A Banquet (3)

"No, that's not it. This isn't a misunderstanding."

Konrad Curze, as the Primarchs saw him, spoke in a low voice. To Kael, he was the familiar Night Haunter.

I knew this would happen.

Kael sighed silently. Though he made no sound, his gesture was unmistakable.

He knew the Haunter's temperament well, and naturally understood how he would react to anything that might involve "Kael Lohars."

But that didn't surprise him. He could even guess what Fulgrim had said to the Haunter.

It was nothing but an outward display of the bone-deep arrogance people felt toward mortals. Nothing surprising.

It had been this way since ancient times. Few could escape the curse.

Once you possessed great power, arrogance inevitably took root. You began to see everyone else as stupid swine and sheep. Only those you considered your equals earned even a rare measure of respect.

What was more, these demigods did have reason to be proud. The Haunter was only a year and a half old, yet he could already display such formidable fighting ability. How strong, then, were these four who were clearly adults?

"Brother."

The man from Chemos raised his head, his face pale and his eyes dim, and gazed at the Haunter. "I beg you to forgive me."

"No." The Haunter shook his head.

His voice was gentle, yet firm—and Kael's headache only grew worse.

The reason was simple: the Haunter hadn't spoken in High Gothic.

The low, lilting hiss of Nostraman filled the gilded banquet hall. The soft lights remained soft, but the giant at the head of the table stopped eating for the first time.

"Konrad—"

"I don't go by that name," the Haunter hissed. "You shouldn't ask me to forgive you, Mr. Fulgrim."

Fulgrim grew even paler. His porcelain complexion now nearly matched the Haunter's gloomy pallor.

Though he couldn't understand Nostraman, he could tell from Konrad Curze's tone that he'd received the answer he'd wanted.

What should he do?

Unable to help himself, he lowered his eyes toward Ferrus.

The giant Iron Hand regarded him without expression, his gaze calm. After a moment, he gave a slight shake of his head.

I can't help you.

Fulgrim closed his eyes and sat down trembling, as if all the strength had left his body. He no longer dared to imagine what would happen next.

What could be done when his own mistake had made a brother resent the Imperium and their father?

"Sit down for now, Haunter," Kael hissed. "Or go for a walk. There's no one in the corridor right now."

"What about you, Kael?"

"I'll take care of this."

The Haunter blinked and nodded. He didn't ask what Kael meant to take care of. He simply left his seat like a wisp of smoke.

The Emperor didn't stop him. He merely watched in silence. Dorn and Lorgar studied his expression intently, but couldn't glean the slightest explanation from their father's face.

The former frowned. The latter turned to Kael, anger in his eyes.

The Haunter made his way to the door, walking calmly with a gliding gait. At the last moment before leaving, he turned and mimed throwing something.

With superhuman agility, he sent a pendant flying precisely onto the long table, where it landed beside Fulgrim.

Then he spoke in High Gothic.

"Take it back."

The man from Chemos stared blankly, his fists clenched. Ferrus watched him calmly, then finally reached out and patted his back in consolation.

The door opened, then shut again.

+Your family's atmosphere is a little different from what I imagined.+

+Is it awful?+

+What do you think?+

+You don't understand, Kael. I can't listen to each of them like an ordinary father. I have to maintain an image of someone who only shows his feelings in the smallest ways.+

+You're shaping yourself into a god. What good does that do you?+

+I've never done that. Once you officially join us, you'll understand how much I detest religion.+

+Oh, come on. One of your sons already reveres you as a god.+

+That's the path he chose. I can't demand that he change.+

+Have you asked him?+

+What?+

+This is psychic communication, Mr. Neos, so it's not as if you could have failed to hear me. You understood me perfectly.+

+But—+

+And the Haunter is angry with you. You haven't even spoken a single word to him yet.+

+I can't force him to accept me. He's already decided in his heart who his father is.+

+Does your definition of forcing someone include a simple greeting? You never cease to amaze me.+

Kael shook his head and ended the psychic communication. The giant at the head of the table still wore a calm expression, fixed to his face like a mask.

And Kael knew he was bleeding.

"So, what exactly happened, Fulgrim?" Rogal Dorn asked his brother sternly.

Stone looked as though the banquet had nothing to do with him anymore. He stood beside the table, his expression so grave it was intimidating. His voice remained perfectly level, but everyone could hear the accusation in it.

"I... I hurt his feelings."

Fulgrim lifted his head, his gaze traveling from the chandelier hanging directly overhead to the tablecloth. Five people surrounded him, and he looked at none of them.

In a low voice, he said, "I hurt his feelings, Rogal."

"I want a precise explanation," Rogal Dorn pressed calmly. "For instance, tell us what you said to each other, instead of speaking so vaguely."

"Do you want me to disappoint myself all over again?!" Fulgrim suddenly roared. "My own arrogance has humiliated me enough today!"

He raised his hands to cover his face and fell silent.

Silence descended once more.

Just then, the giant at the head of the table slowly rose to his feet. He wiped the corner of his mouth with a clean, soft napkin, then went straight to the door without a word of explanation.

Of the four people present, only Kael knew what he was going to do.

"Father?" Lorgar called out in bewilderment.

"Carry on," the masked man said calmly, his back to them. "Resolve the problem."

It sounded almost like an order.

Kael couldn't help laughing. He really couldn't understand how anyone could be so awkward around his own son that he didn't even dare say a single unnecessary word.

Was it because he cared too much?

How interesting. He narrowed his eyes.

Lorgar noticed the look at once. The golden giant couldn't help challenging him. "Mr. Kael, what exactly are you laughing at? Do you find my father amusing? Or do you think my brother's sorrow is funny?"

"Neither," Kael replied calmly.

He seemed entirely unmoved by Lorgar's challenge, despite the latter being a demigod.

Rogal Dorn frowned again. "Lorgar."

"No, Rogal!"

Lorgar stood up and placed his right hand firmly on the weighty tome on the table. He spoke out loud, his voice tinged with the fervor of a speech.

"Since none of you are willing to say it, then I will!"

"Mr. Kael, yes, you raised our brother and took good care of him—for that, we're grateful. Father even allowed you to dine with him! Do you know what an honor that is?"

"But!"

"If you think that gives you the right to act without restraint, you're gravely mistaken!"

Kael frowned. "I've never acted without—"

"—Yes, you have!" Lorgar raised his voice, interrupting and drowning out Kael's explanation. For a Primarch, doing so was effortless.

"I can see how you manipulate our brother, Konrad Curze! Do you dare deny it? You speak to him in the local language, you send him out, and you even—"

"—Hush."

A bone-chilling cold swept in the next instant. Lorgar abruptly fell silent, his muscles locking up as if he were a jammed gear.

+Don't go too far.+

+You could educate them yourself.+

+I can't.+

Kael sighed deeply and slowly rose from his seat. This time, he didn't hop down from the chair.

He grew taller—two meters, three, four. He rose above Lorgar, looking down at him as he stood calmly beside the table.

A fierce, icy-blue light burned in his eyes.

"You misunderstand me badly," Kael said softly. "But I'm not surprised. Prejudice and arrogance are human nature. You may be powerful, but you're not immune to them."

His voice was gentle, yet it carried clearly across the table to Rogal Dorn, Fulgrim, and Ferrus Manus.

As for Lorgar—

Kael's gentle voice rang in his ears like thunder.

"But listen carefully. Whether you call him Konrad Curze or the Night Haunter, he is a free man. He decides what he will do and what path he will take. I can't make those decisions for him, and I never will."

"Manipulate him?"

Kael chuckled.

"From your attire, the scripture on your skin, and the tome beside you, I can tell you're probably a devout believer. Am I wrong?"

"How interesting. Religion has been about manipulating people's minds and deceiving their will from the very beginning, making them wallow in the mud. And now you're talking to me about manipulation?"

"You know nothing about him or me, Mr. Lorgar Aurelian. What made you say such things?"

"Was it your love for your brothers, or your faith in your father? Your god was insulted, so now you, his devout follower, have to restore his dignity?"

His smile vanished. He left the table coldly. The door slid open of its own accord, then slammed shut. Only then did one final sentence ring through the banquet hall.

"Utterly ridiculous."

A moment later, an enraged roar rang out.