91 Dark Crusade (XVIII, Pharos and Belisa

Lew Cawl, 11,000)

When the last "Night Lords" who invaded Sotha died, the war naturally ended, but Vanion Tasiad did not want to acknowledge it.

In his world, fighter jets still roared through the sky, their sound so close it seemed to shatter his eardrums. The acrid smell of gunpowder and blood permeated the city, and everywhere he looked were mangled corpses, their suffering untold.

In the grand scheme of things, he was busy using his shoulders to prop up a collapsed pile of rubble.

Even by the standards of the Astartes, it was a huge fragment. Therefore, it was not easy for Vanion to do this, after all, he was missing a hand. He knelt on one knee, supported himself on the edge with his right hand, and then put most of his weight on his shoulder.

This used to be a public observatory where people with an interest in the stars would come to observe the stars with telescopes, and young men and women would enjoy spending wonderful time here. Now, it is nothing but ruins.

Vanion stood up, lifted the shards completely, and tossed them aside, revealing a dusty couple, hunched over and embracing each other, their wedding rings covered in dust.

Even without his goggles, Vanion knew that the two men had long since died. Realizing this caused a renewed pang of pain within the Sotha cavalryman, and he reached out to move the couple from under the rubble.

He thought that Sotha would be rebuilt after the war, and all the victims would be buried, therefore you—

His hand froze in mid-air; in the tightly embracing embrace of his parents, a pair of eyes were watching him.

Vanion knelt on one knee again, his massive, mountain-like body making no sound. At the same time, he tried to lower his voice, attempting to soften it.

"Child, what's your name?"

From within the parents' bodies, a voice said, "Nora."

"Okay, Nora. I'm Vanion Tasiad from the First Company of the Emperor's Scythes. Do you know us?"

"Mom says you are knights."

"Yes, I am a knight of Sotha." Vanion extended his hand to her. "I swore an oath to protect Sotha and her people, and you are one of them, Nora. May I take your hand?"

A hand emerged from the corpses. Vanion carefully pulled her out, immediately picked her up, and turned to shield the two bodies with his own.

He looked at the child, and his instinct for observation and analysis told him that she was only about four or five years old. Her face was covered with dried blood, only her eyes remained bright. She was wearing a floral dress, and a silver hair clip remained in her messy hair.

Vanion extended a finger and gently rubbed away the scabs with a tenderness completely out of character for his size. The child accepted it and did not resist, despite the slight pain it caused.

This might stem from compliance born of trust, but it could also be a form of numbness.

A gentle breeze blew by, and Vanion hoped it was because of the former.

Are my mom and dad dead?

". yes."

The child nodded, unsurprised, his expression unchanged, but tears suddenly streamed down his face.

"They talked about it; they said I might never see them again."

Vanion didn't know how to answer that question. He had read countless books, and his knowledge and experience far surpassed that of the child before him, yet he still couldn't answer. It wasn't about the amount of knowledge one possessed, but rather a matter of a different level.

The adjutant of the First Company suppressed the bitterness in his heart, turned around, and saw an emergency medical vehicle driving past the battlefield, with an Apothecary sitting in the driver's seat.

He used the still-intact part of his severed limb to support the crying child in his arms, then raised his right hand and waved at the car. It immediately turned and drove over, stopping a short distance away.

Its rear hatch slowly rose, and more than thirty medical personnel were selected from it to quickly set up a tent and set up a fairly complete sterile operating room.

Vanion walked towards them, handed the child in his arms to them, and then stepped aside to speak with the Apothecary and receive treatment from him.

"We've won," said the Apothecary, who was busy at Vanion's severed arm with a full set of tools.

The adjutant struggled to look away as he stared at the burning street and collapsed residential buildings in the distance, watching the rescue vehicles come and go, and estimating the number of Servitor.

It wasn't until a sharp, piercing pain shot through his left elbow joint that he remembered he should answer the Apothecary.

He glared at him angrily.

"My lord—" the Apothecary sighed. "Please don't look at me like that. I'm the one who should be blaming you. Do you know how badly your hand is in right now?"

"The worst that can happen is just replacing the mechanical arm," Vanion said in a muffled voice.

The Apothecary shook his head calmly and sternly.

"That comes with prerequisites. There are many people among us who cannot be fitted with prosthetics. Don't treat the technology of the Mechanicum as a panacea. Some of them can't even overcome the rejection reaction of their original bodies."

"From what I've observed, my lord, your arm will likely require up to a dozen surgeries to adjust the disordered nerves to match the prosthetic limb. And that's before we can proceed with the plan."

Vanion looked at him, or rather, stared at him and the insignia on the right side of his breastplate.

Then he asked, "Is this all the people at the Guzman Medical Research Institute are capable of?"

"You can go see another doctor," the Apothecary said casually, squinting. "In fact, I think that all experienced doctors except Jairzinho Guzman himself would give the same diagnosis for your arm."

"Of course, you can also go to the brothers of the Iron Hands. They might be very interested in your difficult condition and then lend a hand."

Vanion turned his head and uttered a word in the local dialect of Sotha.

"Asshole."

The Apothecary continued his work, head down, removing the bone fragments from Vanion's severed arm, his voice remaining calm.

"I don't deny that; I know who I am. But let's get back to the point, my lord. The war is indeed over. Do you know how long it lasted?"

Before Vanion could answer, the Apothecary provided the answer himself.

"Three hours and twenty-nine minutes," he said, his tone almost a sigh. "Our helpers are exceptionally ruthless and highly efficient. Do you understand what I mean?"

"Of course I understand," Vanion thought. "It's not like I haven't seen him kill people before."

Moreover, I might be the only one who saw it up close.

The Apothecary stepped back and withdrew his medical arm. He patted Vanion's left shoulder and said, "Remember to come see me in a day and a half. This is time for you to take care of things. I'll be waiting for you at the association's headquarters. You still have many surgeries to perform, sir."

"Understood," Vanion said.

He didn't say anything more, but just turned his head and looked silently at the girl sitting in the medical tent, holding a cup of purified water and sipping it.

Twelve minutes later, the Chapter Master's call came through the communications channel, ordering him and all senior officers to proceed to Mount Pharos.

Thirty-three minutes later, he arrived at his destination in a hastily requisitioned troop transport vehicle. However, when he reached the office inside the defense camp at the foot of Mount Pharos, he didn't see many people—at least not as many as he had expected.

The communication requested all senior officers, but only a handful of twelve appeared before him. He didn't know the situation in the other companies, but he knew about his own.

Vanion cut off his memories and stood at the end of the line.

The Chapter Master, Mansilius Sosila, gazed at them with sorrowful eyes, and faint traces of blood could be seen in his long, gray hair.

Then, he spoke slowly, but his voice lacked the unquestionable authority that Vanion remembered. This realization shocked Vanion, because he suddenly noticed how old Sosila looked.

"Logically, I should recount our losses." He paused, then shook his head. "But I don't want to, nor do I need to. You all know the answer."

"We will rise again," said Kensus the Ruthless, commander of the Fourth Company. "Just as Sotha will be rebuilt."

Vanion tried to express his agreement, but failed, because the door behind the Chapter Master had been pushed open, and a blood-covered man walked in.

He was not Astartes, and his stature even appeared somewhat short compared to the giants present, but his appearance made many officers feel as if they were facing a formidable enemy, almost wanting to draw their weapons—until the Chapter Master Sosila ordered them to put down their guns.

"This is the Primarch's envoy," he said solemnly, opening a fixed compartment in his belt to reveal a document.

Vanion had seen it before, so he wasn't surprised. Most people accepted it as quickly as he had, except for one person—the fourth company commander Kensus, who had been encouraging everyone just a moment before.

"Really?" he asked skeptically, then looked at the bloodied figure. "No offense, Your Excellency, but I witnessed your carnage firsthand."

"Kensus!" the Chapter Master immediately barked. "Show respect to the envoy!"

"No need," the envoy said.

His voice lacked the authority that officials were accustomed to; instead, it sounded very gentle, like that of a scholar, and one who had never debated with anyone before.

If it weren't for his truly terrifying appearance, and the fact that Vanion had known him before his brothers, he probably would have mistaken him for an academic.

The Chapter Master looked at him with a puzzled expression.

The envoy shook his head at him, tugged at the collar of his robe, and the scab on the back of his hand crumbled into pieces.

He looked at the heartless one.

"Your suspicions are not without merit, Kensus Consus. However, rather than how that document addresses me, I prefer to see myself as a contingency plan, or a solution to a problem, to be used only as a last resort."

"In other words, I am very good at problem-solving, and it is precisely because of this ability that I was able to persuade your Primarch."

Vanion twitched the corner of his mouth—that was the truth.

He did indeed solve most of the "problems".

"So?" Kensus pressed on with his famously concise tone, earning a glare from the Chapter Master.

"So whether you consider me an envoy or not is irrelevant to me. I came to Sotha simply because..."

He paused for a moment, raised his hands, his fingers danced, and then slowly clenched them. Suddenly, the air between his fingers exploded, like a thunderclap from a clear sky, resounding in everyone's ears.

Vanion felt a chill run down his spine. He recognized the gesture—it was the way someone grips a knife. His instincts roared within him before his reason could react, urging him to get away from this place, or more precisely, away from this person.

The ruthless one remained silent for a long time, then asked another question.

"Primarch know we were about to be attacked?"

"You've hit the nail on the head. Yes, he knows. But what he knows is somewhat different from what you're going through now. He's received information that a Hive Fleet is about to arrive in Sotha."

Kensus remained silent again, then asked, "But he only sent you."

"No." The envoy shook his head. "While I am indeed very good at problem-solving, this is beyond my capabilities. In fact, the Macragge's Honour Allied Fleet is probably already close to reaching Sotha's near-Earth orbit."

"Excuse me for interrupting, Your Excellency—" The Chapter Master's eyes suddenly brightened. "—The Primarch has arrived?"

"Of course, who else could command such a fleet?" the envoy replied. He paused deliberately to allow them to accept the situation.

Vanion was also stunned by the news and could hardly process it. The Primarch had come—what an honor! Most of the Chapter deployed across the Five Hundred Worlds rarely even saw Roboute Guilliman in person.

But he quickly realized what was behind this, so he frowned deeply, without feeling any shame that the Primarch was about to witness Sotha's current state.

He thought, if even Roboute Guilliman had to assemble a massive fleet and personally come here, how dangerous would we be?

He wasn't the only one who thought of this; half a minute later, everyone in the room was no longer in the mood for joy.

Discussions on the matter arose quickly and ended just as fast. Senior officers left Second Company to issue orders to their companies in preparation for the possible arrival of the Hive Fleet.

Only Vanion, who had been reluctantly promoted to company commander, stayed behind on the orders of the Chapter Master —he would take the "envoy" deep into the Mount Pharos.

This is no easy task, because the interior of Pharos is not what outsiders imagine. Everything inside has been replaced by metal and machinery, with exposed gears and thick cables everywhere.

Strangely, the Blackstone that make up its interior were not removed. In fact, the arrangement of every gear and every cable is constructed along these stones.

These rocks have formed numerous caves inside Mount Pharos, densely packed and interconnected, creating winding and secluded paths.

But Karyl saw more: in those dark places, some clearly powerful Combat Servitor were slumbering, each with its own compartment.

Not to mention the Autocannon and buzzing laser traps scattered throughout the area, even a rough estimate suggests that the defense level here is more than ten times that of the camps and fortifications at the foot of the mountain.

Strangely, there wasn't a single Tech-Priest or Secutarii present.

Karyl withdrew his gaze and stopped. Vanion Tasciard was interacting with a Cogitator not far from him, taking him about ten seconds to complete the task. He didn't seem to want to be there.

The Cogitator emitted a notification sound, and then the metal floor behind it suddenly cracked open, revealing a lift platform that slowly rose from within. As soon as they stepped onto it, the lift platform abruptly ascended at an extremely fast speed, completely disregarding the passengers' comfort.

The metal ceiling above them opened layer by layer in advance, producing a monotonous sound, and the icy airflow whipped against their faces, making everything feel cold. This ascent lasted for a full ten minutes before it ended.

They had reached the summit of Mount Pharos, but strangely, it was completely dark. A few seconds later, a light shone from the opposite side of the darkness, illuminating a path and an open, brightly lit door.

"That's the road, sir," Vanion said. "You can find the person in charge there."

Karyl turned to look at him. He understood the implication of the newly appointed company commander, but he didn't try to persuade him to stay; instead, he simply nodded.

"Thank you for your help, Company Commander. Also, if you have time, could you please send a message to your space station?"

"About that Xenos?"

"Yes."

"I'll go up and guard him myself," Vanion said bluntly, pressing the elevator button again, giving Karyl no chance to say more.

Karyl watched him disappear before stepping onto the path. He calmly walked to the end, stepped through the door, and the world before him suddenly brightened, revealing a space countless times wider than the darkness before.

Countless complex machines operate here, not in a chaotic way, but rather in a very natural way, as if this place was born to be this way. The sound of the gears turning in each large machine is so harmonious, like a mechanical song.

Karyl looked up and saw a figure about four meters tall slowly walking towards him in the distance.

He was draped in the red robes of the Mechanicum, and compared to most Tech-Priest who still retained a human appearance, he was far more radical. Hunchbacked, with extra legs and arms, he was almost a Tech-Priest's last resort before attempting more radical modifications.

Although it was strange and eerie, at least he had left himself half a face.

He slowly walked up to Karyl.

"Cough."

He cleared his throat, and the respirator exhaled a stream of cold air. The mechanical body beneath the red robe clicked, and the remaining half of his face, covered in wrinkles, was illuminated by the blue light emanating from his prosthetic eye.

As he spoke, Karyl could even hear the gears and pistons turning.

"To be honest, I didn't expect this," he said, choosing a very strange opening line. "I thought I would be the one to revive you in the end—in the way of science, truth, and the Omnissiah."

He lowered his body and scrutinized Karyl in a way that neither Jago Sevatarion nor any of the Night Lords would like—very focused, but also very offensive.

He stared at it for a while before nodding. "Gears above, you really are a living person now."

"Not really," Karyl shook his head. "To give you a simple example, I only have a very small portion of my sense of taste now. It's not due to physical reasons, but rather a conceptual deficiency."

His words caused the enormous priest to circle him twice rapidly, far faster than a typical Astartes. With a strange, clicking sound, he began to nod repeatedly.

"Hmm, hmm, could the concept be related to those fragments? That's very interesting. I once asked Lord Roboute for one to study, but he refused, saying that my actions would start a war."

He shook his head, muttered something, turned around, and started walking on his own. Karyl remained unperturbed; he even smiled and followed the man.

To be honest, in his opinion, this place was simply a giant mechanical maze, or a mechanical prison. And he didn't know much about mechanics; even repairing a Servitor could cause them to make strange, undesigned errors.

Therefore, he couldn't understand the purpose of these machines at all.

This was an embarrassing situation, rendering his instinctive observation skills ineffective for the first time. His guide didn't offer any explanation, simply continuing to move forward, turn corners, and mutter to himself, as if quietly reminding himself which way to go.

It took them a while to reach a relatively open area—relatively speaking, of course; compared to the machinery, there weren't many pipes, cables, and gears here, but it still seemed quite complex.

Dozens of massive Cogitator, several workbenches piled high with parts, a dense array of floating displays, and hundreds of dark, square boxes. Not far away is a casting machine or something similar in operation.

Karyl stared at it for a long time, unsure of what to call it. All he knew was that it had many mechanical arms descending from the ceiling, and that they were assembling a Boltgun. It was unlike any he had ever seen before.

This is my studio.

The priest spoke, pausing for a moment, the sound of gears turning becoming more frequent. After a long while, he shook his head as if suddenly realizing something.

"Ah, should I introduce myself first? I'm so sorry, sir. I am Belisarius Cawl, the faithful servant of Omnissiah."

"I am here to study this lighthouse with the joint permission of the Sigillites Malcador, and Roboute Guilliman. Well, to be honest, he should have informed me of your arrival. I—"

He suddenly paused again.

"--ah."

Belisarius Cawl's voice suddenly turned somewhat sorrowful.

"I neglected my alert procedures; too many backlogged notifications prevented me from handling this war on Sotha, which I should have been involved in. How is the damage, sir? I hope the city isn't too badly damaged. I hope you understand, I didn't intentionally ignore the outside world; I've been alone for too long."

"That's alright," Karyl said.

He suddenly understood why Roboute Guilliman had acted strangely when talking about this man.

"I'm glad you understand."

Cawl nodded again, as if he were using it as a punctuation mark in written language. In short, he spoke as strangely as he was, yet with a perfect harmony, as if that was how he was supposed to speak.

He turned around, and suddenly many long mechanical arms emerged from beneath his robes. They began to work on the Cogitator, while the mechanical chorus in the distance accelerated, becoming unusually loud.

Data streams flashed across the screens of the Cogitator at a dizzying speed, Cawl absorbed completely. He even sped up the process, intensifying the buzzing from the Cogitator to near-limit levels, but he continued relentlessly.

He absorbed the data voraciously, occasionally uttering strange mutterings, the clicking sounds coming from under his robe growing louder with each beat. Twelve minutes later, he stopped, and the respirator once again spewed out a stream of cold air.

"So many years have passed," he said in a low voice. "So much has happened— the Tyranids, traitors, Chaos. Hmph, Chaos."

He turned his head, his blue eyes gleaming coldly. "So, you've come to see me because a Hive Fleet is about to arrive near Sotha?"

"This is a secondary objective."

"Understood." Cawl nodded quickly. "I've awakened the sleeping Servitor; they'll teach the bugs a lesson. As for you, I suppose your main target is the Pharos Beacon?"

"Yes," Karyl said. "Roboute and I talked about this Xenos facility."

"I highly doubt that our Lord of Macragge can reveal even a fraction of its wonders to you," Cawl said, seemingly somewhat displeased.

"He should have let me make the introduction; I am the lead researcher on the Pharos Beacon and related facilities. But speaking of which, are you going to use it?"

He suddenly perked up, his massive body trembling as he stood up, his hunchback symptoms lessened somewhat, and even his voice became louder.

I assure you--

"--No need." Karyl interrupted, unusually, and let out a sigh.

"To be honest, I don't really trust the reliability of the Xenos facility, but Roboute described your capabilities to me, so I'll keep my reservations for now. My real purpose in coming here is to inform you of something."

"Uh, forgive my bluntness, but don't you really want to hear me describe the Pharos Beacon? It's truly amazing; I speculate it's a creation of Necrons. It possesses a strange quantum empathy resonance ability that can—"

Karyl looked at him helplessly and interrupted again, "--Great Belisarius Cawl, our time is of the essence. So please listen to me, okay? I'm here because of a prophecy."

"A prophecy?" Cawl suddenly lowered his body. "What prophecy?"

"A prophecy of the Eldar."

"Ha!"

Cawl nodded dismissively.

"The Eldar, the Eldar are a bunch of lazy, degenerate slaves who will perish sooner or later."

He shrugged dismissively—which was almost unbelievable given his enormous size.

"They've either degenerated into primitive humans or are space pirates. I admit they do have some skill in prophecy, but if that prophecy involves me, Belisarius Cawl, then their words are absolutely unreliable!"

"It's not about you, Archmagos," Karyl suppressed the urge to sigh again. "It's about Pharos."

"Um?!"

Karyl repeated the Aeldari Farseer's words, recounting them completely, even mentioning the prophet's name, but still seemed vague. This time, however, Cawl did not show contempt or disdain; instead, he began to think about it very seriously.

A metal boom extended from behind him, projecting a huge screen composed of holographic images. Amid the whirring of gears, he began to write and draw on it. Complex data deductions and formulas rushed across it like a waterfall.

A few minutes later, he stopped calculating, showed the screen to Karyl with an eerie pride, and began to explain at length the meaning of the formulas and what the calculated data actually represented.

He successfully finished his story and delivered his final conclusion before Karyl's patience truly wore off.

"--Therefore, what I want to say is that the so-called Aeldari Farseer's prophecy is complete fabrication. It even said that Pharos would be in danger?"

Cawl raised his voice again, steam billowed from behind him, and the gears whirred faster.

"It has never had a single operational error under my maintenance!" he said, waving his arms—his entire arms. "For the past nineteen centuries, I've used it to supply the Imperium with new weapons and equipment, without a single problem!"

Karyl nodded repeatedly, hoping he would stop, but Cawl wouldn't. He excitedly pulled the holographic projection screen over, placed it in front of Karyl, and then pointed to a certain spot.

"Look here, sir, do you see? This number is zero! There's not even a decimal point!"

Karyl nodded repeatedly, then took a deep breath and spoke again, even softening his voice.

"I know this involves your area of expertise, Belisarius Cawl, so I completely understand your current agitation."

"But?" Cawl pressed.

"However, as you just said, you acknowledge that they have some skill in prophecy. And those Eldar even went so far as to capsize the ship and block the way in order to deliver this prophecy, so I urge you to proceed with caution."

Cawl fell silent.

A full minute later, he nodded, and for some reason, Karyl saw a strange sense of grievance on the half of his face.

"Very well," the Archmagos Sage said dryly. "I will check it again to make sure it's perfect. But I must say, my lord, those Eldar are not to be trusted."

He suddenly changed his tone, becoming serious, earnest, and rational. This attitude surprised Karyl, as it contradicted Cawl's previous behavior.

Karyl narrowed his eyes, his sharp intuition finally kicking in again—he realized that Belisarius Cawl likely suffered from some kind of split personality.

Cawl, however, knew nothing of this and continued to talk incessantly.

"I've specifically studied their so-called prophecies, and do you know what I concluded? Their actions themselves are the primary factor leading to their prophecies coming true."

"These pathetic Xenos believe in it too much; they completely fail to understand that prophecy is essentially just a partial depiction of the future. If the future is truly predetermined, then what is the point of what we are doing now?"

"Our actions are the primary cause of the future; we are the future, therefore the future can certainly be changed, and changed in the direction we desire."

He decisively swung off his left limb, proudly declaring, "--Even the Emperor himself said so!"

Karyl raised an eyebrow at him.

"If you don't believe me," Cawl leaned closer, his voice deepening again, "You can look into my head, but please be sure to limit the timeframe; my memories are scattered."

He uttered a number, and his prosthetic eye mysteriously went out and then lit up again, as if it were blinking.

Karyl smiled and nodded.

A flash of blue light.

--

Waves crash against the rocks.

Karyl looked up and saw a flock of white seagulls flying by. The sky was a pleasant color, and the sun lingered on the far horizon, neither setting nor rising.

A man stood waiting not far away, the waves reaching his ankles.

Seemingly sensing Karyl's arrival or gaze, he turned his head, revealing a familiar dark face.

"It seems," he smiled, speaking slowly, "That he has accomplished what I asked Belisarius Cawl to do."

"When did you ask him to do this?" Karyl asked, walking toward him.

Eight thousand seven hundred and ninety-one years ago.

"So far away?"

"It is indeed very far away, but not to him. This is his memory; we are all just guests. He has lived too long and has grasped too much knowledge. His memories are fragments arranged in random combinations, and each visit requires a large portion of his computing power."

He blinked, pausing mysteriously. Karyl continued his sentence.

"In other words, we must end this conversation before the Belisarius Cawl runs out of computing power."

"Yes." The man nodded, then cracked a small joke. "You see, even for a cyborg, living too long isn't a good thing."

Karyl nodded silently and finally walked to his side. The sea breeze was refreshing and incredibly warm. The place was extremely quiet, with only the chirping of birds and the sound of waves crashing against the rocks.

Karyl listened for a while, then ended his hard-won, precious rest. He looked at his friend, who looked back at him. Through his eyes, Karyl could see the sun on the distant horizon.

"Speak," he said calmly.

"Very well," The Emperor said. "The first thing I want to talk about is Belisarius Cawl. You must take him with you after things are settled in Sotha. His abilities will be of great help to you, but he is very aggressive, Karyl."

How radical?

"I can sum it up in one sentence—he believes knowledge should not bow down to power or worldly conventions. Therefore, he will likely bring some things that others would consider heretical onto the ship and continue his research. You'll have to put some thought into this."

"Can't I just say it's your order?" Karyl said, squinting, half-jokingly.

"I have no objection, Your Excellency Instructor," The Emperor said with a smile. "But if you declare that, the Ecclesiarchy might come knocking. What will they think if they see you and Roboute sitting together having tea and chatting?"

"I can't possibly sit down and have tea with him."

"That's hard to say."

"I don't drink tea," Karyl frowned, beginning to refute her point by point. "And I rarely chat with people either."

"So, what are you and I doing right now?"

"Isn't this just business as it is?" Karyl retorted. "I don't think this is idle chatter. Go on, are you trying to cause the Archmagos to overheat and crash?"

"Okay. The second thing is the biggest problem you're about to face."

"Hive Fleet?"

The Emperor shook his head, denying it. Sunlight shone on his profile, revealing no trace of the divinity found in the Ecclesiarchy sculptures or paintings; instead, he appeared utterly ordinary.

He paused for a moment before continuing, " In the Five Hundred Worlds, a massive upheaval will erupt, but I cannot give you a specific description."

"I am merely an echo from 8,791 years ago, stored in the memory cell of a Tech-Priest. Perhaps I already know what will happen, but the version of me speaking to you cannot. I know nothing of that dark future. You must be careful, you all must be careful."

"I understand," Karyl said.

He didn't reveal the truth about the fakes; it was pointless. He had known all along what kind of being the Emperor before him was, so he wasn't surprised at this moment.

A gentle sea breeze blew by, and he turned his head to look at the sun.

"Is there a third thing?" Karyl asked calmly.

"Yes," The Emperor said. "After this conversation, this memory will feed back to me in some form. Therefore, I would like to ask you a question."

What's the problem?

The Emperor exhaled, raised his hand, and pointed to the distant horizon.

Was that the sunset, or the rising sun of early morning?

Karyl thought for a moment before answering.

"It depends on what people think. I can't make any decisions, you know that."

The Emperor immediately frowned.

"Who said that?" he immediately retorted. "Aren't you a human being now?"

Before Karyl could refute, he continued, "The fact that you've come here proves our plan succeeded; it proves you've been reborn as a human."

"In other words, you now possess a flesh-and-blood body capable of injury. You have successfully distanced yourself from divinity and godhood, and can act entirely according to your own will. You are free, Karyl, do you understand?"

"Malcador and I swore to get you out of that prison, and we did it. This is your gift upon release—complete freedom."

"Now, as long as you no longer voluntarily take on that responsibility, you will continue to possess this gift. You are human now, therefore you must participate in this decision."

Karyl looked at him, falling into an indescribable silence. He didn't know how to answer, and in the end could only manage a wry smile before cracking a joke.

"Can a single memory really evoke such thought-provoking thoughts?"

"It's just that you're too stubborn," The Emperor sighed in reply. "Even the memories can't stand it."

Complete freedom.

Karyl lowered his head, his thoughts becoming increasingly jumbled. After a while, he said, "I don't know, I've never thought about such a thing."

Which one?

Karyl raised his head and looked at the sun.

"To be free. I've never thought about that, you understand? I've never even thought about what freedom is. I don't feel bound; I do what I want to do, and what I should do—"

"--Who says those sacrifices, time and time again, are your obligation? Who is it, Karyl Lohars? You can say you want to do them, but you can't say you should do them. No one should bear that responsibility."

"But you and Malcador bore the burden, as did countless others."

"Malcador and I have been moving towards this goal from the very beginning, and everything we've built along the way has been for this purpose. The same is true for others; they understand what they are fighting for."

"Like Bellros von Sharp, he always knew why he fought. He didn't fight for me, nor did he wave that flag for me. But you are different. You weren't born human, and you owe nothing to humanity."

"Think back on your life. Think about what you've given up. Death, brokenness, humanity being eroded time and time again, and you yourself still see it as a 'responsibility'? To whom are you responsible? To Konrad Curze Curze?"

"You have already fulfilled your responsibilities. Without you, what would he have become? How far would Nostramo have driven him?"

Karyl remained silent. The Emperor grabbed his shoulders, forcing him to look him in the eye.

"Don't you realize what arrogance this is?" he demanded sharply. "You sacrifice yourself time and time again, pushing yourself to the brink of ruin, taking on responsibilities you shouldn't have, yet you act as if this is how you were born."

"You're wrong, Karyl Lohars. Even I wasn't born for this. I've wasted countless years of my life on meaningless pleasures."

"People call me the Emperor, they worship me as God and savior of mankind, but do they know that I am just a human being? I too have felt regret, pain, and helplessness; there are things I cannot do. If I am like this, what makes you think you owe humanity anything? What makes you think you should bear everything and sacrifice everything?"

The Emperor released his grip, his gaze remaining stern.

"You have gained your freedom, my friend," he repeated. "This is a hard-won treasure. Promise me you will use it well and never repeat the same mistake."

On the far horizon, a sun slowly rises. Its Radiance illuminates the sea, and also the two people gazing at each other.

Karyl nodded silently.