Interlude: Meet Again Next Winter

"See you next winter!" someone shouted.

Russ opened his eyes and saw a hall.

Wooden tables and chairs were scattered all over the floor, as if a banquet had just taken place. The smell of wine and meat filled the air, and the unpleasant odor of cooled grease hit Russ's nose precisely in the sunlight.

He looked around and saw swords and shields hanging on the walls, spears on armory racks, and banners that covered the entire hall's load-bearing pillars. They were probably hand-woven, with rough surfaces, and were swaying slightly.

A familiar symbol on these flags stared at him menacingly, its fanged mouth slightly open.

He looked deeper into the hall, past the long tables piled with leftover food, and saw a heavy wooden Throne. It was unfit for any king; if that king had even the slightest bit of vanity, it should have been adorned with gold and silver treasures.

At the very least, a sharp sword should be placed on the armrest of the chair, instead of the current state where the edges are faded, the backrest is damaged, and the armrests are even covered in grease stains.

"See you again next winter!" the man cried out again. "Rest in peace! Rest in peace!"

Russ turned around and listened intently.

He wanted to know where the sound was coming from, but his excellent hearing was of no use this time.

The Fenrisian's ears, which used to be able to easily hear the sound of prey treading on the snow through blizzards, were no longer as sharp. He grunted expressionlessly and couldn't help but bare his teeth.

He turned and walked toward the hall's doors. The two doors were made of very thick wood, decorated with patterns, but they were not very neat and even looked haphazard.

Someone had carved numerous names and incomplete legends on them with a knife. He lowered his head, braced his shoulder against the two doors, and slowly pushed them open with great caution.

As the door swung open, a chilling gust of wind howled in through the gap, and the wind and snow, mixed with the cold, rushed out, pelting Russ's face and body. He stuck out his tongue and licked it, and sure enough, he tasted the familiar flavor.

Fenris--?

Russ continued stepping until the door was fully open.

His actions completely ruined the interior decoration of the hall. The flags were covered in frost, and the wind blew the leftover food off the table. The disgusting white grease from the cooled broth spilled onto the carpet, making a mess everywhere.

Before long, they will ferment and produce a disgusting stench.

Russ stood up, looked at the scene outside the gate, and after a few seconds, decided to brave the wind and snow to go back and get a sword.

So he turned and began to walk, but the process was not easy. The once strong Leman Russ Russ now struggled to walk in the wind and snow, each step subjecting him to immense wind pressure and internal resistance.

He tried his best to walk steadily, but he would still stumble occasionally. Fortunately, the snowflakes blown in had covered the ground, so he didn't fall into a mess of soup and water.

After falling for the fifth time, Russ groped his way to his feet, his breath hot against his lips. His right hand touched something hard in the snow, so he pulled it out and saw a wooden wine cup.

There was no more wine inside, of course, but he still raised an eyebrow.

Russ opened his mouth and bit the rim of the glass, a familiar look of pleasure on his face—then, he slowly tightened his canines, and a stream of cold liquid that had seeped into the rim of the glass was slowly bitten out.

It was very little, not even a sip, but it was indeed the taste of Fenrisian Mead he remembered. A burning sensation ran across the tip of his tongue, then across all the taste buds. Russ savored the poisonous wine with relish, casually removing the wooden goblet from his cup.

He steadied himself, aimed upwards, and then threw it. A sword and a shield fell to the ground and landed in his hands.

He gripped them tightly, feeling a reassuring roughness. Then, he turned around again, using the shield to shield himself from the gale and blizzard, and slowly stepped out the door.

Unfortunately, the outside world was actually worse than the inside of the hall.

Outside the gate is a precipitous cliff, as if some god had once slashed it with a sword, which is why the cliff and the opposite mountain peak have a pleasingly straight angle.

Russ reached the edge of the cliff, gazed down, and saw a bottomless black void. He clicked his tongue, then looked up at the snow-capped mountain that was radiating a dazzling white light under the sunlight, and squinted.

A few seconds later, he began to back away, and only when he returned to the front of the hall did he start to run wildly. His body was very weak at this point, and every step he took required all his strength.

Russ almost felt his bones protesting from the constraints of his muscles, begging him to be gentler with them, but the Fenrisian simply ignored him.

He just ran, running relentlessly forward. His sword and shield swung at his sides, and the stray hairs that fell across his forehead were soaked with sweat and then icicled by the cold wind, resting on his forehead and creating an unpleasant sensation.

He paid no attention to any of these things, only running forward relentlessly—and then leaping.

With a muffled groan, Russ successfully leaped over the gap, which was at least eleven meters wide.

He lay in the snow, enjoying the embrace of the ice and snow, lazily moved around for a while, and then stood up, a sense of triumphant joy echoing in his heart.

After realizing this, he almost burst out laughing—happy about something like this? I'm hopeless.

"However, contentment is the state that countless wise people pursue throughout their lives," a voice suddenly spoke.

Russ looked up and saw an old man with white hair and beard. He was wearing a thick fur coat, looked very old, wore a black eye patch, and leaned on a straight wooden cane.

"I'm not surprised at all, Father?" Russ shrugged. "Your way of testing people is quite unexpected."

"This isn't a test, Russ," the old man said. "I'm no longer capable of such things, certainly not of bringing you back to life. Besides, if it were me, I wouldn't want a chair stained with grease."

"Don't worry about it in this freezing weather," Russ grinned. "So what if our clothes get dirty? We can just roll around in the snow."

"Come with me?" the old man asked. "No matter which path you ultimately choose, I hope to reveal these truths to you."

Russ didn't answer the question; in the fierce wind, his expression gradually turned somewhat helpless. After a few seconds, he asked, "How is the situation now, Father?"

"It's terrible," the old man said bluntly. "Terra is crumbling; this place has become an altar and will soon become a temple."

"Time has become meaningless, as has space, and soon even the fundamental laws of physics will be shaken. And it is hiding from Him, trying every possible way to delay the moment it sees Him."

Russ rolled her eyes in a way that couldn't be clearer.

"I've had enough of this." He angrily threw his longsword to the ground. "Your answer makes me feel like I asked a stupid question, Father. I just wanted an explanation, not these damned riddles—time, space, physical laws."

He shook his head, picked up the longsword again, and placed it on another patch of snow.

"Whether it hides from Him or not, what does it matter? I only care about one thing, and you understand."

So, what do you want to know?

The old man's expression turned helpless, and he simply spread his hands, making a very straightforward gesture to Russ that represented his powerlessness.

"What language should I use to explain these riddles that you clearly understand at a glance?"

Strictly speaking, you don't even need to explain.

As Russ spoke, he casually tossed aside his shield and lay down. He rested his hands on the shield, squinting at the old man's face, trying to imagine the black eye patch he wore as the moon or a star.

"So, what do I need to do?"

"Don't ask me, you are the Allfather," Russ said. "I'm now going to exercise the rights that are naturally mine as your son. Do you have any objections?"

The old man chuckled, then burst into hearty laughter—this was no pretense, for such genuine joy was an impossible feigning for the Master of Mankind. He laughed so hard he bent over, but immediately straightened his face afterward.

"Are you planning to act recklessly again, Russ?" the old man asked sternly.

Russ glanced at him and immediately retorted loudly, "What do you mean 'again'?!"

"You disobeyed my orders and went to raid the Vengeful Spirit— "

"--You didn't give me any orders!" the Fenrisian said irritably. "You don't say anything, you don't do anything, and you expect me to do the same?"

"Am I supposed to just stand by and watch that thing turn Jaghatai's army into its own? It says it won't harm Jaghatai, who would believe that?"

"But now is not the time for recklessness, Russ," the old man earnestly advised. "If you simply want to exercise your power as you say, why didn't you do it in the past? Why choose this time?"

"If being willful has to be done at the right time, then why is it called willful?" the Fenrisian asked again.

"Besides, there's no concept of time here. I can stay here with you for a hundred years, while not even a second has passed outside, right?"

"That's true."

"Then why—" Russ raised her hand and patted her side—"—why didn't you lie down and look at the sky with me?"

"Now?"

"Yes."

The old man looked up at the sky.

"It's the coldest time of year in Fenris, Russ, and also one of the few sunny days it gets. We'll go blind."

"Don't you have an eyepatch?" the Fenrisian grinned. "When you can't stand it anymore, just cover your good eye with it."

The old man lay down helplessly, but still held the wooden stick tightly in his hand.

The wind and snow are still howling. This is Fenris, a planet with such a harsh climate that native creatures must exert every effort to survive.

The people who live here are savage, strong, and cruel. The animals that live here are cunning, ruthless, and live in large herds.

The struggle between humanity and nature is a constant occurrence. Even wearing the thickest clothes, one can still feel the cold; even wielding the sharpest sword, one risks having their throat bitten off by a wild beast. There can be no moment of relaxation, no instant peace.

Just like the life of the Master of Mankind as he became the Emperor.

How similar, how tragic.

For a few minutes, they didn't say a word. They just lay in the snow, sinking deeper and deeper, staring silently at the sky.

"Isn't it quiet?" Russ asked, his voice muffled by the snow. "I love these times when I don't have to think or fight, Father."

"That's true."

Do you like this quiet?

"I don't like it," the old man said honestly. "It's too beautiful for someone like me."

What do you mean by "someone like you"?

"Executioner, warmonger, ambitious maniac—" the old man replied in a muffled voice from the snow. "--The galaxy is burning, Russ, and it's all because of me."

Russ didn't speak, she just listened.

"Horus died, apologizing to me in his last moments, even though he had done nothing wrong. He died fully aware of what he had done, and then died just like that, his body even to be used as a puppet by them."

"Lorgar Aurelian is dead, only a last vestige of his essence remains. His legions are corrupted, his image devoured, there will be no peace. They will continue to fabricate new Lorgar Aurelian for their amusement, not even to drag more worlds into the tide of Chaos, but simply to harm me."

"Mortarion is dead. He fought to the very last moment, was tortured to the very last moment, yet found no peace. His body and a part of his soul will even be used by an evil god as something like Virus Bomb."

"Magnus is dead too. I spent four years trying to keep him away from the clutches of evil, but I failed. He was right under my nose, and I couldn't protect him. He had to sacrifice himself to secure a barely acceptable future."

"Your brothers are all suffering, Russ Roboute Guilliman, Perturabo, Vulkan Angron, Kolus Corax, Fulgrim."

"The Legion of Sanguinius suffered heavy losses in the Signus Cluster; Lion El-Jonson personally extinguished the knights' hopes in Caliban; Rogal Dorn walks alone in the darkness; Ferrus Manus is filled with unfounded hatred, and once Vengeance, he will experience a terrible satisfaction; and—"

"--You talk too much, Father," Russ said. "Why are you so sentimental and incessantly chattering today?"

The old man was silent for a moment, then suddenly sat up in the snow and struck Russ hard on the head with the wooden stick in his hand. The force was so great that it produced a dull thud.

"That hurts!" the Fenrisian cried out, jerking upright. "You can't hit me just because I told the truth!"

The old man sighed and remained silent. Russ rubbed his forehead and reached out to grasp the long staff. Its surface began to tremble, and the rough wood cracked little by little, revealing the ruggedness beneath. A flash of golden light appeared, and the Dionysian Spear hummed in the wind and snow.

The Fenrisian shrugged and laughed again, "I knew you had it."

"It seems you've made your decision," the old man said slowly. "This means we only have a few minutes left to talk Russ."

"I am here, Father," Leman Russ Russ replied softly.

As the snowstorm subsided, he stood up and looked down at his short father.

"See you next winter," the old man said.

Unfortunately, there will only be one update today.

Revise the outline.