it. I know you're probably going to ask Konrad Curze Curze and Sanguinius. Yes, I could, and they'd be happy to help. But who can guarantee that the future they see will be correct?"

"Then how can you be sure that what you see is correct?" Karyl retorted.

"I can't guarantee that," Malcador said. "But I don't need them to be right either; in fact, quite the opposite, I need them to be wrong."

Karyl was slightly taken aback.

"It's an insurance policy, my friend," Malcador told him gently. "Just as you think, my mistakes only prove them right. The more wrong I am, the more right they are, understand?"

"I don't understand," Karyl said. "But I respect your choice."

"That's enough," Malcador said softly.

He gripped the scepter and remained silent for a moment. Karyl did not speak, but simply stood beside him.

The rain fell heavily, and the crowd roared with excitement. The Imperium's power and strength reached their zenith at this moment. Countless Xenos races had perished, and the human world, which had been scattered in the Old Night, had now been largely recovered.

Everything seemed to be moving in a positive direction, with hope shining at the end of the road, and people full of expectations for the future. However, only a few people knew what the future truly looked like.

Malcador gripped his scepter sadly, his body swaying slightly.

He had never been so emotional, never felt such sorrow. He almost wept, but the Sigillites is devoid of blood and tears. The will buried beneath his aged and decaying body forcefully erased everything, leaving only a lingering calm.

Karyl slowly raised his head and looked up at the sky. He didn't know what the future held; he only had vague premonitions and fragmented perceptions. But that was enough, just as it had always been. Eternity passed in the blink of an eye. He had come this far, without regret.

And at this moment, through the rain, an invisible golden light was quietly shimmering. A person who wanted to come but could not choose to share this brief moment with his friends in this way.

This was a moment belonging only to three fools, a moment unknown to anyone else. All sacrifice began here, all beauty vanished here, uncomprehended, unshared, uncaptured by anyone.

Only silence, only steadfastness.

The game is still unresolved.

Minutes later, the light faded, and Malcador closed his eyes, using his psychic powers to guide the choir in delivering the climax of their celebration of the military parade.

Millions of eyes turned to the high platform at that moment. Golden light shone brightly, the rain curtain was frozen, and the Phosphex torches soared into the sky, burning fiercely. Even the pale eye sockets of the Orks reflected the golden light.

The humid air of Ullanor suddenly began to change. A blazing sun, accompanied by a gale, slowly rose from the center of the high platform, and the Emperor, clad in golden armor, appeared in the light. The Master of Mankind was enveloped in Radiance; he was not a god, but far surpassed one.

At that moment, Primarch, soldiers, Astartes, painters, Remembrancers, officials, servants—even mindless Servitor —stared at him, unable to look away. Of tens of millions of eyes, only two did not look at him.

A few seconds later, the Emperor finally spoke.

The sky was no longer gloomy; the stars shone brightly, and his armor gleamed with a dazzling Radiance. Warm, yet dazzling, people could hardly maintain their own thoughts, only able to stare at him blankly, only able to wait for him to speak next.

The air trembled, the stars fell silent, and his voice finally resounded in everyone's ears in the next second.

He simply announced.

"We have won."

Then, a deafening roar and a tsunami swept in.

Update complete.

Trying to write something with an epic feel