A Banquet (3)

"No, that is incorrect. This is no misunderstanding."

Konrad Curze, the Night Haunter familiar to Kael, spoke in a low voice as the primarchs looked on.

I knew it would come to this.

Kael sighed silently; though no sound escaped his lips, the gesture was unmistakable.

He knew the Night Haunter's temperament well, and naturally, he knew how the latter would react when faced with a matter involving "Kael Lohars."

However, this did not surprise him—he could even guess exactly what Fulgrim had said to the Night Haunter.

It was nothing more than the outward manifestation of the deep-seated arrogance mortals often held; it was hardly surprising.

It had been this way since time immemorial, and few could escape this curse.

Once you possess great power, arrogance inevitably rises, leading you to view others as nothing more than dull-witted cattle. Only those they deem their equals earn even a shred of rare respect.

Moreover, these demigods certainly had the right to be arrogant. If the Night Haunter could display such formidable combat prowess at only a year and a half old, how powerful must these four, who were clearly adults, be?

"Brother."

The man from Chemos raised his head, his face pale and his eyes dim as he gazed at the Night Haunter. "I ask for your forgiveness."

"No." The Night Haunter shook his head.

His voice was soft, yet firm—and Kael began to feel a growing headache.

The reason was simple: the Night Haunter was not speaking High Gothic.

The low, melodic, and hissing tones of Nostraman echoed through the resplendent banquet hall. The soft lighting remained unchanged, but the giant at the head of the table stopped eating for the first time.

"Konrad."

"That is not my name," the Night Haunter hissed. "You should not be asking for my forgiveness, Mr. Fulgrim."

Fulgrim's face grew increasingly pale; his alabaster skin now looked almost as gloomy and deathly as the Night Haunter's.

Though he could not understand Nostraman, he could discern the answer he sought from Konrad Curze's tone.

What now?

Unable to help himself, he looked down at Ferrus.

The giant with the Iron Hand stared back at him expressionless, his eyes calm. After a moment, he gave a slight shake of his head.

I cannot help you.

Fulgrim closed his eyes and sank into his seat, trembling as if all the strength had left his body—he dared not imagine what would happen next.

To have caused a brother to harbor resentment toward the Imperium and their father because of his own mistake—what was to be done?

"Sit down for now, Night Haunter," Kael said, hissing in return. "Or go for a walk—there is no one in the corridor right now."

"And you, Kael?"

"I will resolve this matter."

The Night Haunter blinked and nodded—he did not ask what Kael intended to resolve, simply drifting away from his seat like a wisp of smoke.

The Emperor did not stop him; he merely watched calmly. Dorn and Lorgar observed his expression, but despite their best efforts, they could not glean a single word of explanation from their father's face.

The former frowned, while the latter looked toward Kael, his eyes filled with a hint of anger.

The Night Haunter walked toward the door, moving with a calm, gliding gait. At the very last moment before leaving, he turned and made a throwing motion.

Superhuman agility sent a pendant striking the long table with precision, landing right beside Fulgrim.

Then, he spoke in High Gothic.

"Return this to you."

The man from Chemos gripped his fists tightly in a daze. Ferrus watched him calmly, finally reaching out to pat his back in consolation.

The doors opened, then closed once more.

+Your family atmosphere is somewhat different from what I imagined.+

+Is it that bad?+

+What do you think?+

+You do not understand, Kael. I cannot listen to each of them like an ordinary father; I must strive to maintain an image that only reveals emotion in the most subtle of ways.+

+You are molding yourself into a god. What good does that do you?+

+I have never done such a thing. Once you officially join, you will understand how deeply I despise religion.+

+Give it a rest. One of your sons already worships you as a god.+

+That is the path he chose; I cannot demand he change it.+

+Have you asked him?+

+What?+

+This is a psychic communication, Mr. Neos, so there is no possibility that you cannot hear me clearly. You have heard my words quite clearly.+

+But+

+Furthermore, the Night Haunter is very angry with you; after all, you haven't spoken a single word to him until now.+

+I cannot force him to accept me; he already has a definition of a father figure in his heart.+

+Does your definition of force also include a simple greeting? You truly open my eyes.+

Shaking his head, Karyl cut the psychic link. The giant sitting at the head of the table remained expressionless, that calm like a mask firmly strapped to his face.

Yet Karyl knew he was bleeding.

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

The Stone looked like he had nothing to do with the banquet at this moment; he stood by the table, his expression so serious it was daunting. There was not a ripple in his tone, but anyone could hear that he was interrogating.

"I... I broke his heart."

Fulgrim raised his head, his gaze drifting between the chandelier hanging vertically from the ceiling and the tablecloth. There were five people around him, yet he looked at none of them.

He said in a low voice, "I broke his heart, Rogal."

"I want an exact description," Rogal Dorn calmly pressed. "For instance, some description regarding your conversation, rather than such ambiguous topics."

"Do you want me to disappoint myself once more?!" Fulgrim suddenly roared. "I have already been humiliated enough by my own arrogance today!"

He raised his hands to cover his face and said no more.

Silence descended once again.

And just then, the giant sitting at the head of the table slowly stood up. He wiped the corners of his mouth with a clean, soft napkin, then walked straight toward the door without a word of explanation.

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

"Father?" Lorgar called out blankly.

"Continue," the masked man said calmly, his back to them. "Solve the problem."

He sounded as if he were issuing an order.

Karyl couldn't help but laugh; he truly couldn't understand how someone could be so awkward with their own son, to the point of not even daring to say an extra word.

Is it because he cares too much?

How interesting. He narrowed his eyes.

This expression was caught entirely by Lorgar, who stood to the side. The golden giant couldn't help but challenge him: "Mr. Karyl, what exactly are you laughing at? Does my father make you feel amused? Or is my brother's sorrow laughable to you?"

"Neither," Karyl replied calmly.

He seemed completely indifferent to the questioning of Lorgar—a demigod.

Rogal Dorn frowned again: "Lorgar."

"No, Rogal!"

Lorgar stood up, firmly and persistently placing his right hand on a thick tome on the table. He spoke loudly, his voice even laced with the passion of a speech.

"Since none of you are willing to speak, then I shall do it!"

"Mr. Karyl, yes, you raised our brother, you looked after him well—for this we are grateful, and Father even allowed you to dine with him! Do you know what kind of honor this is?"

"But!"

"If you take this as proof that you can act unscrupulously, then you are gravely mistaken!"

Karyl frowned: "I have never acted unscrupul—"

"—No, you have!" Lorgar raised his volume, his voice cutting through and drowning out Karyl's explanation. For a Primarch, doing such a thing was effortless.

"I can see your manipulation of our brother Konrad Curze! Do you dare say you haven't? You communicate with him in the local language, you let him go out, and you also—"

"—Hush."

A bone-chilling temperature descended in the next instant. Lorgar abruptly shut his mouth, his muscles stiffening in a heartbeat like jammed gears.

+Do not go too far.+

+You are perfectly capable of educating them yourself.+

+I cannot.+

With a long sigh, Karyl slowly stood up—this time, he did not jump off the chair.

His figure began to grow: two meters, three meters, four meters. He became taller than Lorgar, looking down at him, standing calmly by the table.

In his eyes, a cold blue light burned fiercely.

"You have a deep misunderstanding of me," Karyl said softly. "But I am not surprised; after all, prejudice and arrogance are human nature. Although you are powerful, you are not exempt from such things."

His voice was very soft, yet it clearly crossed the long table, reaching the ears of Rogal Dorn, Fulgrim, and Ferrus Manus.

As for Lorgar—

Karyl's gentle voice sounded like thunder in his ears.

"However, listen well. Whether it is Konrad Curze or the Night Haunter, he is a free man. He decides for himself what he wants to do and decides for himself the path he wants to take. I cannot make decisions for him, and I absolutely will not make decisions for him."

"Manipulation?"

Karyl chuckled softly.

"Judging by your attire, the scriptures etched into your skin, and the tome at your side, I can tell that you are likely a devout believer. Am I wrong?"

"It is truly amusing; religion has existed since its inception to manipulate the minds of men, to fool their wills, and to keep them wallowing in the mud. And yet, you dare speak to me of manipulation?"

"You know nothing of him or me, Mr. Lorgar Aurelian. What possesses you to utter such words?"

"Is it the love you bear for your brothers, or the faith you hold for your father? Has the god in your eyes been insulted, and so you, the pious devotee, must reclaim his lost face?"

The smile vanished. He walked coldly away from the table; the doors slid open without a breeze, then slammed shut with a thunderous crash. Only then did a single sentence echo throughout the banquet hall.

"Utterly ridiculous."

A moment later, a roar of unbridled fury erupted.

This is a bonus chapter to compensate for the group I disbanded. Once again, I offer my sincerest apologies to you all.

Furthermore, if you are interested, feel free to guess why Karyl has become so powerful in such a short time, and what will happen next.