Aftermath (Two-in-One)

Eighth Legion

Before a wide, ornate desk, Karyl flipped through the paper documents before him, his expression grave. He sat in a chair that looked exceptionally comfortable, yet his back remained naturally held straight.

Following the conclusion of his conversation with Neos, the monarch known as The Emperor had used his authority to grant Karyl a high degree of freedom within this palace.

Because of this, he was free to enter every secret chamber and peruse every forbidden parchment scroll. This was a freedom that even His sons had never enjoyed.

But Karyl was not tempted by it, nor did he use it for anything.

He merely endured the icy gazes of the warriors clad in golden armor while retrieving some documents he needed from The Emperor's study—nothing more.

As for now, he was glad these documents were paper rather than ancient parchment scrolls. The texture of the latter would remind him of some unpleasant things.

"The prisoner's progeny."

Karyl narrowed his eyes, a flash of complexity crossing his gloomy, pale face.

"Are you dissatisfied with them?" a voice asked.

"No." Karyl shook his head. "The sins of the fathers should not extend to their descendants, unless they choose to walk the same path as their forebears."

"Yet you are frowning, Karyl," Konrad Curze said.

He was still wearing that black robe, though his hair had come loose again. At this moment, he was standing behind Karyl, reading the documents along with him.

He did not need to be taught to read; he understood it instinctively.

"Yes."

Karyl admitted to his emotions without concealment. He had never lied to the Wraith—not in the past, not now, and perhaps never would in the future.

"Then, why?"

"Because they come from the prisons beneath Terra."

Karyl said briefly, "According to these descriptions, that prison should perhaps be called an underground city."

Terra.

Earth.

Something complex flickered across his face. The room was bright, leaving no space for dark shadows to linger on his features. Yet, it happened nonetheless.

Konrad Curze nodded: "Quintus?"

"No."

Karyl leaned back slightly, resting against the chair, appearing a bit more relaxed for the first time. "It is somewhat better than the situation with Quintus."

The pale giant pondered for a moment, then said in a low voice: "Then, this is a good thing."

"Yes, Konrad. It is a good thing—why don't you decide these matters yourself?"

Karyl turned to the side and offered a slow smile: "This is your Legion."

"I do not feel I have the capability to do this," Konrad Curze said after a hesitant silence.

He had clearly matured a great deal; a mere day and a half had been enough to transform him to this extent.

Truly inhuman, Karyl thought with a sigh, feeling a sense of sorrow for him. But he did not stop this process, nor would he.

Some things were necessary.

"Why?" Karyl asked, gazing into the giant's eyes. It was a conversational technique, as well as a courtesy.

Then, he waited patiently.

Half a minute later, Konrad Curze looked away and whispered: "Because I have no clue about this, Karyl. An hour ago, I didn't even know I had a Legion. And a Legion that shares my genes, at that."

His expression finally shifted into the bewilderment Karyl was familiar with.

"Does this mean... they are my sons?"

Karyl couldn't help but laugh: "Yes, in terms of blood relations, they are. However, considering the fact that you are only a year and a half old..."

He shook his head with a smile, saying no more.

Curze lowered his head in frustration and muttered something, his voice hissing; he had clearly lapsed into Nostraman again. Karyl sighed helplessly.

"Based on the timeline, they will arrive in about two weeks. So, you have two weeks to complete your mental preparation, Konrad."

"Can you not call me Wraith at a time like this?" the pale giant hissed.

"We are discussing serious matters, Konrad," Karyl said calmly. "And use High Gothic."

"I have an accent," he hissed.

"What accent makes you pronounce these four words in High Gothic exactly the same as in Nostraman?"

"A Nostraman accent." The response was in standard High Gothic, devoid of any accent, noble and refined.

Karyl raised an eyebrow.

"Are you joking with me?"

"Don't you like it?"

"This is time for serious business, Konrad. Let's get back to the point. You can learn a great deal on this ship in two weeks."

"And you?" Konrad Curze asked sharply. "What will you be doing?"

"That is none of your concern, Lord of the Eighth Legion."

Karyl burst into laughter. "I have many things to do, but none of them involve you."

"..."

"Is this a joke?"

"Don't you like it?" Karyl winked at him. "I am, after all, someone who detests a sense of humor."

"..."

The pale giant shook his head in frustration. "He... he is in pain, Karyl."

The transition was abrupt, without any warning, yet it did not surprise Karyl. If Konrad Curze hadn't brought this up with him, he would have been the one surprised.

"Why do you feel that way?" he asked.

Then he waited—as always, he waited patiently.

"..."

"A sense of fragmentation."

Frowning, Konrad Curze said, "He is a ruthless monarch, an ambitious general, but... he also seems not to be."

"How bizarre."

He nodded, using the word as his final definition. "Why would anyone be like that?"

"A person's actions are determined by their goals."

Karyl said calmly. "And a person's goals are determined by their character. If you find him bizarre or fragmented, you might want to consider his purpose."

He tilted his head back, gazing at the exquisite ceiling of the room.

"To reclaim lost territories, to unify the galaxy, to bring humanity back into a single whole. These things require him to be a ruthless monarch and an ambitious general. The parts you find bizarre are his attitude when speaking with you, aren't they?"

Konrad Curze nodded again, his expression complex.

He did not understand. One day, he would, but not now.

Karyl smiled slightly and abruptly spoke in Nostraman: "Haunter."

"Huh?" The Night Haunter looked back, bewildered.

"Nothing."

Karyl stood up with a smile and switched back to High Gothic. "Rest early, Lord of the Eighth Legion. Starting tomorrow, you will be learning alongside Fulgrim."

"Him?!"

"Who else?"

"Why can't it be you?"

"I know absolutely nothing about the current state of this empire created by the Emperor."

Karyl walked to the door, turned around, and leaned against the frame, smiling as he answered. "Therefore, even if I wanted to teach you, I would be powerless to do so. Besides..."

Seeing the expression on Konrad Curze's face, Karyl stopped mid-sentence and did not continue.

He raised his hand to extinguish the lights, letting the room return to a darkness familiar to both Konrad Curze and the Night Haunter, then pushed the door open and left.

How could there be any true rift between brothers?

He sighed.

Arrogance is to be expected.

How could a demigod be anything but arrogant?

Karyl did not remain on the ship named The Emperor's Dream; he left and returned to Nostramo.

But he did not travel in those imposing, magnificent flying vehicles; he chose another way.

He stepped out slowly amidst a deep blue light.

Frost formed from frozen clouds on the ground shattered slowly as he moved. Having been gone for over a day and a half, the Sanctuary had not changed much, save for the fact that the door he had made with his own hands was gone.

And...

Karyl turned his head in surprise. He truly had not anticipated this.

"Mr. Rogal Dorn?"

"Rogal, or Dorn—I have sensed that the word 'Mr.' carries a sense of detachment in the context of your conversations with Konrad. I do not wish to be addressed as such."

Karyl chuckled.

Once again, he felt joy at the directness of the giant before him. After experiencing so many riddle-like exchanges and metaphors, it was always a pleasure to meet someone so straightforward.

Rogal Dorn, however, frowned.

"Why do you laugh?" he asked. His tone was calm.

"Because there are few people left who lay their words out as clearly as you do, and I find that quite a pleasant surprise."

Upon receiving this explanation, Rogal Dorn's brow furrowed even deeper. "I simply dislike inefficiency."

He shook his head with candid honesty.

"Right is right, and wrong is wrong. There may be shadows in between, but they are few. Rather than using a string of metaphors to conceal one's true intentions, it is better to state them clearly from the start."

"Therefore," the giant with ash-gray hair gestured sternly, "I believe your surprise is unnecessary. I have always been this way."

"Hmm, inefficiency is indeed detestable, whether in conversation or other matters."

Kael Lohars nodded thoughtfully, then shifted to a new question.

"However, Dorn, where is my door?"

"It was not a door—not by my definition."

Rogal Dorn frowned again.

"It was rusted, a shoddy product cobbled together from broken wood and metal. It could neither keep out the wind and rain, nor protect the property within or the safety of its master. Thus, I took the liberty of bringing some metal to reinforce it, to give it a new life."

He paused for a moment, observing Kael's expression before continuing: "If you feel this is inappropriate, I can stop."

"Stopping is unnecessary. It was indeed a product of desperation on my part. However, you have arrived on Nostramo alone once again; surely it isn't just to fix a door?"

"I also fixed a chair."

Dorn said calmly. "Its structure was flawed, so I modified it using metal salvaged from an old water purifier. However, I did not come solely for these things."

"You wish to ask me some questions, don't you?"

"Yes. I believed you would return."

Rogal Dorn nodded. "I want to know why your psychic power is so potent, why you can alter your physical form, why you were able to render us unable to move, and also—about Lorgar, I am sorry."

"Sorry?"

"I did not expect him to mistake those terrible delusions and speculations for the truth. In my view, he is usually a passionate and wise man."

"Usually?"

Dorn remained silent for a moment before continuing his reply: "There are moments when he becomes truly unreasonable due to his faith."

Kael could not help but laugh. "Indeed, I agree with your assessment."

"Then, can you answer my questions? If this touches upon certain privacies, you need only say so, and I shall not ask again."

"I cannot answer your questions, Rogal Dorn."

Kael said in a relatively gentle tone. "But it is not that I do not wish to, but that I cannot. I am still searching for the answers to these questions myself. Since I only have a superficial understanding of them, how could I possibly provide you with an explanation?"

Dorn pondered for a while.

A foul, frigid wind gusted toward them, and chaotic roars drifted up from the streets below.

In terms of environment, Nostramo could not compare to even the most insignificant corner of The Emperor's Dream, yet Rogal Dorn stood there calmly, with the noble body of a demigod and a rare heart.

What an ironic contrast, Kael thought.

One is skilled at using language as a weapon, mastering the art to the point of instinct, yet internally fragile, easily refuted by a few flawed arguments.

The other discards all useless rhetoric, speaking and acting with a focus on the essence, possessing a spirit so incredibly resilient that he remains calm even in the face of the unbelievable.

Truly commendable.

"I understand."

Rogal Dorn spoke slowly. "Since that is the case, I will not press further; the truth of this matter is indeed difficult to investigate. But the Father trusts you, and therefore, I shall trust you as well, Kael Lohars."

"And if he did not trust me?"

"Then I would seek the truth myself to judge whether you are worthy of trust."

Dorn replied calmly. "Provided that the Father does not stop me, or that he has not ordered us to be your enemies."

Kael nodded in appreciation.

Possessing self-judgment, yet not bound by rigid convention or blind adherence to rules.

How rare.

"It has been a pleasure speaking with you," Kael smiled slightly. "However, since you have asked me so many questions..."

He gestured inquiringly.

"Of course," Dorn nodded calmly. "I can answer anything I am able to."

"Then, what is your view on Nostramo?"

"A place beyond saving." Dorn immediately frowned.

He did not hide his true thoughts, not even in the slightest.

"Konrad once took us wandering through this Hive City, and if it is to be taken as a sample, I believe Nostramo has no room for reform."

He shook his head in disgust.

"Cannibalism, murder, crimes against humanity, an astronomically high crime rate, and a wretched environment—the only things of value are the adamantium, and adamantium does not require the existence of the Nostramans to be mined."

"Indeed. Anything else?" Kael asked calmly.

He didn't deny Rogal Dorn's assessment—why would he deny the truth?

Though the latter's words were harsh, they were all true.

Good advice often sounds unpleasant.

"Why do you ask this question?" Dorn frowned.

"Because I want to know your opinion."

"My opinion holds no value for you."

The giant shook his head. His clothes now seemed more like a uniform, and his expression made him look like a consul—or a stern king.

"You've already decided to save it, I can see that."

"And so has our brother Konrad Curze. I find it hard to believe he wasn't influenced by you."

"However, in the long run, this influence is ultimately good. A compassionate hero who saves is better than a destroyer who obliterates all darkness with violence."

"Besides, even if he truly intends to destroy everything, what use is my opinion?"

"You can share it with him."

"He doesn't yet have the full capacity to distinguish right from wrong," Dorn said seriously.

His short hair was stirred by the cold wind, uneven and framing a face of extreme coldness. "Therefore, if I were to voice my opinion, in my style, it would trouble him."

"You think he would be troubled?"

"Why wouldn't he be?"

Dorn retorted. "A year-and-a-half-old child, his attitude towards the world changes daily, yet the foundation is laid by you. I am fortunate he met you; otherwise, he would be thoroughly steeped in the darkness of this filthy world."

"Don't you think it's shameful for me to imbue his will with my own views?"

Dorn calmly shook his head.

"I know who you are, Kael Lohars."

Rogal Dorn, son of the Emperor of Mankind, demigod, noble Primarch—spoke thus in the foul, cold wind and darkness, his voice low but like a proclamation.

"A truly shameless person would not be troubled by instilling their views in others, nor would a truly shameless person teach our brother what compassion and salvation are."

"He mentioned you were heartbroken by the suffering in this world. I admire those who can do that. I have lived a considerable length of time, seen many people, and few could achieve this. Each of them can be called a hero."

"You think I am a hero?"

Kael chuckled in disbelief. "Rogal Dorn. Is this a joke?"

"I do not joke,"

Dorn replied calmly. "We have chatted long enough. If you have no further questions, I must go and repair that door."

He raised his hand, pointing behind the Sanctuary.

Kael couldn't help but burst into laughter.

How interesting, how interesting.

"Then, thank you," he said softly.

Dorn did not reply.

The reason was simple—he didn't know if Kael was thanking him for repairing the door or for calling him a hero.

But, either way, he felt it was not worthy of thanks.

Fulgrim clenched his right hand, then felt a sharp pain.

He pursed his lips.

Then, he opened his palm, and a pendant appeared within it. Gazing at it, the Chemosian's expression was somewhat melancholic. This melancholy was actually the result of his strenuous efforts to conceal it.

After all, Ferrus Manus was not far away, tapping something with his right hand with a rhythmic clinking sound.

Closing his eyes, Fulgrim clenched his right hand again. The pain struck, yet he exhaled as if relieved.

"If I were you, I'd choose to rest early,"

Ferrus said without looking up. "You're draining your emotions, which won't benefit what you have to do tomorrow."

".But how can I sleep, Gorgon?"

"You can find your own way."

Ferrus Manus replied unceremoniously. "Watching me forge weapons here is not a good choice."

Fulgrim couldn't help but show a wistful smile. "But I want to watch."

"Then watch."

The giant, known as Gorgon, looked up, glancing at his brother amidst his busy work. "You won't stop until you've suffered, I know you too well."

"Oh—what does that mean?"

"It means you have to smash that handsome forehead of yours into something before you'll ever know what pain is."

"What do you mean, 'where is it handsome'? It is merely one part that constitutes my handsomeness!"

"Mm."

"Mm? What is that 'mm' supposed to mean?"

"You don't seem so sleepy now."

Ferrus shook his head. "But I must still advise you: get some rest, or you will stand before Konrad Curze tomorrow looking haggard and utterly devoid of decorum."

"I haven't had any decorum left for him in a long time."

The man from Chemos turned over gloomily, lying prone on the sofa with a sigh. "He must hate me to the core right now."

"Mm."

"What are you 'mm-ing' at again?!"

"I don't know how to answer you, but leaving you hanging doesn't seem right, seeing as you aren't yourself right now."

The smith with the pair of metallic arms paused his work. He turned around and began rummaging through the workbench behind him, all while continuing to answer Fulgrim.

"However, since you mentioned hate—would you like to hear my understanding of it?"

"Of course," Fulgrim said, sounding uninterested. "The Gorgon's hatred is the most intense of all."

"Konrad Curze does not hate you at all."

Ferrus Manus stopped his movements with a grave expression and turned to glance at him. "If he hated you, he would loathe you; he would despise you. But when he walked out that door today, he carried a sense of disappointment, not those two emotions."

"How can you see it so clearly?"

"I am a bystander," Ferrus replied calmly. "So, naturally, I can see it clearly."

"But—"

"—There are no 'buts,' Fulgrim. If you don't want me to call you Fulgrim, then get out, go back to your room to rest, and face tomorrow's lesson for our brothers with a fresh mindset."

"But."

Ferrus glared at him dangerously. "If you say one more word, I will say it immediately."

"Is that a threat?"

"It is a statement of fact," Ferrus said sternly. "Get out, quickly."

The man from Chemos walked to the doorway of his brother's room, reluctant and slow to leave. The Gorgon, with his cold exterior, let out a sigh only after the door had closed.

It was such a simple question, requiring only a simple response to arrive at the correct answer—why can you not see it, Fulgrim?

Konrad Curze does not hate you at all; if he hated you, he would not be so disappointed in you.

He sighed and returned to his work, forging this weapon intended as a gift.

A sneak attack.

That is just how the Night Lords are.

(Alright, the truth is I had things to do during the day, so I've been writing until now to update early.)

Additionally, what does everyone think of the pacing? Is it dragging? Or is it normal? I have considered fast-forwarding straight to the killing, but after some thought, I decided to write it with more nuance.

After all, these people are far too twisted; without writing with nuance, there is no way to make their transformation seem reasonable.