61: Primal Fear (V, In Blood)

"I've lost weight, and you've aged," Karyl said.

He walked down the blood-soaked corridor, surrounded by a cacophony of shouts and cries. The Victrix Guard were struggling to maintain order, explaining to the civilians why they had to stay there.

The crew members needed to remain calm. Although they were still trembling with fear, they were able to continue working bravely, carrying ammunition or setting up defenses along the church with the Victrix Guard.

Roboute Guilliman walked behind him, slowing his pace, a gesture that drew many unwanted glances to Karyl.

"I think we're both getting old," the Primarch said. "I look a bit older, and while you don't, you sound just like any other old man now."

"If I were really just an ordinary old man," Karyl chuckled. "That wouldn't be such a bad joke."

Roboute Guilliman looked down at him; his friend's hands were empty again. Veins throbbed on the backs of his hands and wrists, appearing faintly bluish beneath the pale skin.

These hands don't look like a soldier's hands, but they also far exceed the scope that the word "artist" can describe; in terms of art, they are somewhat beyond it.

Even without holding anything, Karyl Lohars' hands habitually maintain a chillingly wide range of motion.

Roboute Guilliman could discern from their slight swaying and the curve of their slightly bent fingers a strategy, or rather, an innate tendency, to be ready to wield a knife at any moment.

Realizing this struck him as somewhat absurd—how could anyone be born with the instinct to kill?

"You're spacing out," Karyl said, a hint of surprise in his voice. "What's wrong, Roboute?"

Roboute Guilliman shook his head and stopped. He was standing behind the sixth layer of fortifications, which looked like a landmark.

He calmly revealed the truth.

I'm worried about the potential impact of this.

What kind of impact?

"It's about trust," Roboute Guilliman said. "For centuries, the people of Ultramar have trusted us. They understand that these giants in Ceramite armor are not destroyers or bloodless killing machines."

"They understood that Astartes were human beings just like them, not monsters. Astartes also possessed strong emotions; they felt sadness, joy, and fear. That's why people believed we were their protectors."

"This chain of trust is forged from many things, tempered in the crucible of war, making it as unbreakable as it is today. Every Ultramar person knows that beneath the Ceramite lies their brothers, their family."

He frowned, his expression becoming extremely serious and tinged with sadness.

"And I worry that this chain will break," he said softly. "Some things, once lost, can never be regained."

--

Sicarius looked at his protector.

"Don't speak."

Sarral issued another warning in a near-lipped murmur, his gaze still fixed intently on the ground below. Sicarius gritted his teeth, suppressing his impulse, and looked at his other combat brothers in the Fourth Company.

Among that sea of solemn blue uniforms, he saw a living, breathing company commander.

Without any hesitation, the moment Sicarius saw him, he knew immediately that this was the Idaeus, the hero whom Roboute Guilliman jokingly called the one who ignored the Codex Astartes.

He had never met Idaeus, but that didn't stop him from distinguishing the company commander from his combat comrades by the paint scheme of their armor.

Ah, speaking of armor

Sicarius frowned, once again realizing his current status as a burden. He was unarmored, unarmed, and even seriously wounded.

Therefore, if the Fourth Company is to launch an attack on that monster under Idaeus's orders, he probably won't be able to offer any help.

This incident left him deeply frustrated. Just then, the Apothecary gently patted the back of his neck, the cold gauntlet sending shivers down Sicarius.

He looked at Sarral, who gave a silent laugh with a half-smile.

Under normal circumstances, Sicarius might have been angry at such mockery, but now it was different. Not only was he not angry, he even calmed down a little because of this warm mockery.

His composure remained until the monster's voice came from below again.

Do you know who I am?

Amidst cries of despair, people answered its questions, offering a multitude of titles, most of which carried religious connotations, such as "Son of God" or "Thirteenth Star," terms widely circulated among the people.

A few people also called out his name and bestowed upon him various honorific titles, such as Lord of Macragge, Protector of the Five Hundred Worlds, and a series of other titles that had truly proven Roboute Guilliman's honor.

The monster surrounded by people showed no joy; he coldly watched them as if they were nothing more than livestock.

Suddenly, he roared.

"I am Roboute Guilliman, Lord of Macragge, but I am not the son of that False Emperor!"

His words instantly silenced the crowd's cries and enraged the many combat comrades on the platform, who cleverly concealed their fury in their trembling gauntlets or by repeatedly flipping the safety switches on their weapons.

Sicarius was one of them. He simply couldn't remain calm any longer; just hearing this thing speak made him feel as if his internal organs were being burned.

He gritted his teeth, grinding them incessantly, as if trying to sharpen them into weapons so he could jump down and bite the monster to death later.

At this moment, only two people remained calm. One was Idaeus, and the other was Sarral.

The company commander of Glory maintained a standard concealed observation posture, staring motionlessly at the ground below, without making any unnecessary movements.

The Apothecary, Sarral, appeared completely unmoved, as if the monster hadn't uttered a single word from beginning to end. He calmly gripped the dagger, his other hand resting on the back of Sicarius's neck.

"I am not lying!" the monster continued to roar, its voice sweeping across the crowd like thunder.

All the mortals who heard his voice were stunned; they never expected to hear such blasphemous words from Roboute Guilliman. If it had been anyone else who said such things, they probably would have swarmed them and begun to physically silence them.

But now it's different; now, it's Roboute Guilliman himself saying those words to them.

Therefore, they could only continue listening in fear.

"Do you know why you have suffered such a calamity today, yet received no help? Do you know why the Five Hundred Worlds have not received the light of the Astronomican for the past ten thousand years? Do you know why the swarms of insects, Daemon, and those lowly Xenos have relentlessly invaded our homeland?"

His words began to heighten the crowd's unease.

"For centuries, the people of Ultramar have endured torment and suffering in disaster and despair, and has that charlatan on the Throne ever truly sent aid? No! No aid, only endless demands!"

"He even demands that your protectors disperse their forces to protect others who are not of the Ultramar within the borders of his so-called Imperium! Isn't that ridiculous? Isn't that infuriating?"

"He made ten million demands of us, yet never gave anything in return! Is this what a god is? Is this all a god can do? Think carefully, people of Ultramar, has that so-called god ever responded to your expectations?!"

The crowd exchanged bewildered glances, and slowly, under the gaze of the monster bearing Roboute Guilliman's likeness, their emotions began to boil. Unity is a virtue of humanity, but it can also bring another problem: blind obedience.

Sometimes, instigators don't even need to have sophisticated skills to turn large groups of people living peaceful lives into a resentful mob.

Moreover, they are now facing Roboute Guilliman — the Primarch —whose words could possibly be false?

Under their gaze, the monster slowly raised its right hand, clenching it into a fist, exuding immense power.

"I've endured for too long, and you've all endured for too long, and I won't endure it any longer."

"Your suffering will come to an end from this day forward," the monster declared calmly, its voice shifting.

"I will no longer stand by and watch you continue to be Deceit that False Emperor and false god. I have returned, and I have returned as the son of Ultramar! I will lead you into a bright new century!"

"Fire!" said Idaeus.

More than sixty Boltgun fired simultaneously without hesitation. The spun bullets, carrying the fury of their users, hurtled towards the giant surrounded by people. Never before had the intent to kill been so clear.

The monster, as if anticipating this, raised its right hand and, with superhuman speed, blocked the attack while simultaneously falling to the ground, avoiding the remaining bombs.

They could only whistle as they struck the long pillars at the back of the hall and the Ultramarines' company flags, tearing those symbols of honor to shreds.

Blood splattered, the crowd screamed, Idaeus resolutely stood up and led the way away from the platform. His squad quickly followed, completely surrounding the crowd and the fallen monster, leaving only the Apothecary and Sicarius behind.

"I want to go down too," the scout said to his protector.

"Don't even think about it," Sarral replied calmly. "You have no right to participate in the fight, and besides..."

He shook his head. Sicarius looked at him, confused and annoyed, but did not repeat his request. The situation below had changed again, drawing his attention.

Faced with the fully armed Ultramarines, the trembling crowd did not make way. On the contrary, they even stood firmly in front of "Roboute Guilliman," adopting a posture of protecting him.

Even with the muzzle of Boltgun pointed at them, the terrified people did not scatter and flee.

"Get out of the way!" Sicarius heard Idaeus roar. "You've all been deceived! The one you're protecting isn't our Gene-Father, but a monster who's using his face to swindle people!"

The crowd erupted again, many recognizing the speaker as a company commander of the Ultramarines —and now, between the Primarch and the company commander, what choice should be made?

They looked around hesitantly, but their hesitation was finally shattered by the monster that managed to sit up.

"Let them come over."

He spoke in a weak voice, and with the help of several civilians with tears in their eyes, he half-squatted down, even lowering his head weakly, his entire body completely hidden behind the mortals.

"They've all been brainwashed by that False Emperor. Don't sacrifice your lives for me. Scatter, my people. If my fate is to be killed by my own son, then I will accept it gladly. I only ask that it doesn't bring more unnecessary bloodshed and sacrifice."

Sicarius abruptly stood up, ignoring his ripped stitches and the pain all over his body, and was about to jump off the platform to join the fight. Sarral once again pressed him down with undeniable strength, then calmly gave his veto.

"Don't force me to knock you out," he said firmly and coldly. "Stay here and obey Idaeus's orders. Do you want to be punished by military orders, Cato Sicarius?"

"But--"

"--No buts. What's happening down there is called incitement, psychological warfare, and a self-inflicted wound. It's perfectly positioned to drive you Ultramarines to a dead end, do you understand?"

Sicarius stared blankly at him, just like his other battle brethren below, unsure of what to do.

Sarral gave a mocking laugh, removed his helmet, revealing a pale face with black hair and black eyes, his skin as white as alabaster, and a raven made of steel on his forehead, glaring fiercely at Sicarius.

"This is not something you noble scions can bring yourselves to do, and once bloodshed occurs, that thing might take advantage of the chaos to do something none of us want to see."

He slowly stood up, and just then, a suppressed shout of anger came from below the platform. The crowd of people began to counterattack the fighting brothers of the Fourth Company.

They loudly denounced the Astartes, deeming their attempt to murder Primarch utterly shameless, and some even began to question them with heartfelt indignation. No matter how they explained, these people refused to back down an inch.

Seeing this, Sicarius suddenly felt uneasy.

Perhaps this would not be surprising in a primitive world; people who have not received basic education are indeed easily swayed by simple words.

However, everyone on board the Macragge's Honour receives an education, and those who are interested can even pursue further studies in a separate academy.

Logically speaking, those flawed and utterly absurd statements shouldn't have confused them to this extent.

He was deep in thought when the Apothecary Sarral, stood up.

Before Sicarius, he vanished into the shadows of the platform. A dozen seconds later, he plunged a dagger into the monster's chest.

The crowd was horrified. Idaeus seized the opportunity, roaring as he fired at the ceiling, forcing the crowd back while advancing rapidly. But the monster did not die.

He smiled at Sarral, grabbed his right arm guard with lightning speed, then opened his mouth, bit off half of the Apothecary's face, and swallowed it whole.

Blood splattered, Sicarius's pupils contracted sharply.