75th Dark Crusade (IX): Guilliman's Eldar

Janus Adeas - Captain of the 3rd Company of the Ultramarines Chapter "The Bane of the Alien" - Robert Guilliman's personal adviser on aliens, walked fully armed outside the "cell" located on the twenty-fifth deck.🐝👤 🎉🐟

This was a grimy corridor, its entrance completely blocked by the Victrix Guard. Essentially, it wasn't worth paying attention to; the prison cells themselves were where the real drama was about to unfold.

The cell was unusual; it had neither iron bars nor the usual "protective measures" found in prisons. It was simply painted pure white with some special pigment. And now, five Xenos were waiting inside.

Janus had received intelligence beforehand. Judging from the video transmission data when they boarded the ship, these five Xenos were probably from some Craftworld, or a branch of some strange force. In short, they weren't among the worst species.

Having killed so many Xenos over the years, Janus has come to know most of Xenos in the galaxy. Not to mention the insectoids and Orks he is most familiar with, he has also dealt with the heavy iron skeletons like the Necrons many times and knows that they have different dynasties and the like.

But the Eldar are a different story. Among them are pirates, and primitive tribes living on some remote world riding animals. Each group is vastly different, defying precise understanding or classification; they are practically like...

Human beings.

Janus banished the thought from his mind and went to his Primarch.

Roboute Guilliman had probably been waiting for a long time. He had his head down, a book in his hand, and his blue and gold uniform was buttoned all the way up to his neck. A short sword hung at his waist.

It is not a ceremonial sword; its heavy and simple scabbard reveals, to some extent, the true nature of this weapon.

"Primarch," Janus greeted in a low voice.

He received a light pat on the shoulder and a brief comment. "The Eldar language is such a hassle."

Janus agreed with his Primarch's assessment— the Eldar language was indeed troublesome. Unlike humans, the Eldar's language was extremely complex. It was probably never designed to be easy to understand, or perhaps it was already easy enough for the Eldar.

It's not just a simple language; changes in facial features, posture, and even the slightest gesture can alter the meaning of words and phrases. What's even more frustrating is that every word in this language can have different meanings in different contexts.

For an ordinary person, learning this language would be nearly impossible. However, Janus was an Astartes, so he had a basic understanding of several hundred Eldar phrases.

Of course, he usually only uses a few of them, such as surrender or I will crush your Spirit Stone.

"Indeed, sir, but we—" Janus raised his right hand, gesturing. "—where are we now?"

"Which step?"

"Has the interrogation begun?" Janus asked. "I hope it has already started, otherwise why did you call me here?"

Roboute Guilliman looked down at his Xenos advisor and sighed. "Listen, Janus, I called you here because of your knowledge of Xenos. I never said I wanted you to torture or torment them."

"So you want me to kill them?" Janus asked, half-jokingly. "Just like before, sir?"

Roboute Guilliman neither answered nor denied his question. He simply took a step forward, and no one knew what he had done, but a door suddenly appeared on the iron-gray wall in front of them.

The Primarch pushed him away, and a chill mixed with the smell of ashes wafted out. He went in first, followed closely by Janus.

Five Eldar stood inside, slightly surprised by their arrival. A cloaked man stood a short distance away, leaning against the wall with a blank expression.

If Janus hadn't already known him, he probably would have mistaken him for a Xenos Inquisitor in the Inquisition —that shared indifference and nonchalance was practically a calling card.

"Let's begin," Roboute Guilliman said calmly. His words elicited a moment of exchanged glances from the Eldar, then one of the males spoke, "Excuse my intrusion, son of the Emperor of Mankind, but—"

Its tone was humble, lacking their characteristic arrogance, but it still stirred a surge of anger in Janus. He instinctively gripped the hilt of his sword, pressing it so hard it creaked with Roboute Guilliman's tacit approval.

The Eldar had been speaking frowned and stopped. Janus was surprised to find that it still hadn't revealed its true nature, and even looked to the side as if seeking help.

"He is the owner of this ship," said the person it had asked for help.

The Eldar was silent for a moment, seemingly clenching its teeth.

Janus wasn't sure if this was hesitation or a prelude to resistance. In another location, he would have assumed the latter and drawn his sword to sever the head from the body. But this wasn't the right place, so he restrained himself.

The Eldar slowly spoke.

"Since this is your wish, we will tell you everything we know, but I must warn you in advance, and you as well." It turned to Roboute Guilliman again, its eyes filled with worry. "I cannot guarantee whether this will affect the prophecy."

The lies of the alien species. Janus thought.

"Continue," Roboute Guilliman said, seemingly unmoved.

So Eldar spoke again, rambling on in her beautiful voice about a bunch of nonsense, most of which revolved around a faction and two names.

This faction, like other Eldar terms, was difficult to pronounce and strange, but this Xenos even translated it. It used a combination of High Gothic to translate them, calling them the Ynnari, or the army of the Grim Reaper.

Then there were those two names: Yvraine Eldrad Ulthran, the former being their leader and the latter their prophet.

Janus hadn't heard of those two names, but he did know what a prophet was—if the Eldar were already annoying enough, then the prophet was the most annoying of them all.

Or rather, all self-righteous prophets are annoying.

"We are here to offer our assistance," Eldar said respectfully to Roboute Guilliman. "The prophet Eldrad foresaw in his dreams a terrible apocalypse to come; Chaos is eroding your realm."

"This time is different. They've found a completely new way to destroy your world. No excessive killing, no decadent pleasure, no rotting disease, and no scheming minds, just one person after another calling out your name."

"Ultimately, they will be plunged into darkness, along with you. That is why we have come here to intercept your fleet. Please believe us, we have come only to fight against Chaos —before them, whatever the true hatred between humanity and Eldar may have been, should be temporarily forgotten."

The words were very persuasive, and even Janus had to admit it. However, he noticed something else: although Eldar spoke in a grand and dignified manner, her words did not reveal any specific information at all.

From beginning to end, the only concrete things it mentioned were the so-called Ynnari, the authenticity of which is unknown, and two names that are very likely fabricated.

Janus knew he was now very suspicious and extreme, but this wasn't unprecedented. Besides, his suspicion and extremes stemmed from their repeated betrayals and Deceit.

He looked up at his Primarch.

Roboute Guilliman nodded slightly to him and said, "What's your opinion, my advisor?"

"I don't think they're trustworthy," Janus said gruffly, his voice almost a growl.

"What's the reason?"

"Any so-called prophet—even a street performer—can utter something similar to those riddles, let alone the Eldar, who are not trustworthy."

Under the gaze of the Eldar, Roboute Guilliman laughed. He looked at them and said, "You all heard what my advisor said; he doesn't think you're trustworthy."

"Your advisor is biased and has some misunderstandings about us," Eldar, who had been in charge of communication, replied calmly.

"What constitutes extremism? What constitutes a misunderstanding?" Roboute Guilliman asked, seemingly gently.

"Aren't you one of your own kind, the one who kidnapped my people and used them as slaves and playthings? Or are you trying to tell me that Eldar, who stormed into the city, slaughtered women and children, and took pleasure in killing the unarmed, has nothing to do with you?"

Eldar frowned, finally revealing a hint of anxiety. "But you are a wise woman, you should know how deep the hatred between races can be—"

"--Yes, I know," Roboute Guilliman said calmly. "I know that humans also take pleasure in murdering you, and I know that some extremists will fire on any Eldar they see, but I don't care about these things. I am human myself."

"I ignore their atrocities, just as you ignore the crimes your own people have committed against my people. Your pretense of offering help is utterly absurd and laughable. Help? From beginning to end, you haven't revealed a single useful piece of information."

"I didn't hear any place names, I didn't hear any plans from Chaos, not even any speculative guesses. You mentioned 'horrific atrocities,' and I must tell you, for the past ten thousand years, Chaos has committed horrific atrocities against humanity every single day, and against you as well."

The Primarch stepped forward, his anger barely concealed, his eyes gleaming, and the clanging sounds from the furnace began to echo in the pure white room.

"So tell me," he said softly, his voice filled with murderous intent as a low growl echoed from his chest. "What makes you think I'll let go of my hatred because of a few words?"

After a brief silence, the Eldar chose to submit.

--

Roboute Guilliman clenched his fist, then relaxed it, then clenched it again.

Blood trickled from between his fingers, and he was surrounded by corpses, Orks beasts, and villagers armed with simple weapons like wooden spears.

Judging solely from the comparison of the dead, this cannot be described as an evenly matched battle.

The Orks creatures were tall and strong, while most of the humans were extremely thin and weak. The Orks creatures possessed iron weapons and armor, while the human side's weapons were so rudimentary that they were almost unbearable to look at.

But this is the best Roboute Guilliman could do in just three days.

He had no time to mine iron ore, smelt steel, or forge weapons. He also had no time to train these still starving people and give them a basic understanding of combat.

The Orks arrived too quickly; he had barely finished building the traps and the so-called walls when they found him.

Then came the war, or rather, the one-sided slaughter— Roboute Guilliman could easily kill these strong beasts, and even if they surrounded him, he could easily tear them apart.

But what about the others?

Others are unable to confront these monsters.

Armed, they followed Roboute Guilliman, gaining a false sense of courage. They were inspired by his speeches to defend their homeland, and then died there in a very hasty manner.

Completely defenseless.

Roboute Guilliman slowly stood up, his body covered in blood and his clothes tattered. He turned around and saw a few villagers who had miraculously survived standing numbly and blankly behind him.

They didn't know what victory was; they only knew they had survived, so they instinctively sought him out, hoping to receive new orders.

Roboute Guilliman gave them no orders; he simply walked past them, over the traps littered with corpses, past the low, battered walls, and back into the village.

He saw the bodies of a group of children.

He clenched his fists again.

He survived, after killing several hundred Orks with his bare hands. He single-handedly held off their main force outside the village, and then single-handedly wiped them all out.

However, he is not a god, nor is he the so-called son of a god; he cannot consider others in such a battle.

Some escaped and rushed past him, some of whom were killed in traps, while the rest were stopped outside by the wooden city walls. The refugees tried to stab their eyes with spears from behind, but all they got in return was aroused ferocity.

Roboute Guilliman walked slowly along the city wall, taking in every detail. He even deduced where this rudimentary defense line had begun to crumble.

A long silence followed, a long period of hesitation. The survivors numbly returned to their homes to cook dinner. That's how people are; no matter what they've been through, staying alive is their instinct.

The aroma of food roused Roboute Guilliman from his thoughts, and only then did he realize the hellish place he was in.

He looked down at the ground and saw that even the soil was soaked with blood. He crouched down and touched the soil with his hand, but a sharp pain suddenly shot through his mind. Then, instinctively, he knew that the Orks would return.

This place is no longer safe to stay in.

He stood up, wanting to warn the survivors, but didn't know how to begin. A wave of hunger washed over him, making his mouth water uncontrollably.

He looked around at the corpses; they weren't Orks, but human. He looked at the open chests and abdomens, the scattered limbs, and the faintly visible white bones, and a feeling of hunger began to spread rapidly.

He clenched his fist.

No.

Roboute Guilliman gritted his teeth, turned and left, disappearing into the vast night.

He will return at dawn.

Nine minutes after he left, a jet-black bird landed on the pile of corpses. It picked and chose, using its hard, long beak to peck out nine eyes, then tilted its head back and swallowed them. It then hopped and skipped into the village.

It was time to add some unexpected twists to this good show, it thought with amusement.