A Brilliant Night

As he strolled along, Karyl surveyed his surroundings. Rain pattered down, and steam billowed from the Phosphex fire pit. The Titans' silhouettes remained clearly visible on the horizon. This feast, a celebration of victory, was still ongoing, or rather, had only just begun.

Fireworks lit up the sky, and the soldiers' songs, mixed with soft chanting, were carried by the breeze from the other side. It seemed that the rain in Ullanor would continue for a long time.

Raindrops fell on his shoulder, and the writhing shadow patiently awaited their arrival, slowly savoring each drop before swallowing it whole. It thirsted, but was never greedy; it did not pursue rain that did not belong to it. And that is why Karyl ignored it.

He had left the high platform and was now strolling on the other side of the continent. The scenery here was not particularly beautiful; how could a land ravaged by Orks and war be considered beautiful? But it possessed a desolate air about it.

Therefore, beauty has become irrelevant.

Of course, none of this had anything to do with Karyl.

Maintaining his hard-won rationality, he turned his thoughts back to not long ago, back to the high platform.

To be fair, the Master of Mankind is not a particularly skilled orator, at least not this time—he neither vividly described the past nor ambitiously envisioned the future.

Compared to the duties expected of an "The Emperor" and the prestige of his status, the few words he uttered on that high platform were pitifully few, but he did indeed do what he was supposed to do.

He thanked the soldiers for their service and paid tribute to the fallen. He spoke these words in a soft tone, unlike that of the Emperor. Then he cut straight to the heart of the matter.

He announced that he would leave the front lines of the Great Crusade and return to Terra to do things he should have done long ago. He also announced that he would hand over the crown of Warmaster, the laurel of leadership that represents duty, to Horus Lupercal.

He was certain that Horus could take charge of everything in his place and do whatever Horus was supposed to do, and he hoped that all the Imperial Army would obey Horus's orders as they obeyed him.

How many people will feel uncomfortable because of this, and how many will have objections to it?

Karyl had no answer, but he could see Horus's forced smile on the platform. Most of the Primarch, however, genuinely cheered for him, including Sanguinius, Fulgrim, Rogal Dorn, and Roboute Guilliman.

As for those who disagree, or rather, completely oppose it.

Karyl stopped and turned around. A Lion El'Jonson was walking towards him from between the leveled mountains.

The magnificent armor, crafted by the Caliban themselves, was soaked by the rain, its gems gleaming, the deep green jade and silver shimmering with a hazy light. Lion Aljonson burst through the rain and stood before him, his expression unreal, his eyes filled with complex emotions.

Karyl was slightly surprised by his arrival—it was no secret that the Lion El'Jonson would oppose Horus's ascension to the position of Warmaster; most people could probably guess it. But why was he coming to him?

Ultimately, Lion Alderson answered this question himself.

"Did you know this beforehand, Karyl Lohars?" the Lion El'Jonson asked, his eyes fixed on Karyl.

"Which matter? Do you mean Horus becoming the Warmaster, or the Emperor withdrawing from the Great Crusade?"

"The latter," Lion said. "His withdrawal means that the nature of this expedition will change to some extent; the Great Crusade will be entirely in our own hands."

"Wasn't it the same before?" Karyl countered. "Isn't every victory won by people's own hands?"

"We're not talking about the same thing. He's a symbol; countless people are filled with courage just by mentioning his name. They know he's fighting somewhere in the galaxy, just like them."

Lion Aldoussen slowed his speech to make his words sound more convincing. His voice was deep and resonant, piercing through the rain and even slightly masking the sound of fireworks exploding in the air.

"This was fighting side-by-side in a different way. And now, he has announced his departure. Can't you see the soldiers' unease? They are celebrating, but also grieving the Emperor's departure."

"You should have more faith in them," Karyl replied meaningfully. "The Imperium soldiers won't lose their courage over something like this, and besides, he hasn't really left."

The Lion El'Jonson frowned, staring intently for a moment, but did not choose to turn the conversation into a pointless argument. This was strange and unlike his usual style, but Karyl could understand why he did so.

"The dust has settled; he can't possibly change his mind," Karyl said softly. "You have no choice but to accept it, Lion El'Jonson."

"I accept it," Lion El-Jonson said somewhat somberly. "But that's all I accept."

Karyl sighed and immediately changed the subject. He didn't want to talk to the Lion El'Jonson about this; ultimately, it would just turn into a shouting match. So he quickly brought up something else.

"So, what about Sir Luther's matter? You won't accept it either?"

Lion Aljonson immediately narrowed his eyes, and after a moment, he slowly exhaled a breath of stale air. "Has anyone ever told you that your ability to change the subject is really clumsy?"

"I rarely do that," Karyl smiled slightly. "So, would you like to talk about him? Or perhaps you'd like to hear about him from me?"

The Lion El'Jonson did not answer; he stood there, frozen in the rain like a statue. Karyl watched him with interest, wondering what kind of reaction the Lion El'Jonson would give.

A few seconds later, Lion Alderson walked up to him and began to walk alongside him.

--

After a brief moment of thought, Konrad Curze Curze raised his hand and moved a piece to a certain spot on the board. Roboute Guilliman gave him a look of utter disapproval.

Horus Lupercal blinked, shook his head with a strange expression, and seemed to have shaken off his previous unusual mood, now swirling a large wine glass in his hand.

Jaghatai stood beside him, shaking his head at the same rate, his expression sympathetic. Vulkan, on the other hand, simply rubbed his forehead, sighing repeatedly, clearly already knowing what was about to happen.

"Is this your way of taking back your move, Konrad Curze?" Roboute Guilliman asked in a deep, annoyed voice.

"No," the Night Lords shook his head nonchalantly. "You must be mistaken, Roboute."

"Yes, I think so too." Angron crossed his arms and nodded solemnly behind Konrad Curze Curze. "You're mistaken, Roboute Konrad Curze absolutely did not take back his move."

Lord Macragge raised his head and glanced at the Nuceria. He frowned, as if he wanted to say something, but the words just wouldn't come out.

A few seconds later, he simply sighed and laughed helplessly.

With that smile, Roboute Guilliman shook his head and simply moved his piece forward one step, returning it to the state it was in the previous move.

So Curze immediately pointed at him and raised his arms in a shout.

"You're cheating, Roboute!"

"Oh, I can't believe you actually fell for it." Angron shook his head sympathetically, the Nuceria's expression a rare mix of amusement and gentle mockery.

Roboute Guilliman looked at them in disbelief, spread his hands, pointed to the chessboard, then to them, and couldn't utter a single word.

Standing behind him, Rogal Dorn sighed heavily. Fulgrim swirled the wine in his glass, tilted his head back with pity, and took a sip.

"You're really unlucky, Roboute," Phoenix said softly. "Those two aren't exactly good chess players."

Did Roboute Guilliman cheat?

Leman Russ Russ laughed loudly, the sound coming from the other end of the tent. Half a second later, he crashed in, reeking of alcohol, clumsy yet surprisingly agile, without spilling a single drop of wine from his glass.

The Fenrisian chuckled and, as if by magic, produced a heavy wooden goblet from behind his back, shoving it into Roboute Guilliman's hand.

"Drink it, and I'll forgive you. How about it, Roboute? How about it?"

"Why should I ask for your forgiveness?" Roboute Guilliman asked, puzzled.

"Well," Russ stroked his chin seriously, "It's because you cheated, of course."

"I didn't!" Roboute Guilliman raised his right hand, waving it in protest. "Don't be Deceit by Konrad Curze, he's the one who took back his move!"

"So, are you going to drink it or not?" Russ asked mischievously. "At least have a sip, okay? This is a special brew I went to great lengths to bring back from Fenris; I made it myself. I usually don't even let anyone else have a taste."

Roboute Guilliman fell silent.

A few seconds later, he struggled to pick up the wooden glass. A painful groan escaped his throat, and just as he was about to take his first sip, a hand reached out from the side and snatched the glass away.

The hand was very pale, with the color of alabaster. Kolaus Corax, without batting an eye, tilted his head back and downed the wine in one gulp right in front of them.

"Fenris's blizzard!" Russ shouted. "Who is that?! Is that Kolus Corax?!"

Roboute Guilliman stared in disbelief at the Lord of the Deliverance, a mixture of emotion and worry washing over him.

Konrad Curze Curze raised an eyebrow in surprise, but couldn't help but chuckle—he was eagerly anticipating what would happen next; how could he not?

Corax rarely drinks alcohol.

A few seconds later, Corius Corax silently put down his glass and handed it back to Russ. The force was unusual, quite different from his usual actions.

His Adam's apple bobbed a few times, and the bright amber light, diffused through the cut glass, illuminated the Primarch's pale face and the two blushes rising on it.

Rogal Dorn reached out and steadied him, his face stern, while also glaring at Russ. Mortarion, who had been observing from the sidelines without joining the drinking party, snorted and took a glass bottle from his belt, handing it to Corax.

"Take a sniff; this can sober you up. You were too reckless to dare drink Leman Russ Russ's wine," the Lord of Death said coldly.

"Don't do that again, brother." Fulgrim walked up behind Corax with concern and rubbed his shoulder. "Russ's liquor is a terrifying thing beyond anything; even the Titans' engine oil isn't as toxic."

"I agree," Horus said. "Even the Cyclonic Torpedo can't compare to Russ's Fenris Special Brew."

"It's almost comparable to the magma of Nocturne," Vulkan agreed. "This transcends the realm of mere beverages, Russ. I believe your talent for brewing surpasses even my blacksmithing skills."

The Khan stroked his long beard, smiled meaningfully, and remained silent.

The Fenrisian looked at them and burst into laughter at an unprecedented volume.

"Barbarians." Magnus, hearing the laughter from another corner of the tent, shook his head in annoyance. "I really can't understand why Leman Russ Russ is always so emotional. Can't he be a little more mature?"

Sanguinius, sitting opposite him, made no comment on the Crimson King's words. The archangel was intently fiddling with a brass statue in his hands, which had not yet been sculpted with a face, but already had a rough shape.

Magnus glanced at it and immediately recognized who it was.

"Are you making another statue for Horus?" he asked, puzzled. "How many is this, Sanguinius?"

"Numbers are not important," the angel replied gently. "So, what were you trying to say, Magnus?"

"I want to talk to you about Librarian," Magnus, eagerly putting down his book.

The meeting had ended, and night was about to fall. The Emperor finished his speech and immediately left the surface of Ullanor, heading towards the orbit, unwilling to waste any more time.

The Primarch knew that the engineers aboard the Emperor's Dream had likely already begun adjustments. They would soon free her from the slight constraints of near-Earth orbit and return her to the stars.

After that, the Emperor would return to Terra —they all knew this, but no one wanted to bring it up at this time. They gathered in the luxurious Primarch -sized tent, briefly forgetting about it through conversation and games.

Everyone has the right to escape, and everyone must have such a moment of escape. For the Primarch, however, this is a rare and precious moment.

Unlike most people, they don't live their lives with an attitude of escapism; they are born to shoulder certain responsibilities. But precisely because of this, tonight will become a shining pearl in their long memories.

I'll update later, I need to grab a bite to eat first.