A Banquet (1)

Golden-carved vine patterns shimmered on the marble pillars, and the floor was spotless, glowing with a glass-like luster. From any angle, the room was as exquisite as a palace.

No, perhaps it was one.

Kael stared expressionlessly at the mirror before him. The man in the reflection possessed a handsome face, but an excessive pallor and gloom ruined everything.

If you were to see him in person, you wouldn't find him handsome; you would only find him chillingly terrifying.

Under the soft light, he resembled a Ghost. His lack of expression carried a subtle weariness, and only if you looked closely could you discern the disgust hidden in the details.

+You do not seem to like the room I arranged.+

A voice sounded—not in the air, but within Kael's mind.

Psychic power.

A truly convenient force.

+Don't tell me you like it.+

+I must design everything in this style. In a sense, this ship represents the status of the symbol that is The Emperor. It could just be a ship, but in most cases, it is not.+

+More political considerations?+

+If I am to be The Emperor, I must be this way.+

+Does your list of "musts" also include using psychic power to speak with me?+

+Yes.+

+When does the banquet start?+

+In forty minutes. Prepare yourself as soon as possible; one of my sons may ask you many questions at the banquet.+

+I can choose not to answer.+

+I, too, wish you could choose not to answer, or even not attend this banquet, but we both know that is impossible.+

Kael Lohars closed his eyes and sighed deeply. The voice in his ears receded, fading away bit by bit, yet the echo remained.

This was his first time communicating via psychic power; it felt strange, and Kael did not like the sensation.

He did not ask if the Wraith would attend the banquet; he had known the answer all along.

And since the Wraith was attending—no, since Konrad Curze was attending—he had to attend as well.

It was nothing more than political necessity.

Upon seeing the religious decorations on the ship and the way people worshipped "The Emperor" along the journey, Kael had understood many things.

But, he only understood them.

"A banquet," he muttered to himself, still looking at the mirror. "I am actually going to attend a banquet."

At this, he smiled. Not for any other reason, but because he suddenly realized the identity of Kael Lohars.

A nobleman's son—was there any issue with attending a banquet? At most, the nature of this particular banquet was just a bit unique.

A banquet held by an Emperor currently reclaiming the lost territories of the galaxy, accompanied by his demigod sons.

The food would surely be sumptuous.

Perhaps there would even be someone specifically recording everything they said, everything they ate, and painting the scene.

But, can I even eat normal food anymore?

With a sigh, he stood up. There was a dedicated dressing area in the spacious room. No one had explained these things to him; it seemed The Emperor had already ordered that he required no introduction to common knowledge.

He truly did not need it.

He did not even want this room.

Kael walked into the dressing area expressionlessly. It was a long corridor with dark carpets on the floor.

The ceiling was a mirror, and a massive mirror was placed at the far end. On the right, a small door with dark wood grain stood open.

Inside was a magnificent bathroom, providing a large tub for soaking, while the showerheads were hidden in the ceiling.

A strange, incense-like fragrance wafted from within, emanating from white boxes mounted on the walls that reflected a jade-like light. Thirty towels hung on golden racks, waiting softly.

Both sides of the corridor were lined with men's clothing of various sizes, ranging from dark robes embroidered with gold thread to tight-fitting tops with lace cuffs; there were even dozens of styles of boots.

Kael stopped at the entrance, not stepping in immediately. He scrutinized the place and took another deep breath. Only then did he walk in, his face devoid of expression.

The sound of bathing soon began, and just as quickly, it ended.

"Believe me, Konrad, the banquet will be very sumptuous."

"How... how sumptuous?" Konrad Curze asked, bewildered.

Fulgrim couldn't help but smile. He spread his hands and made an exaggerated gesture—something quite rare for him.

"Very sumptuous."

"I have tasted over a hundred different dishes," he said softly. "Today is the day of your return, and Father will surely have those esteemed chefs prepare even more. Tonight, you shall enjoy yourself."

"Enjoy?"

"Yes. Look at how thin you are."

Leaning against the doorway of the dressing room, Fulgrim sighed inevitably: "My brother, this is the smallest size I could find, yet it still looks loose on you."

"Is being loose a bad thing?" Konrad Curze asked.

He stood before a dressing mirror adorned with an eagle emblem, wearing a loose black robe with a pendant gifted by Fulgrim hanging at his chest. His black hair was combed back, and a peculiar fragrance was spreading through his nasal cavity.

He did not much care for this scent.

"Clothes that are too loose make one appear frivolous and lacking in spirit—and most importantly, it is contrary to etiquette, Konrad. Did he not teach you this?"

"."

"Konrad?"

".Does eating also require etiquette?"

"Of course." Fulgrim nodded. "If you indulge yourself and gorge, you may lose much more than just your decorum."

But I would rather wear loose clothes, and I would rather crouch in a corner eating nutrient paste.

Staring into the mirror, the Night Haunter thought to himself.

Loose clothes could hide more weapons; Kael Lohars liked wearing clothes with wide, long sleeves so that others could not see his blades.

Concealing weapons is very necessary. The Night Haunter said to himself in Kael's voice.

He did not like the person in the mirror, not one bit.

Adorned in these garments, the person in the mirror looked like a god, and his pitch-black, agate-like eyes only made this sense of detachment—so different from before—even more intense.

It was not as if the Night Haunter had never seen his own appearance; when climbing buildings and spires in the freezing wind, he would occasionally catch his reflection in the glass. Sometimes, he would also see his face in the murky mirrors formed by pools of acid rain.

That face was his first understanding of what he looked like. And now, this one.

He did not like this change, nor did he like this place.

The Night Haunter had never thought he would actually miss that dark corner.

"Konrad? Are you alright?"

Fulgrim's voice came from the other end of the corridor, distant and carrying obvious concern—not feigned, but genuine. This inexplicable emotion, stemming purely from bloodline, left the Night Haunter unable to cope.

He remembered each of their names.

Rogal Dorn, Fulgrim, Ferrus Manus, Lorgar Aurelian.

And they addressed him by the name Konrad Curze.

I would rather be called the Night Haunter, he thought. The one you call Father has not even spoken a single word to me.

".I am fine." The Night Haunter replied in the voice belonging to Konrad Curze. "Will Kael be attending the banquet?"

"Of course he will! Good heavens, brother, do you truly think we would be so rude as to not allow him to attend? He is—"

Fulgrim stopped, shaking his head with an apologetic expression.

"Forgive me, Konrad," he said softly.

".Why apologize?"

"What?"

"Why are you apologizing, Fulgrim?"

Konrad Curze repeated, turning around with his lips pressed tightly together: "You have already been kind enough to me, why apologize? Others who meet me for the first time only use curses and bullets as greetings; why must you apologize?"

"I—"

Fulgrim froze.

"—Do not apologize. I know the reason, but please, do not apologize."

Konrad Curze said calmly. "If you do not let Kael attend, he will not mind, and neither will I. But I will not attend either."

"We will certainly let him attend—no, no, we will certainly invite him!"

Since he had resolved to pursue the radiance cast by his Father, this was the first time the Chemosian had been so flustered.

He did not understand why his brother would say he would not attend the banquet when everything was normal, though he quickly realized the problem stemmed from his own phrasing, yet.

"Words spoken unintentionally are often one's true thoughts."

Konrad Curze said. "Mr. Fulgrim, I actually know that you look down on him."

"By the Emperor, I never said that, Konrad!"

"One can glimpse the truth through details."

Konrad Curze replied calmly. "To you, Kael Lohars is merely an insignificant mortal. I know this."

"So, even if he raised me, it was only his good fortune. Even if he protected me on Nostramo, it was only by coincidence. I am grateful for your love, but I do not believe I deserve such a heavy burden."

"Brother!" The Chemosian stood pale-faced in place. "Please, do not be like this."

"I must, Karyl said, if there is dissatisfaction, it should be raised as early as possible, rather than letting it take root in each other's hearts and become a bloody barb. So, do not apologize, Mr. Fulgrim."

He fell silent for a moment.

"I know you view me as a brother, but have you ever considered whether I wanted to be your brother? That man you view as a father—he has not spoken a single word to me."

"And Karyl."

His speech became fragmented, appearing somewhat illogical, appearing... finally like a year-and-a-half-old child.

"You look down on him."

Wraith pursed his lips, eyes wide, his voice trembling.

"You apologize only because you accidentally spoke your true thoughts, because you do not want to hurt my feelings. Mr. Fulgrim, you apologize not because you are truly sorry for your words."

Fulgrim finally had nothing to say.

His lips trembled, his noble features taking on a hint of frailty due to his deathly pale complexion, his eyes filled with sorrow and shame—the sorrow coming from witnessing the truth spoken by the trembling Konrad Curze, and the shame, also coming from the truth he had spoken.

Silence.

An unrivaled silence.

"But I will attend the banquet," Wraith said. "I do not want to break your hearts."