Round Table Viewing (II)

[You stink, Wraith, that's why. 🎁☟ ♟😾 I remember we agreed that you need to pay attention to your personal hygiene.]

[You have no choice, child, you have no choice! A fool's dream! The established facts cannot be changed, you must obey! You are destined to be covered in blood, infamous, only in this way can you become--]

Do you know what a time bomb is, Wraith?

Get out. I have nothing to give you, I have no desires for you to exploit. Get out! Get out! Stay away from him!

[Don't cry, Barry. Crying is a human privilege, and you don't.]

[Karyl, they're not human, but why are they crying?]

[You must learn to reject them, Wraith. This instinct, talent, or curse that grants a fleeting glimpse into the future. It exists because of you; you are its master. Take control of it, okay?]

[. goodbye.]

The light screen flickered, the image dimmed, and the pale blue Radiance slowly faded away.

Around the round table, the Primarch fell into a strange and eerie silence. No one spoke, yet their eyes met. One hesitated to speak, another hesitated to speak, and yet another hesitated to speak.

Their reactions varied: some clenched their fists, some remained expressionless, and others were gritting their teeth. Upon closer examination, however, they shared only one thing in common—they all stared silently at someone at the round table.

Konrad Curze Curze observed them from behind his long, thin, dark hair for one second, two seconds, three seconds.

He suddenly grinned and leaped up from the huge armchair. It wasn't a natural jump, but a premeditated leap that landed heavily, as if to attract everyone's attention.

But that doesn't make any sense; he had already received the most attention.

But he didn't care about any of that. He jumped straight onto the round table, the hem of his black robe rubbing rapidly against the surface.

He took two or three steps to the videotape that was emitting a blue light, and with a light kick of his toe, sent it flying high into the air. A pale hand then emerged from the wide sleeve of his robe and firmly grasped the videotape.

Five sharp fingernails began to rub thoughtfully against its black surface.

"What are you going to do, brother?" Horus Lupercal asked worriedly.

He was worried about his brother's feelings, as well as the whereabouts of the videotape; he didn't know what Curze would do with it.

To be honest, they hadn't known each other for very long, and they weren't really familiar with each other, after all, Konrad Curze Curze was one of the latecomers among the Primarch.

However, from the few words the Emperor uttered, he was still able to discern the general character of this brother, with whom they were not very familiar, as well as his current age.

Judging from the "deeds" Horus heard, it would not be an exaggeration to describe Konrad Curze Curze's character as obsessive.

Of course, he wouldn't use age to judge the maturity of someone's mind. For ordinary people, this approach is fine, but for the Primarch, it's extremely foolish.

The age of Primarch is essentially an illusion; they do not need at least a decade of mental and physical development to mature.

They were products born from the laboratory, inherently possessing potential; they were created with a mission, a fact the Emperor made no attempt to conceal.

Konrad Curze Curze did not answer his question.

He merely examined the videotape in his hands with great interest, completely unconcerned that he was still standing on the round table. Several seconds later, he finally spoke, though his tone was somewhat peculiar, and he still didn't take Horus's question seriously.

"A master liar." He pondered, looking at the videotape in his hand. "You are indeed a master storyteller, even I cannot deny that. But all of this is fake, it never happened."

He opened his palm, placed the videotape horizontally in it, and began to toss it up and down as if he were handling a blade or a toy.

His flippant attitude triggered a chain reaction; the Primarch's expressions turned serious, and some were even prepared to salvage the videotape from their strange brother. However, this videotape clearly didn't need their intervention.

As it was dangerously tossed into the air once more, a faint blue light suddenly burst forth from the dark surface of the videotape. It flashed by in an instant, yet was extremely intense, illuminating the entire room in that brief moment.

Konrad Curze Curze couldn't help but squint, staggering back a few steps. The videotape fell vertically, but made no sound as it hit the round table; only a faint, almost imperceptible buzzing.

In the Primarch's view, it floated in mid-air.

"Oh"

Konrad Curze Curze pulled out his fangs from behind his lips with satisfaction.

"Interesting."

He laughed loudly, but did nothing more with the videotape. Instead, he returned to his seat and began pressing his fingers around his eye sockets. His movements were far from gentle, making one wonder if he would gouge out his own eyes with his sharp fingernails at any moment.

The light screen flickered, and a line of small text rose again.

[Do you have a reading disability? Yes, I'm talking about you, Konrad Curze Curze.]

The person whose name was called tilted his head, his eyes like two dark searchlights. He thought seriously for a while before giving his answer.

"I don't think so. I probably have multiple mental illnesses and at least one psychiatric disorder, but I don't think I have dyslexia."

So, do you have amnesia?

"No."

[Temporary amnesia?]

"I'm not seriously injured, you little thing, are you trying to become a doctor?" Curze replied bluntly.

He seemed amused and began laughing so hard in his chair that it made one question his mental state.

[I don't intend to be a doctor, but you definitely have some kind of mental problem, you rude, weird, pale, psychopathic bastard.]

[Didn't I say beforehand that this story has nothing to do with you? In fact, everything that might be told next has nothing to do with you. And you're still accusing me of being a liar? What? Were you hurt by the plot or characters in the story?]

"It's really harsh," Leman Russ Russ muttered. "But—"

He looked at Konrad Curze Curze: "--You really haven't met someone named Karyl Lohars?"

This statement hit the nail on the head. At the same time, almost all the Primarch turned their gazes to Konrad Curze Curze, while their pale brother suddenly stopped smiling.

"No," he shrugged, hissing as he answered. "I forgive your repeated question, Leman Russ Russ. But I have indeed never seen such a person."

"And what about the House Lohars he mentioned?" asked Rogal Dorn, Inwit man with short, gray-white hair, his still-young face possessing a calmness that was clearly beyond his years.

"No, not either." Curze chuckled, his voice soft yet chilling. Of course, to his brothers, it was merely enough to make them frown.

"I spent eight years and nine Terra months in Nostramo, and every disobedient nobleman died at my hands. But, neither of those surviving spineless dogs nor those who have died had the surname 'Lohars,' and, frankly, don't you think that name is a bit too difficult to pronounce?"

Rogal Dorn nodded, not approving of his attempt to change the subject, and began his analysis on his own.

"This strange, self-aware machine, which seems to Abominable Intelligence, comes from my father. He instructed us to watch this story. And it warned us long before it even began."

"It warns us that these stories have nothing to do with us and never happened, yet it seems to be true. At least for now, we have no evidence to prove the existence of this man Karyl Khalil Lohars."

"Parallel universes?" another person speculated. "Perhaps these stories are a facet of our original destiny. I've read books where similar speculations have been proposed."

His tone was enthusiastic, his eyes sparkled, and his completely flushed face was full of smiles, as if he were very happy to have such a discussion.

"It's not impossible." Another person joined the discussion, speaking very cautiously, but what they said was quite a long speech.

"I've also seen some scholars discuss this topic in Macragge, but I think their theories are simply too flimsy. They believe that any choice made by any person at any time can lead to a completely different future."

"Imagine a farmer who has a habit of drinking a glass of water before leaving home every morning. He has maintained this habit for twenty years, and then one day he forgets about it. His world's future is thus altered—perhaps for the better, perhaps for the worse."

"He might go out and find a piece of gold, or he might see a meteorite fall from the sky and hit him. But what if he chooses to keep drinking water? Or what if he chooses to drink two glasses of water, or give this glass to his wife and pour himself another? What would the world be like then? It doesn't make sense, does it?"

He stood up, waving his arms earnestly, hoping to begin a deeper explanation for his brothers, completely ignoring the impatience already showing on some of their faces. He clearly hadn't yet realized that these men were Primarch like him, and that they possessed the same intelligence.

Then someone interrupted him.

"What do you take us for? Idiots?" Perturabo from Olympia said coldly. "We've all read books, you rich boy from Macragge, can you stop flaunting your shallow sense of superiority?"

Roboute Guilliman frowned sharply. "I'm not some rich kid. My adoptive parents may be of high status, but integrity is a must. Don't you agree with that?"

Perturabo's sneer widened, "Did I discuss this with you? I'm just asking you to stop your insults."

"I had absolutely no such intention--"

"--Yes! It's like we've never been to school!" the Olympia scoffed, his tone extremely sharp. "Proud, innocent, carefree, with high-status foster parents, an incredibly affluent childhood!"

"When you discuss these things, have you thought about other people? Have you thought about that pale Ghost sitting over there? Whether Karyl Lohars in the story even exists is debatable, but the environment of Nostramo is not far removed from our reality."

"He lived in such a place for 105 months, while you're discussing how many books you've read, the advanced theories you've acquired from scholars, and your high-ranking adoptive parents?"

Roboute Guilliman stood up.

"I demand an apology." His face was deathly pale, but his cheeks were flushed as he demanded, his hands clenched tightly at his sides. "Your behavior is extremely rude."

"Is it more rude than you? I demand you apologize to him first," Perturabo continued mockingly. "If you're unwilling, I suggest you reflect on what you just did, and why you've been so reluctant to come to Terra."

Horus frowned. The situation had gone too far, yet someone else had preemptively intervened to mediate—this person was even one of the parties involved.

Honestly, I don't really care.

Konrad Curze Curze leaned back, propping his feet up on the edge of the round table. He looked up at the ceiling, his gaze vacant, and made strange noises from his throat as he spoke.

"You're only demanding an apology from him because you want to use this opportunity to put him down. You don't like him, huh?" Curze strangely straightened his back, looking at the gloomy-faced Perturabo with a contorted posture. "Did something he said offend you?"

Roboute Guilliman suddenly realized what was going on and looked at Perturabo, who remained silent.

"I see, you—"

"--Don't rush to refute me, rich young master." Curze grinned at him. "You're not much better, are you? He's not wrong, you are indeed full of arrogance. You're both scoundrels, of course."

He spread his hands out and placed them on the armrests of the chair, while simultaneously pushing off with his feet, leisurely playing a game of balance. His arms were so long that he could easily poke the ground directly during the process, making a sharp sound.

The Primarch looked at him with varying expressions, waiting for what would happen next.

"We're all rotten people, actually," Konrad Curze Curze said melancholically. "I've been observing you for two weeks, and I haven't seen a single person who fits his description."

"He sent me to this so-called Holy Terra and told me I had many excellent brothers. By his standards, on my way here I thought I would see some real heroes and great men, at least far superior to me."

"In the end, they were either killers like me, soft-hearted blacksmiths, or hot-tempered theorists—were we really the Primarch? Did he pick the wrong people?"

Horus gave the "blacksmith" a disapproving look, but Vulkan wasn't angry. He just smiled at him and patted the "assassin" Collaus Corax sitting next to him on the shoulder.

The latter showed a stiffness of discomfort, but remained in place, letting the large, dark hands rest on his shoulders. Finally, there was the "hot-tempered theorist," the Olympia who, unusually, suppressed his anger and stood silently with his arms crossed.

[. Wonderful.]

The light screen vibrated, drawing everyone's attention. Some who were about to speak lost their chance, and the text appeared and continued to flow.

[What a brilliant psychological analysis! How many people have you interrogated and tortured to acquire such insight? It's astonishing. It seems that, no matter what, Konrad Curze Curze was destined to be a born Judgment. But how well do you really understand yourself?]

"That's none of your concern," Curze replied with a forced smile.

[I'm afraid I have to trouble you, but you've really ruined the atmosphere of this special screening. You've been all over the place, stirring up trouble, while glossing over your own shortcomings. What do you really think of this story, Konrad Curze Curze?]

"Do I have to answer?" Curze asked impatiently. "You're pissing me off, you—"

A flash of blue light enveloped him, causing no real harm or restraint, but another line of text appeared on the light screen.

[I thought they would be different, you liar. The future I see will remain unchanged; those illusions will still come true, one by one. A noble demigod is about to wreak havoc on the entire galaxy, and countless people will die tragically. What justice is there then?]

Konrad Curze Curze suddenly fell silent.

[How about that? Speechless? That suits me just the way it is; you really should keep quiet for a while.]

"It can read minds?! It read minds without the aid of technology!" Crimson Magnus suddenly shouted. "What it just said—wait, Konrad Curze, 'Calamity in the Galaxy'? What are you thinking?"

He belatedly uttered those words, only then realizing his slowness, because most of his brothers had already stood up.

"Calamity to the galaxy?" Rogal Dorn asked, his brows furrowed. "Who? Konrad Curze? Who?"

"This person must believe he possesses some kind of qualification," the hooded Barbarus said in a hoarse voice. "And a lust for power, harboring arrogance. Our current predicament is all too much like those so-called princely power struggles, isn't it?"

He seemed to be implying something.

"Instead of something that's still far from certain, why not ask about the illusion?" Leman Russ Russ asked seemingly lazily. "If that line truly reflects Konrad Curze's inner thoughts, then he has seen the future."

Lorgar Aurelian, his face flushed, growled, "Who dares to attempt to overthrow Father's divine realm?!"

Jaghatai Khan remained silent, stroking his long beard as if deep in thought.

Ferrus Manus sat in his seat with his arms crossed and an indifferent expression, seemingly unconcerned about the matter.

Fulgrim was worried, but he still maintained his composure; Ferrus Manus's calmness seemed to comfort him to some extent.

Roboute Guilliman looked around, his expression serious, seemingly lost in thought.

Lion Aljonson stared intently at Mortarion, his right hand, gloved with leather, rhythmically tapping the table.

Angron covered his forehead, and suddenly, specks of crimson blood welled up from the white tubes on his head. The medicine used to treat the aftereffects of Butcher's Nails was being replaced little by little by the blood gushing out from his emotional state.

Vulkan concern, while Kolus Corax, who was leaning over beside him, whispered something in his ear.

The latter nodded and vanished in a black shadow.

Alpharius remained strangely silent, though a faint smile seemed to linger at the corners of his mouth.

Horus took it all in, then turned and softly asked his most trusted brother, "What are your thoughts, Sanguinius?"

The archangel with wings on his back did not answer; he remained silent.

However, Konrad Curze Curze, at the center of the storm, showed no sign of nervousness. He simply put his legs down and returned to his chair.

He tilted his head back, coldly staring at the light screen that projected the words correctly from any angle. His fingers were interlaced in front of his chest, his sharp nails digging deep into the back of his hands, blood trickling out and dripping down his fingers, sliding vertically down his black robe, which resembled a cloak.

"May you all sit down?" the light screen politely requested.

No one responded, only the discussions grew increasingly heated. The videotape spun around helplessly, unleashing a terrifying shockwave.

In a mere instant, it forced all the Primarch back into their chairs. Even Kolus Corax, who had already vanished into a shadow and left the room, suddenly reappeared inside, sitting down in his chair with a look of astonishment on his face.

The Emperor's sons opened their mouths, trying to speak, but no matter how hard they tried, they could not utter a sound.

Only the hum of the light screen continued.

[What a hassle, I even have to babysit the kids for my trading partners. If I hadn't already received my money, I really wouldn't want to bother with you all—anyway, look closely, my esteemed Imperium demigods.]

[Your brother Konrad Curze Curze possesses a terrifying prophetic ability; he can uncontrollably see the specific future of certain people and events. But I must make it clear that these foolish prophecies are essentially devoid of any guiding value.]

[They are pure nightmares and illusions. If anyone chooses to believe these one-sided views, they will gain nothing but torment. Don't be a fool, okay?]

There's no such thing as a predetermined future. You need to look at so-called fate from a more rational and calm perspective. Once you understand this, you'll find that fate is nothing more than a cheap trick that can be strangled. It's all about human effort.

[Alright, that concludes our little lesson on comforting people. What did you think of that story?]

[Or, what do you think of Karyl Lohars as a person? Do you like the character? Do you find him obsessive, self-righteous, burdened with a strange sense of superiority, and possessing an insatiable desire to sacrifice himself?]

No one answered; the Primarch looked at each other, none of them choosing to speak.

You could have spoken much earlier.

"Do we really need to discuss this? We're actually more concerned with something else right now," Rogal Dorn asked seriously. "Could you give us a little time to confirm things about the prophecies and visions before we get back to this... the film?"

[Very polite, I like you very much, Rogal Dorn. Unfortunately, I'm afraid I cannot agree. I am very committed to my contracts, and your father's request is for me to play the stories in a loop until all the stories on the list have been played.]

[Oh, right, he was the one who asked you to give your opinions after reading each story. This has nothing to do with me. I'd love for you to forget about it as soon as you're done.]

"Well, if we must say it," even Dorn sighed more clearly, "I think he's extreme, but also noble. Every choice he made was justifiable; in fact, even if he chose to go mad, I think that would probably be justifiable as well."

[Okay, okay--] The light screen flickered twice perfunctorily, clearly just as it had said, showing little interest in the Primarch's opinions. [--Next? Who's next?]

Hesitantly, Magnus raised his right hand.

[Oh, what a good student! Come on, let's hear from you.]

"I think he clearly doesn't know himself well enough. Psionic power is not what he describes as a 'time bomb.' If he could spend a little time studying his own powers, he would find that psionic power could completely save Nostramo."

Mortarion snorted and immediately began to retort.

"Then how do you explain the voice he heard? The voice that promised him everything, and the wariness he showed towards this matter?"

"Also, I hope you don't forget Konrad Curze —I mean the Wraith —the scream he let out when he used his powers, and those words: 'The Fool's dream is full of threats.' That's what you get for using psionic powers, Magnus."

"You're too old-fashioned, Mortarion," Magnus said earnestly, his eyes shining. "You clearly didn't pay attention in Father's psionic lessons. He made it clear that something exists in the Great Ocean, and it's something very evil. But if we're careful in everything we do, and our will is strong enough, they can't do anything to us."

"Ha." Mortarion nodded with a cold laugh. "How resolute is this Karyl Lohars?"

Magnus was speechless for a moment.

"Even in that environment, he clung to an almost pedantic moral compass, preferring to eat nutritional paste rather than the obviously higher-energy rats. The reason isn't hard to guess, is it? Simply because they had eaten corpses."

"Even if he's a madman, he's a rare and determined one. He'll still be given an opportunity because of a momentary lapse in judgment. How do you think you're any better than him?"

Magnus fell silent, lost in thought. He seemed to want to say something, but his furrowed brows prevented him from continuing to refute Mortarion. After a while, he surprisingly nodded in agreement.

"You're right," he said. "I do have some disagreements, but I still disagree with some of your points. After the next psionic class, I'll go and ask Malcador for his opinion. I hope you'll be there too."

The Barbarus gave him a gloomy look and said nothing in return.

[Next person, please speak.] The light screen lazily tossed out word after word. [This time, please skip the debate. I just want to hear your conclusions, not long-winded speeches. Keep it concise, okay? Who wants to speak?]

"I'll do it." Konrad Curze Curze coldly raised his right hand.

He tossed his hair to clear the stray strands from his forehead. Now everyone could see his dark eyes. It was difficult to find any emotion in such eyes, but it became much easier when considered in conjunction with his facial expressions.

All the Primarch clearly saw the complex emotions on Konrad Curze Curze's face at that moment. It was a strange expression that mixed disgust, pity, and incomprehension, but it seemed to be more than that.

He deserved to die.

The Nostramo man hissed, his accent still unchanged, his tone soft and gentle, yet his words were chilling, like an autumn drizzle seeping into the heart.

"Pursuing justice in a world like this is foolish enough, yet he expects more. He wants to fundamentally change Nostramo, but that's simply impossible."

"This planet has been utterly consumed by sin, and only fear and oppression can achieve a semblance of justice. If we are to ensure that a civilian can sleep peacefully tonight and have food to eat tomorrow, then at least ten gang members must be tortured to death while he sleeps."

"This kind of bloody justice is already the limit of what Nostramo can tolerate. And what is he thinking? To reform society? And to expect the Night Haunter to do it? What a pipe dream!"

He raised his head and gave a seemingly arrogant sneer. He completely ignored his brothers' gazes and continued talking to himself.

"So he deserved to die, did you hear that, little thing? His death proves that Nostramo is beyond redemption, and even more so, it proves that justice simply doesn't exist!"

"What we have been pursuing is nothing but a delusion; otherwise, how can we explain his death? Such a man can die, must die! Because he was born in Nostramo, he will die a tormented death."

"How ridiculous, he's still preoccupied with Night Haunter?"

Konrad Curze Curze burst into laughter.

"Ha, just wait and see. In a few years, he'll be a completely different person, ruling the world with absolute tyranny and fear. He'll go mad from the stark contrast between his teachings and reality! And I'll stand on my Nostramo and laugh out loud at both of them."

You talk too much.

The laughter stopped abruptly.

[But since you've brought it up this far, I think it would be a bit unreasonable not to show you what happens next. And coincidentally, it's also on our story list. So, do you still want to read on?]

I originally wanted to create a new volume to store the side stories, but it seems Qidian doesn't support volume sorting, so I'll just post it directly.

There will be one more chapter of the main text this afternoon.