Interlude: Aftermath of Destruction (End)

This was certainly not the first time Perturabo had dealt with a Night Lords. In fact, it wasn't even his first meeting with Adebiman Basley; Roboute Guilliman's introduction, upon closer examination, was entirely superfluous.

But this was definitely the most bizarre meeting ever.

Perturabo glanced at Vulkan's body, then stood up and walked to Roboute Guilliman's tactical table.

He was already very familiar with how to use the tactical table that Macragge had made, but he would still compare it to the "Olympia" type, or rather, the "Perturabo" type, that he had built himself.

And the result is always a "Perturabo- style" victory.

He raised his hand and began manipulating the star map, soon seeing the current situation of the Five Hundred Worlds. At least a third of the worlds had been sacrificed by the Word Bearers, which might explain why they were able to summon such a massive Warp Storm near Macragge.

Thinking of this, Perturabo raised his head and glanced out the porthole.

In that cold, deathly vacuum, apart from the gradually crumbling Macragge and its fleet, only a massive Warp Storm existed. It was dazzling in color, ever-changing in form, vast, chaotic, and dark.

To be honest, it reminded Perturabo of something else similar.

He withdrew his gaze and coldly began to examine the current situation of the fleet, as well as the battle reports that Roboute Guilliman himself had previously categorized and compiled.

He didn't do this just to kill time; he genuinely needed the experience.

Throughout history, the evolution of warfare has never ceased. Bows and arrows have always held the advantage against slingshots, much like heavily armored cavalry facing musketeers.

The things in the Warp brought a new kind of warfare to his eyes. Those who could not adapt to the evolution of warfare would be eliminated, and he would never be one of those eliminated.

Time ticked by, and as Perturabo flipped through the forty-sixth battle report, Adebiman Basley finally ended his use of psionic powers.

The room temperature began to rise rapidly under the control of the temperature control device, while the adjutant himself shook his head wearily.

Perturabo glanced at him and asked, "What did you find?"

"It depends on how much you can accept," Adebiman said, his expression somewhat enigmatic.

His answer drew more attention from Perturabo, who then left the tactical table altogether and walked slowly to Vulkan's remains.

"Speak," he told Adebiman. "Don't worry about whether I can handle it."

At the same time, a dim, jet-black flame flashed in his eyes, its base a scarlet red, almost replacing the original color of his pupils.

Adebiman stood up straight in shock, his expression now quite serious. "I'm afraid I need to ask you a few other questions first."

"Ask."

How long has this been going on?

"It's impossible to calculate," Perturabo said. "I spent some time in the Warp, but in terms of perceived time, it's 157 hours."

"About seven days." The adjutant took a deep breath. "Do you know what you're going through?"

"I have some guesses, but I don't really care," Perturabo nodded calmly. "Besides, I haven't actually experienced much change, at least not as much as you have."

He raised his hand and pointed to the tactical table behind him.

"From the battle reports, I saw what happened to you, which further confirmed some of my suspicions. And your expression now... Adebiman Basley told me, who exactly is Karyl Lohars?"

In response to his question, the adjutant of the Third Company simply chuckled.

"Remove the 'person' part, sir," he said wearily. "I have no authority to reveal more. If our Primarch were here, perhaps he would tell you more."

Perturabo narrowed his eyes—clearly, he was considering whether to press for answers, but ultimately abandoned that option.

The adjutant of the Third Company had already given him the answer in his eyes; he knew that pressing for answers would be pointless.

"So, is there anything I should be aware of?" Perturabo asked carefully, choosing his words carefully. "Like you, I should also have some things to be aware of."

Adebiman looked at him for a moment, then shook his head.

"No?"

"No, sir," the adjutant said. "Your situation is somewhat different from ours; you haven't sworn an oath to a deity."

His words caused the Lord of Iron's expression to freeze for a moment— Adebiman Basley had indeed not answered his question directly, but had indirectly revealed some truths to him.

Despite having mentally prepared himself, Perturabo's expression inevitably became complicated.

He remained silent for a full minute before speaking, "How long has he been like this, I mean, in this state?"

"It has been from the very beginning," Adebiman replied with a knowing smile. "In other words, you're actually quite lucky."

Perturabo composed himself, gave him a dismissive glance, and said coldly, "Let's get down to business, adjutant. What's the situation with my brother?"

"It's nothing serious," Adebiman said. "Vulkan is simply dead; for someone like him, death is like a short rest. However, I personally think he might need an exorcism."

What ceremony?

"An exorcism ritual, sir." Adebiman shrugged, offering that ambiguous smile.

He started to push his luck, at least in terms of communication. Perturabo could sense the change in his attitude, but he didn't have time to pay attention to it for the time being, and just continued to press for answers, his brows furrowed.

"Exorcism? Here? How do I do it? What do I need?"

"It would be best if it were on our ship; the Soul of Night has everything we need. As for anything else, you need not worry."

The adjutant suppressed his smile, nodded at him, and said softly, "We're professionals in this area."

The Lord of Iron remained silent for a moment, then waved his hand in agreement, but did not immediately leave the room. Adebiman did the same; the adjutant tilted his head back, leaned against the cold wall of the command room, and coldly observed the Warp Storm outside the porthole.

They won't leave here until Roboute Guilliman turns back.

--

"My respected --"

Tarasha Euten bowed slightly in greeting.

"--My lord, I apologize, my argument with Chapter Master Marius seems to have interrupted your conversation with Lord Perturabo?"

Roboute Guilliman remained silent for a moment, but ultimately did not immediately respond to the greeting. Even with his superhuman intellect, he didn't know what to say.

Marius Gage glanced at them, said nothing, and hurriedly left the corridor.

For a moment, silence reigned. A faint, intermittent commotion still emanated from the other side of the bridge. Roboute Guilliman kept his head down, trying hard not to look at Euten.

A few seconds later, he heard a slightly rapid breathing sound.

"Your hair, God," Euten rasped, then fell silent, only breathing heavily.

Roboute Guilliman looked up and saw the thin, old woman struggling to stand on tiptoe, holding her cane, trying to touch his white hair.

He swallowed hard, then silently knelt down, lowered his head, and carefully took Euten's left hand with his right hand, placing it on top of his own head.

"How do they feel to the touch, ma'am?" Roboute Guilliman asked.

As he spoke, he tried his best to make his voice sound less deep.

"I hope they don't damage my image too much. I don't have much time to take care of myself, you won't nag me about it, will you?"

Euten didn't answer, and her touch was as light as a breeze. Roboute Guilliman wanted to know her reaction, but he didn't dare look up at her face now, and could only listen more carefully to Euten's breathing.

The old woman's breathing was rapid, but not continuous. After a while, she finally spoke.

"Probably not, sir," she said. "The color of your hair reminds me of the late King."

Roboute Guilliman was stunned.

"The only difference is that King Conno's hair turned white with age. He got old, so his hair turned white, just like mine. As for you? Some people even worship you as an invincible god."

"There are plenty of people like that in the Five Hundred Worlds; they think you can do anything. Well, let them see what Roboute Guilliman looks like now—not only is his hair white, but he's also become much thinner."

The old woman put down her cane and rubbed Roboute Guilliman's cheeks with both hands.

"Your face is so thin. How many days has it been since you've eaten properly, Roboute? And your eyes..."

Roboute Guilliman quickly closed his eyes, regretting that he had forgotten about this, but it was too late.

His gesture elicited a slight smile from Euten, whose laughter rang out without any attempt to conceal it.

"That's no use now, sir. I may be old, but I'm not blind yet."

"This is—" Roboute Guilliman explained quickly, his eyes still closed, "—a kind of mechanization, which I had a Tech-Priest do for me."

"Really? Which Tech-Priest could perform this kind of modification surgery on a Primarch?"

"I cannot reveal his name, ma'am."

"How?"

"He's mysterious—I mean, he's a bit mystical. He doesn't like his name being mentioned. I promised him I wouldn't tell anyone, and I don't want to break my promise."

The old woman sighed, released her grip, and laboriously bent down to pick up her cane. She refused Roboute Guilliman's help, insisting on returning it herself. Roboute Guilliman noticed that she was wiping her face with her left hand as she bent over.

Before she could straighten up, he quickly lowered his head again and closed his eyes.

"You still don't know how to lie, Roboute," the old woman said, straightening up. "Your lying skills are so poor, or do you think you can just give me a quick, easy lie?"

"I absolutely did not think that."

In other words, you're admitting you lied.

"Yes," Roboute Guilliman said. "But as the ruler of Five Hundred Worlds, shouldn't I still have the right to lie?"

"Of course you do," Euten said softly.

Roboute Guilliman opened his eyes and looked at her. He didn't see a tearful face, only a completely calm housekeeper.

"Your duty grants you equal rights, sir. Just as you ordered the bombing of Macragge, we have no right to object, nor will we. If its continued existence will endanger the other survivors of the Five Hundred Worlds, then let it be destroyed."

"The loyal and innocent who perish today will cheer, our ancestors will cheer, and Conno will cheer too. He will stand at the forefront to applaud your decision, sir, for he has always known what is important, just like you."

"But what price must be paid for always being upright, always standing on the right path, Roboute?"

The housekeeper's mask crumbled abruptly after those words. No tears fell, only red-rimmed eyes and trembling lips. It was a mother's most sorrowful sigh; it wasn't tears, yet it was incomparable, enough to shatter any child's heart.

Roboute Guilliman opened his mouth silently, and two hot, burning tears finally fell.

He did not weep when he witnessed the destruction of Calth's future. He did not weep when he witnessed the countless atrocities committed by the Word Bearers against innocent civilians. He did not weep when he witnessed the burning of the Five Hundred Worlds.

Even when the Emperor showed him such a dark and terrifying future, he did not truly shed a tear, because he knew there was still hope, because he understood that humanity still had a glimmer of hope.

Because he is the Lord of Macragge, the Primarch of the Thirteenth Legion Ultramarines, and one of the Emperor's offspring, he must always be brave, always steadfast, and always uphold honor and loyalty.

He had to be this way; his purpose in being was to inspire others and to achieve victory.

Now it's different. Now, he's just Roboute Guilliman.

Now, there is a son facing his elderly mother.

Tarasha Euten gently reached out and softly embraced this giant.

"I watched you grow up, Roboute," she whispered. "I know you better than I know myself. I remember every habit of yours, from how you handled official business to your love of sweets."

"So, I know how much pain you're in right now. Anyone in your position, who has gone through what you've been through, would deserve a good, thorough cry, but you can't. You only deserve this moment of peace."

She paused.

"I'm sorry for my cruelty, no doubt about it. You are my child, Roboute, but I have to be cruel."

"I am growing old and can no longer stay with you. I will die eventually, just like Conno. Sooner or later, you will be alone on your journey. That's life; loneliness is the norm."

"Not to mention you, you will outlive all of us, which means you will suffer double the loneliness of Lord Macragge."

"Your Macragge no longer exists today, but it remains in your memory. Do you remember? The city's appearance, the forests, meadows, and farmlands outside the city. The Senate where your father argued with people until his head bled, the Great Baths."

"Do you remember those poets? They loved to observe the night sky with astronomers, to name every star they discovered together, naming them with poems. You also have such a night sky, but only you can see it, and Macragge is in it."

"It will always be with you, whenever and wherever you are, whether you look up or close your eyes, it will always be there."

The mother smiled.

"Just like us," she said. "You are the pride of the Macragge, just as you are proud of us. You have a cloak, Roboute, invisible to most, but I can see it. It's blue, woven from the starlight of honor."

"It is made up of us. We are one of the testaments to your honor, and one of the stars in your night sky."

She sighed softly.

"Carry it on, child. Macragge will stand forever."

Update complete, but it's lagging.

This chapter is 3k words. Including the previous chapter's 3k words, I still owe 3k words, which I will repay tomorrow.