49. Chronicles of the Warband Era (10, Calth, Ten Thousand

The war is over, people will always say that, and things like that. 🍫🍫 🐍🎉 Whenever they say that, Buster Thorne feels a sharp, stabbing pain in his head.

This phenomenon has occurred many times in his 32 years of life so far, with a very high frequency. And right now, while he's busy smashing rocks with his pickaxe, someone said it again.

And so the headache returned.

The man's supposedly quiet, resentful muttering gave Buster a splitting headache and also made him uncontrollably angry.

"They're insane, that's why they keep us from coming to the surface. What's so good about living down here in these tunnels? My mom told me there's sunlight on the surface, I don't know what that is, but it's definitely better than these damn lights Battle of Calth is over, why are they still doing this?"

Before we begin, you need to know a few things about Buster Thorne.

To put it simply, he was born in Calth Underground, joined the army as soon as he came of age, served for many years, and was only forced to retire three months ago.

His superiors bluntly stated that Buster Thorne deserved a better life after that series of misfortunes. But this was just a pretext; the truth was that they all agreed Buster needed to be postponed.

But Buster was very puzzled by this.

He couldn't understand why his superiors had kicked him back down into the tunnels to live with these ungrateful bastards. In his mind, he should stay in the army and continue fighting for the Emperor, Roboute Guilliman, and Calth.

He deserves a better life, doesn't he? In his view, a "better life" for him means going into battle, continuing to wield a light gun, and fighting to protect others.

Buster stopped, letting the pickaxe fall to the ground with a thud. Then he turned to look at the man in the line of workers who had just been speaking.

This is the person he swore to protect.

"Shut up," he said.

"Oh, soldier!"

The man quickly raised his hands and called out his nickname. His sweaty face held an expression somewhere between mockery, anger, and fear. In Buster's view, this expression could be called cowardice.

He dared not admit that he was complaining, nor did he want to simply back down. He was afraid of what Buster might do to him, yet he wanted to maintain his dignity in front of his fellow workers. This dilemma left him in a bind and made him look quite ridiculous now.

"I'll apologize—" the man smiled weakly, putting on a nonchalant expression. "I was just joking, you don't need to be angry."

"I'm not angry with you. If I were, you'd be lying on the ground right now. Your right hand would be broken, your ribs would be kicked in the ground with my boots, and I'd dig every single tooth out of that damn mouth of yours with a pickaxe."

As Buster spoke, he raised the pickaxe in his hand. It fell to the ground again, producing a dull echo. This echo, along with Buster's words, reverberated through the tunnel, among the rubble, the workers, and the man's ears.

All the workers are watching him now.

Twenty-one people, a small team, were dispatched from the Om City beneath Calth to clean up the tunnel that had collapsed due to the earthquake. Their job was to clear the rubble; as for repairs, that was the work of the other workers.

Within the city, or rather, beneath Calth, there is never a shortage of jobs. Whether it's the ongoing excavation work that has lasted for ten thousand years, or the expansion of the city and the cultivation of fungi, people are always busy.

The team, led by Buster, set off at six in the morning before the sun was visible, and arrived at their work location after three hours. It was now five in the evening.

They ate two meals of mushroom soup and their allocated temporary rations. Barring any unforeseen circumstances, they could work for another hour and then go home to enjoy their day off the next day.

But Buster didn't want a vacation, nor did he want to let off so easily for this person who had complained so many times.

He'd had enough.

He had only been in office for three months, yet he had already heard far too many of these rumors. People were very dissatisfied with them and the Astartes, as if they were the ones who had been harming the Calth.

"Do you have some grievance against the Calth's Sons or against us?" Buster asked indignantly.

"What—? No! No! Of course not, of course I didn't!" The man was even more frightened, and he raised his voice to express his true thoughts.

In his eyes, Buster saw an unmistakable retreat. He could almost read it in his mind, "Don't do this, soldier, I apologize, please stop."

But Buster was determined to continue; some things, once started, have no turning back.

"But you do sound like you are," Buster said. "And not just your average complaints. Since I was transferred to the unit three months ago, I've seen and heard you complain a full two hundred and forty-six times."

"Clearly, this idea didn't just spring into your head today. You really want to go up to the surface and see what's going on, don't you?"

The man's face flushed red, and an indescribable emotion was brewing on his pale face, like all the Calth.

Buster released his grip, letting the pickaxe fall to the ground. He straightened his dirty work clothes and then approached him.

He met his gaze.

"Now let me tell you something. Your mother is right, there is indeed sunlight on the earth's surface, but it's not the sunlight you imagine. Sunlight is poisonous; it can bake a person alive or cook them. Do you know the difference between the two?"

The man shook his head, shook it vigorously, and sweat splattered everywhere.

"The former means immediate death, the latter means later death. You have to wear protective gear to walk around in that kind of sun. So that's the sun, Gottlin, the sun on the surface can bake you alive. But besides that, do you know what else is on the surface?"

"I... I don't know, sir."

"And those damn bastard traitors," Buster said.

He turned to look around and saw that the workers had all gathered around. They were all very pale, and usually had poor eyesight; their hands were long, and their nails were hard enough to shatter some not-so-hard stones.

Buster himself was like that, as were all those born beneath Calth. It is said that the Calth were not like that ten thousand years ago.

Now, the workers are whispering in alarm, not for any other reason than the word "traitor" that Buster uttered. Those two words struck them like a heavy hammer, causing them excruciating pain, leaving them only able to cry out.

"I don't know where they came from, and I don't care, but they're on the surface of the earth. They're covered in festering sores, their skin is rough like leather, they wear human skin, and all they do is scream incoherently."

"And you, Gottlin, do you know what you'd experience if they discovered you the moment you stepped onto the surface?"

Before he could answer, Buster began to explain himself.

"You'll be eaten," he said calmly. "They'll start with your nose; I've seen it with my own eyes. They really enjoy biting off other people's noses."

The workers' screams ceased, replaced by a sound of gasping for air in fear. The underground caves were never short of ghost stories; the unstable, flickering light, the whistling wind, the dim tunnels—these elements were perfect vehicles for creating an atmosphere of terror.

Moreover, what Buster told was even scarier than ghost stories. Because his stories were based on his own experiences, he recounted them in a straightforward and sharp manner, as if they were knives.

"Before I retired, these bastards stormed into one of our ground fortresses. We fought them head-on, but they were too fast; they could reach you in the blink of an eye and pounce on you."

"They would shove their fingers down your throat, then bite off your nose, your cheeks, and your tongue. They would start by eating your face, and then move on to the other parts. I saw it with my own eyes."

"So tell me now, why do you think we won't let you go to the surface?"

Gottlin swallowed hard.

"Ha, so the fuck is over?"

As Buster spoke, he suddenly laughed. He was trembling slightly, not for any other reason than pure anger.

He managed to suppress his emotions well, but he couldn't help feeling a surge of anger—my troops died protecting you, Calth's Sons died protecting you, and now you turn around and accuse us of taking away your freedom?

"The war will never end!" Buster roared. "Do you want to know when it will end?!"

With tears welling in his eyes, Gottlin stammered, "I, I, I want to, sir."

"The Battle of Calth will never end unless the last Word Bearers bastard and the last of their Auxilia bastards die!" Buster roared.

At that moment, his voice didn't sound like his own; rather, it sounded like that of a sergeant, the Calth's Sons, whom he had once met. In fact, that was also a line from that sergeant's speech.

Buster memorized it, combining it with the history of the Calth battles he had learned at the Loyal Heirs Academy, which in turn forged a deep-seated hatred.

Unlike these civilians, Buster knew what he was fighting for. It was because of this that he was able to hold out alone for a week in that besieged ground fortress.

He should have been promoted for this, rising from sergeant to company commander, even his superiors said so, but his promotion was halted because Buster maintained absolute honesty.

He didn't hide anything. Even though he was lying in a hospital bed at the time, he insisted on dictating the entire process of his defense of the position to the officers who came to investigate.

He was trapped inside, with no shortage of ammunition, and five automatic sentry guns and two loader Servitor by his side, but he had no food. At that time, most of the fortress had been captured, and only the small area he was defending remained unconquered.

The traitors tempted him with the food stored in the storehouse, trying to persuade Bust to surrender, but he refused.

Yes, he had no food with him, but he had many dead brothers with him.

According to Buster himself, it was "the dead who asked him to do it," a statement that led to his diagnosis of mental illness.

After recovering from his injury, Buster was immediately forced to retire and then assigned a job. To this day, he still harbors resentment about it, not because he failed to get promoted, but because no one believed in him.

He really heard the voices of the dead.

"From this moment on, I don't want to hear another word of bullshit coming out of your mouth," Buster said to Gottlin, his eyes bloodshot.

His voice had changed from a roar to a normal tone, but this only made his words sound more terrifying. The threat was palpable.

Buster turned back to his pickaxe, picked it up, and continued working. He knew his words and actions that day would be reported, but he didn't care anymore.

Right is right, and wrong is wrong; he didn't want to be on the same team as someone like Gottlin.

He kept swinging the pickaxe to vent his anger, each swing heavier and faster than the last. After more than ten minutes, the last piece of stone was broken, the rubble was swept aside, and the light from the emergency lights flickered at both ends of the tunnel.

But at that moment, Buster caught a glimpse of a murky outline. He raised the lamp at his waist and saw a statue.

It was an Ultramarines holding a military flag, his face blurred, yet he miraculously survived the tunnel collapse unscathed. Buster approached it and saw the statue's name on its base.

Ventanus, Captain of the Fourth Company Ultramarines, the first Chapter Master of the Calth's Sons, and a hero of Calth.

Buster put down the lamp and began to run his right fingers along the belt. He wanted to place the lamp on the base of the statue so he could see the details better.

As Calth, he certainly knew Remas Ventanus; it was fair to say that without him, the inhabitants of Calth would never have been able to regain their footing in the underground caverns. It was he who led the Calth in their relentless struggle, ultimately holding out until the main force of the Ultramarines returned to provide support.

With a reverent heart, Buster gently tapped the heels of his boots, intending to offer Aquila Salute, but at that moment, a cold wind blew from the end of the dark tunnel.

It was coming from behind the statue of Ventanus, so cold it was almost speechless, which was completely illogical. Every underground tunnel in Calth was equipped with heating, and even if this section was damaged due to a temporary collapse, the temperature should not have dropped so quickly.

Buster's hands, which were about to be raised, stopped at his waist. He stared straight at the darkness. The searchlight beam shone steadily from behind the reinforced glass, dividing the darkness into uneven patches. The wind continued to blow, even growing stronger.

In the end, not only him, but even the workers who were packing up to board the transport truck back to Om City felt the chill. They stopped what they were doing and looked over in surprise and uncertainty.

Then, a large hand reached out from the darkness and gently took Buster's lamp.

"Hello." Someone whispered quietly in the darkness, and two scarlet dots suddenly lit up. "Excuse me, could you tell me how to get to the nearest city?"

The workers responded with screams, while Buster responded with a desperate charge and a roar.

"Run!"

--

I'm so sorry to have caused such inconvenience.

Within the intricate network of underground caverns beneath Calth, in the fortified monastery of the Calth's Sons Chapter, Jago Sevatarion spoke slowly.

"But we had no choice. Your underground caves are more complex than a maze, and the communication system is unusable due to electromagnetic signal interference. We can't even contact you. We had no other option but to resort to this."

Hectorus Kargio, Chapter Master of the Calth's Sons, nodded expressionlessly.

This wasn't because of anything else, or because he didn't believe Sevatar's explanation; it was simply because he hadn't yet grasped the current situation.

This morning, he was still racking his brains about how to organize the next offensive to counterattack the surface, but then, that night, a full five hundred Night Lords appeared on Calth.

Not only that, but even the five Chapter Master personally led the teams. Even the legendary Jago Sevatarion came in person, and for a moment he almost thought that some damned great Daemon was about to appear on Calth to cause this situation.

After a long pause, Kargio realized he should say something instead of remaining silent. So he coughed laboriously and began trying to organize his thoughts.

"Well, first of all— Calth welcomes you all, but there's something I really don't understand. Forgive my rudeness, but my dear cousins, I'd like to know how you all got to Calth?"

"The deadly storms and our cancerous sun have made this area of space extremely dangerous; even the damned Tyranids don't want to come here. Our Gene-Father hold dozens of meetings every year to discuss how to supply Calth, and you... just like that, you arrived in Calth? Where are your ships?"

"We didn't come by boat," Sevatar said.

He showed a rare hint of melancholy, and it was so obvious that even someone as unfamiliar with him as Kargio noticed it immediately.

The Calth's Sons felt a chill run down his spine, beginning to worry about his suspicions. Unlike most of the Imperium's world, Calth had never been a peaceful place. Since the attack ten thousand years ago, the wars that had taken place there had never ended.

The Calth not only have to face a harsh environment, a toxic sun, and the mutated descendants of the savage Auxilia left behind by the Word Bearers, but they also have to be constantly wary of the Word Bearers who still have their eyes on Calth.

The worst part is that they also have to worry about the ever-present invasion of Chaos.

Over the course of ten thousand years, at least a thousand cults have traveled across the ocean to Calth to perform their so-called ascension rites in order to summon Daemon.

The fact that a cult could move freely between Imperium was already terrifying enough, but for it to make a special trip to Calth was even more inconceivable—and according to the Ultramarines' think Librarian, this was because Calth had undergone some kind of conceptual upgrade.

→

In this millennia-long war, Calth was among the first worlds to bleed and one of the most tragically devastated, with countless Ultramarines and vile Word Bearers dying there.

From this perspective, it can explain why Calth had such a strong appeal to Cultists.

But this caused great suffering for the Calth, as well as the Ultramarines, the Calth's Sons, who were stationed in Calth.

"In short, we didn't come by boat," Sevatar sighed, repeating, interrupting Kargio's thoughts.

He looked up at the true veteran and asked sincerely, "Forgive my ignorance, Lord Sevatar, but how exactly did you get here?"

Sevatar paused for a moment, then said, "If I told you that just a day ago we were drinking and eating with the Space Wolves in Fenris, would you believe me?"

"If anyone else had told me this, I'd probably think they were crazy," Kargio replied, half-jokingly.

"But that's the truth. We didn't come by ship, nor did we come here specifically for this purpose. In fact, if this were Daemon invasion requiring the combined efforts of all five Night Lords Chapter, you would have received an order from the Macragge's Honour long ago."

"But you haven't received such an order, or even anything like it, have you? Therefore, I'm telling you, the reason we've gathered here is not to deal with the Daemon invasion."

"You've missed the point of my question. What I want to know is, how exactly did you all get to Calth?"

Sevatar said expressionlessly, "Since you insist on knowing the answer, fine—portal."

Kargio was visibly taken aback.

"Excuse me, sir, did I hear you correctly?"

"No, Chapter Master Kargio, you heard me right. We came via a portal. As for what kind of portal, who opened it, or what type of portal it is, I can only say no."

"It's not that I don't want to tell you, but I can't explain things that I don't even understand myself. Anyway, we got to Calth through a portal on Fenris, isn't that amazing?"

After saying this with a half-smile, Jago Sevatarion leaned back on the guest sofa in Kargio's office.

The sofa's frame was made of composite metal, making it extremely sturdy and perfectly supporting his weight. The Chapter Master of the Calth's Sons stared at him, and it took him a while to finally accept the explanation, though his expression was somewhat indescribable.

"Alright," he said. "So, what brings you all here?"

"I don't know," Sevatar said curtly.

"To tell you the truth, Kargio, although we've never even met before today, our identities have been confirmed by our identification codes and database entries, so I really don't want to try to fob you off with lies or anything like that anymore."

"We were brought here by a man named Karyl Lohars, who was our only instructor during our time in the Legion and the adoptive father of our Gene-Father."

"For some reason, he was separated from us for ten thousand years, and now we've found him again. But he seems to have some mental issues and is leading us around the Milky Way aimlessly. Okay, that's all I have to say. Do you have any other questions?"

Kargio covered his forehead with his hand and rubbed his temples.

He didn't speak, but a voice came from behind him. It was a hoarse male voice speaking High Gothic, calm and collected, but with a very impolite tone.

"Jago, you shouldn't have told him these things."

Kargio whirled around and saw a mortal man, about 1.9 meters tall and wearing a long robe, standing silently behind him.

However, when Kargio reviewed his memory, he couldn't find any clues about when this person entered or when he came up behind him; it was as if he were a ghost.

"Oh? Why, Instructor? Doesn't Chapter Master Kargio deserve to know these things?"

He is certainly qualified, but he is not ready yet.

"What preparations?" Sevatar asked.

He slowly stood up from the sofa, walked over to Kargio, and casually put his arm around his shoulder.

The Chapter Master of the Calth's Sons felt a little uncomfortable about this, but it also reminded him of a joke Roboute Guilliman made about the Night Lords's behavior.

"Within the Imperium, absolutely no other Astartes treat each other like they do."

"There are no secrets between them, only biting mockery; no bloodshed, only gentle contempt. The bureaucrats of the Departmento Munitorum think the Night Lords Hive City a haunting gangster style, but I say they are wrong."

"Konrad Curze Curze's descendants simply didn't care that much; while they adhered to etiquette and insisted on not using honorifics, they never demanded that others follow their standards. That's excellent, and I think we should learn from it."

"Of course, don't imitate them too closely. I don't want to see my Chapter Master putting their arms around each other."

Primarch, I'm sorry, I'm currently arm in arm with Jago Sevatarion, but he's not your Chapter Master, so this shouldn't matter, right?

"Hmm, what preparations are needed, instructor?"

As Kargio pondered, he heard Jago Sevatarion ask him this question.

He pulled himself away from his wandering thoughts, suppressing the urge to shake off the hand that was resting on his shoulder, and turned his gaze to Karyl Lohars.

Kargio had to admit one thing: he had inevitably developed a great curiosity about this instructor from the Legion era.

First, if Chapter Master Sevatarion said is true, then this person is another living figure from the Legion era.

Second, he was Konrad Curze Curze's adoptive father.

Roboute Guilliman had foster parents, Kargio was well aware of the lives of King Conno and Lady Euten. Naturally, he wanted to know what kind of personality the person who could raise such a great Primarch as the Lord of the Blades possessed.

Half a second later, he was greatly surprised.

Karyl Lohars stepped forward, sincerely shook his hands, and began to apologize.

"I'm so sorry, Chapter Master Kargio, what you heard might cause you some unnecessary trouble. I must tell you, although Jago called me Instructor, that's in the past. Now, I'm just a—"

"--He looks very young and tall." Sevatar chimed in, chuckling softly with narrowed eyes.

He turned his head and winked at Kargio.

"Not only that, he's also a very powerful Psyker," Sevatar said softly. "I advise you not to provoke him, Kargio, he's capable of anything when he gets angry."

The Chapter Master, who had served for three centuries, looked at him blankly, then back at Karyl, his face full of confusion.

Forty minutes later, he left his office with this confusion, went into the Librarian's residence, and led Librarian deeper into the residence to begin a complex ritual derived from a certain Astropath.

Since the founding of the Calth's Sons, they have been using this ritual to communicate with the Macragge's Honour. This time is no exception.

They will speak directly with Roboute Guilliman.

--

"Say it again, who?"

"Karyl Lohars, my lord. His name is Karyl Lohars, and he is an instructor in the Eighth Legion."

Roboute Guilliman took a deep breath and leaned back in his chair.

The magic circle engraved inside his study was operating strongly and steadily under the supervision of the Astropath Mariel. An Imperial Aquila, engulfed in raging flames, stood in the center of the magic circle, beneath which the Astropath's face was completely blurred by psionic light.

Thanks to her efforts and the help of the magic circle, Hectorus Kargio, who was far above Calth, was able to transmit his voice to Roboute Guilliman's ears. He had put in so much effort, but Roboute Guilliman was no longer in the mood to listen.

He only felt dizzy.

Then, as if by instinct, he began to think.

First of all, there is absolutely no way that Kargio would lie. Putting aside the fact that he had no way of knowing the name at all, the very idea of lying is illogical.

The very fact that Kargio could use this formation signifies his absolute loyalty, so he had no reason to lie. Therefore, he wasn't lying, but how did he know the name? And how did he utter such crucial words?

"You mean he's back?" Roboute Guilliman asked softly.

"Yes, my lord, it was said by Jago Sevatarion himself. In fact, I saw the instructor in person."

"You saw him?!" Roboute Guilliman exclaimed excitedly.

He even leaped up from behind the desk in that instant. The two Victrix Guards who were on guard behind him exchanged a glance, both seeing the worry in each other's eyes through their eagle-faced helmets. Their Primarch, however, was completely unconcerned, his eyes shining like the light of a furnace.

"Yes, I saw him. 1.93 meters tall, male, ordinary person, without any modifications."

Roboute Guilliman frowned sharply.

Say it again.

"He is 1.93 meters tall, a male mortal, and has not undergone any modifications; Primarch."

Are you sure Jago Sevatarion called him "instructor"?

"Yes, Primarch."

"Have your Librarian maintain the ritual, Kargio. I want you to bring Jago Sevatarion and Karyl Lohars into the ritual field, then switch the ritual and initiate the image projection. Meanwhile, I want you to be vigilant and ready for battle at any moment."

"Primarch?"

"Do as I say," Roboute Guilliman said firmly.

He stepped out of his desk and entered the magic circle. The Astropath Marian opened her eyes amidst the psionic light and looked at her lord.

Roboute Guilliman's imposing figure was incredibly upright, but his face was made almost inhuman by the white light emanating from his eyes. A sound like war drums came from his chest, and his hands, hanging at his sides, were glowing faintly.

The room temperature began to rise steadily, and Marianne could barely breathe. She even had to send a psionic signal to ask Roboute Guilliman to calm down a bit.

The changes in the Lord of Macragge were no secret to those on the ship. In fact, even Roboute Guilliman himself didn't care much about it; he even named a branch of the Ultramarines after this secret.

"I'm so sorry, Marian."

Roboute Guilliman took a deep breath and put his hands behind his back. The temperature began to drop, and the heavy voice coming from his chest began to soften, but the Radiance in his eyes remained bright.

Marian bowed respectfully to express her gratitude. At the same time, she also noticed a subtle change coming from the other side of the array. The psionic signal came from the other world, which she captured, deciphered, and translated.

After this series of complex processes were completed, the magic circle began to shine brightly, and the surroundings suddenly became dark, to the point where one could hardly see their own hand in front of their face.

Roboute Guilliman, however, held his head high and strode forward with pride. Marianne's figure was faintly visible ahead of him; for ten thousand years, her ancestors had guided him in this way, so he had no worries.

Then, at the end of this darkness, he stepped into another magic circle. He saw Hector Kargio, the Librarian of the Calth's Sons, the real Jago Sevatarion, and a man in a black robe.

"Sevatar." He nodded to Night Lords, but his eyes remained fixed on the hooded man.

Who is this?

"Don't you recognize him? Or have you forgotten him?" Sevatar asked, feigning surprise.

"I will never forget him, but the person I remember was even taller than me—so, who exactly are you?" Roboute Guilliman asked authoritatively.

At this moment, his brows furrowed, and his godlike, handsome face became even more stern beneath his prematurely aged white hair, making him look almost unrecognizable from the blond-haired Sons of Macragge ten thousand years ago.

In response, the person he was questioning slowly removed their hood.

"Long time no see, Roboute," the man said gently. "It's a pleasure to see you again. My arrival was somewhat abrupt; I hope it hasn't caused any trouble for Chapter Master Kargio or you."

Roboute Guilliman was stunned.

"You?"

"Just getting younger, sir," Sevatar chuckled. He received two sidelong glances, one from Karyl and the other from Roboute Guilliman.

Roboute Guilliman sighed.

Unbelievable, incomprehensible.

He wanted to ask Sevatar for an explanation, but he didn't know how to begin. He wanted to say something, but found it difficult to speak.

Reason and emotion intertwined, making the already deep wrinkles between the Primarch's brows even more angular, but also urging him to finally make up his mind after a few seconds of silence.

Is it really you?

"It's me," Karyl said. "I know my current appearance is somewhat different from what you remember, but this is how I was at the beginning. Didn't Konrad Curze ever tell you about the past?"

"Of course he said that, but he never mentioned you—" Roboute Guilliman was saying when he suddenly paused.

He suddenly recalled a gathering ten thousand years ago, where Ferrus Manus, Fulgrim, Rogal Dorn, and Lorgar Aurelian had all recounted their visit to Nostramo with the Emperor.

Roboute Guilliman was also there; he wanted to hear the story, but Russ kept bothering him. The incessant Fenrisian was constantly trying to get him to drink, which annoyed him greatly.

Looking back now, it seems that Karyl Lohars was involved in all of the stories told by those four people.

Roboute Guilliman suddenly gave a wry smile.

He realized he had made a mistake, a mistake called preconceived notions. Of course, one could also say he had fallen into the trap of biased perception, but how could he truly connect that person with the one standing before him now?

The former was as tall as Vulkan, and his walk exuded a chilling, murderous aura. He could defeat Primarch with his bare hands, and this was only a small part of his record.

The latter, however, was only considered tall among mortals. He wore a black robe but was so thin that he was practically skin and bones. The skin on his face clung tightly to his cheekbones, and his cheeks were sunken, as if he hadn't eaten a proper meal in a long time.

Such an extreme contrast.

"--Okay." Roboute Guilliman took another deep breath. "But you... how did you get back?"

"I'm still searching for the answer to that question. The only thing I'm certain of right now is that my return is inextricably linked to those fragments."

"And teleportation," Sevatar added with a smile. "Oh, right, sir, we arrived in Calth through a teleportation portal cast by the instructor himself."

"Sevatar, you seem a bit too out of control today," Roboute Guilliman said, looking at him. "Is it because Karyl is back?"

"Really?" Sevatar asked, his smile unwavering.

"Yes, and it's quite obvious. But to me, what you're doing seems more like an attempt to complain to me. How about this, I'll send someone to fetch him to Macragge's Honour for a visit, and you can go back to Nostramo first, okay? I can lend you a boat."

"Grown ups."

"Um?"

"You've changed," Sevatar said earnestly. "How could you learn from us?"

Roboute Guilliman chuckled, his laughter initially restrained. But when he saw Karyl, the laughter turned into a hearty, clean laugh, pure and simple, brimming with unadulterated joy and delight.

He walked toward his friend, his brother's adoptive father. Even though it was just a projection for now, he still wanted to shake his hand.

"Welcome back," said the Lord of Macragge sincerely. "It has been too long, Karyl."

"Yes, I know," Karyl replied, tilting his head back.

Of course he knew.