Interlude 64: The Freedom of Minimum Equal Division (Bonus Chapter 25)

Dazed, drifting, struggling to breathe.

Cato Sicarius knew he was receiving treatment. His injuries must have been extremely serious; losing his left hand to the monster was secondary. It was a miracle that the severe injuries he had sustained earlier and the secondary internal bleeding from the fall from the height hadn't killed him.

But he couldn't feel any pain; in fact, he felt nothing at all. There was no real sensation, no touch, only a very quiet sense of peace.

Sicarius sometimes felt as if he were already dead, but he couldn't believe this was his end—if it truly was the end of his life, then why hadn't the Emperor come to take him away?

Ancient Codex Astartes say that only death marks the end of duty, but he believes this statement is problematic. Death cannot end their duties; at best, it is merely a transit point.

The Emperor must have another plan for these dead souls; Cato Sicarius in peace.

He harbored an extremely strong desire, not for life or for honor, and even he himself could not explain the exact nature of this desire.

However, one thing is very clear—Cato Sicarius was awakened from his slumber precisely because of this.

The pungent smell of disinfectant suddenly assaulted his nostrils, followed by a strange, metallic sensation. His tongue and mouth felt as if they had turned into rusty metal, and he could taste an extremely strong metallic rust flavor with every breath.

The gentle light fell into his pupils, surprisingly causing tears to well up in his eyes. He tried to blink, but his eyelids didn't seem to care; they were now as heavy as the Adamantium doors of an armory, impossible to close.

Sicarius lay on the hospital bed with his eyes wide open, and it took him a while to notice the overwhelming pain in his left hand, the numbness in the back of his head, and the general sense of disharmony throughout his body.

He tried to prop himself up on his elbows to check his condition, but then discovered something else—he couldn't hear anything.

There was no sound at all.

Sicarius blinked again with difficulty, swallowing a mouthful of rusty-tasting saliva. He didn't know what had happened, but as his throat bobbed, the speculations about his deafness faded away along with the influx of sound.

"He'll likely remain unconscious for another four hours or so," someone said seriously. "Forgive my bluntness, Primarch, but it's a miracle he's alive."

"There are no miracles in this world, only hard work and Dreadnought, unless you try to preach to me like our pastor that the Emperor can perform any miracle at any time."

"He did indeed descend, my lord," the speaker replied meaningfully. "And right before my eyes."

Cato Sicarius heard his Primarch —his true Primarch —chuckle softly, then thank him and dismiss the Apothecary who had treated him to attend to his own business.

The young scout immediately realized that he was about to be alone in the same room with the Primarch, and an emotion surged into his two hearts, causing them to begin to beat rapidly.

Sicarius struggled to organize his thoughts and wondered: Would he notice I was awake?

A hand gently pressed on his left wrist.

"Cato Sicarius," Roboute Guilliman sighed. "You know what? Almost everyone responsible for your health or with any medical knowledge tells me it's a miracle you're still alive."

He knew I was awake.

Sicarius opened his mouth, trying to say something, or at least look at his Primarch. But, due to his injuries and the restraints that held him in place, even turning his head was difficult.

After the attempt, which lasted for more than ten seconds, ended, the best response Sicarius could give was nothing more than a muffled nasal sound.

He couldn't speak; no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't utter a single syllable.

"I read the postwar report that Idaeus gave me, and he specifically mentioned your name in the report, Cato Sicarius."

"Judging from those descriptions, you are fearless and adept at seizing opportunities in battle. You manage to grasp these fleeting little things firmly in your grasp, and you haven't even completed the armor-donning ceremony yet."

"In short, you can now be fully called an Ultramarines, a descendant of Talassar. But that's not why I'm here with you. Actually, I have some questions for you."

Sicarius anxiously began to strain his vocal cords, but Roboute Guilliman, unlike Sicarius, simply withdrew his hand patiently and stood aside. Sicarius could sense his presence; even though he couldn't see him, he could feel the Primarch's calm and gentle gaze.

These two factors prompted him to redouble his efforts to recover, but unfortunately, things didn't go as planned. It wasn't until several minutes later that Sicarius finally managed to make a sound. To his surprise, his voice didn't sound particularly hoarse.

"I understand, Primarch," he said dryly. "You can ask me anything."

"Don't be so nervous, these questions don't involve any secrets. Have you spoken to that person about it?"

"We've spoken."

What did it say?

Sicarius silent for a few seconds, then reluctantly and angrily repeated what the monster had told him.

He had a good memory, but he really hoped that his concussion would cause that part of his memory to flow out of his brain along with his brain matter. However, Roboute Guilliman remained quite calm after hearing those words.

He wasn't angry. Primarch's anger was usually astonishing, but this was different. Sicarius sensed no sign of anger from the giant standing beside his bed.

All he could feel was peace.

It's like Dataslate with a pre-set output band, only able to provide data between a certain value and a certain value.

Sicarius felt ashamed of his wild thoughts; he couldn't understand how he could have used such a blasphemous metaphor to describe his Primarch. Little did he know, Roboute Guilliman was fully aware of it.

Just outside the corridor, his chief strategist, Razlion, and his highly gifted apprentice, Varo Digglis, were using psychic abilities to probe Sicarius's thoughts and relaying those words and ideas to him in real time.

He's a kid who knows how to find joy in hardship. Roboute Guilliman smiled subtly, his expression unchanged.

"Primarch?"

"Um?"

I think

"Speak, Sicarius, and I will grant you permission."

Roboute Guilliman moved to the bedside so that Sicarius, whose head was wrapped tightly in gauze, could see his face.

He has always been aware of his inspirational role as a symbol, and Roboute Guilliman learned how to use this advantage ten thousand years ago, and now he has perfected it.

Unsurprisingly, he received a blurt-out reply just seconds later.

"I think that thing knows who I am," Sicarius said, slightly bewildered.

Yes, it knows. Roboute Guilliman thought.

How could it not know? It ate the brains of Isos and Decimir, and they knew you.

"I understand," Roboute Guilliman said. "Rest well and recover quickly from your injuries, Sicarius. Your duty is to call, and so is your Power Armour."

After saying this, he was pleased to see the person still lying in the hospital bed widen their eyes instantly. The Primarch gave a faint smile, then turned and left.

Eight hours later, after finishing a speech, he found Karyl Lohars reading in his office.

Having weathered ten thousand years of storms, the Macragge's Honour has aged considerably, but it also carries many memories. These things are called books—or data stored on Dataslate; in essence, they are all forms of preservation.

Many messages about the current state of the Five Hundred Worlds and even the Imperium are quietly waiting within, hoping that one day someone will be able to hold them in their hands and read them carefully.

The person they are waiting for has no concrete image; in fact, if these words possessed self-awareness, this image should be extendable to anyone.

Karyl Lohars was naturally one of them.

With a quick glance, Roboute Guilliman deduced what he was currently reading from the scattered pile of books and Dataslate.

"Inquisition?"

"Inquisition."

Roboute Guilliman returned to his chair and let out a sigh.

"Agents, informants, and spies throughout the galaxy, as well as powerful Inquisitor. Honestly, Karyl, did you ever imagine that this nameless organization you founded would develop into what it is today ten thousand years later?"

"I had foreseen this," Karyl said without looking Malcador. "Given our initial vision for it, it was entirely natural that the organization would develop into what it is today."

"The only thing I'm thankful for is that these people who hold the power of life and death also have a sword hanging over their heads."

"Just like you?" Roboute Guilliman asked in a warm, mocking tone. He had probably never spoken to anyone in that tone before, and it sounded rather awkward.

Karyl smiled, looked up, and nodded to Roboute Guilliman.

"Yes, just like me."

Lord Macragge was speechless for a moment, and only spoke again after several seconds.

"In short, they maintain good relations with most Chapter. As far as I know, many Chapter are happy to work for the Inquisition, and they are never stingy with their compensation. I've also heard that they've established a special unit specifically for combat against Xenos, drawn from combat brothers drawn from different Chapter."

"I haven't even gotten to that part yet," Karyl said. "You're ruining my reading experience, you know that, esteemed Mr. Roboute Guilliman?"

Roboute Guilliman frowned, looking at him suspiciously, before slowly raising his hands after a long while, completing an ancient surrender ceremony.

"You've changed," he said slowly. "And changed a lot."

"When you're just an ordinary person, and not Roboute Guilliman, you'll be just like me."

What? You consider yourself an ordinary person?

Karyl shook his head and said calmly, "No, that's just an analogy. The difference between my former form of existence and my current physical body is as vast as the difference between you and an ordinary person."

Roboute Guilliman was reluctant to continue the conversation, but a feeling he had never experienced before suddenly arose within him.

That feeling had occurred between him and Marius Gage, Ionid Hill, and also between him and Primarch such as Konrad Curze Curze, Kolus Corax, and Angron.

He had almost forgotten the feeling, and even now he couldn't remember what to call it. Then he began to think about the conversation he had just had with Karyl in this study and came to a conclusion.

Casual conversation.

Casual chat between friends.

Roboute Guilliman gave a light smile.

"So, have you become stronger or weaker?" He deliberately spoke in a gruff voice, using the simplest analogy.

"Are you studying Leman Russ Russ?" Karyl asked.

"Yes, does it look like it?"

"Not really. If it were Russ, he would probably ask me gruffly how it feels to be human. And I would tell him I'm perfectly fine, just like he is with his pack of wolves."

Karyl smiled and shook his head. He sat in the chair he had specially found, holding a book in his hands, looking like a refined scholar. If other people were to meet him, this would probably be their first impression as well.

Currently, on the Macragge's Honour, apart from Roboute Guilliman, no one knows who he really is. This proportion still applies across the entire galaxy.

He is a person who does not exist in this era, or even in this world.

But it was precisely because of this that Karyl Lohars, for the first time in his life, gained a certain degree of freedom.

"That's just how good people are, Roboute," he said, with a smile.

"You see, there are some things in this world that no amount of power can destroy or change. Some people are born into ignorant, foolish, and cruel environments, and they don't know what it should be called, or even that it truly exists, but they still instinctively pursue it. For some, it is freedom. For others, it is being well-fed and clothed, and being free from oppression."

"So, what is it to you?" Roboute Guilliman asked curiously.

Karyl didn't answer, but simply reached out and tapped the table. The light then dimmed, except for the two lamps on Roboute Guilliman's desk, which provided ample light to illuminate the documents.

Now, they illuminated Karyl Lohars, casting his Shadow backward onto the floor, bookshelves, and walls.

His Shadow began to dance, and then a voice rang out. A smile, with a touch of the gentle mockery that Roboute Guilliman was once very familiar with.

"Long time no see, bro."

Roboute Guilliman stood up from behind his chair and strode toward his brother.

Karyl leaned back comfortably in his chair and continued reading.