Interlude: In the Hangar of Macragge's Honour

Interlude 592: Inside the Hangar of the Macragge's Honour

Karyl scrutinized the face. It was dark-skinned, with a white snake tattoo that stretched from the cheekbone down to the lower lip. It was an unattractive face, a warrior's face, a tribune's face, La Endymion's face.

Looking at that face, Karyl couldn't help but recall the past.

First, there was the first encounter with this tribune ten thousand years ago in the library aboard the Emperor's Dream. Then there was Terra, where the Adeptus Custodes received their lord's orders to protect him in the underground grottoes.

It was at that time that these guards clad in golden armor truly got to know him and their attitudes began to change. The matter was subtle upon closer examination, but understandable; Karyl felt it was simply human nature.

However, these familiar faces are probably all dead now, most of them perished on Terra, forever lost. Even their names have been buried in the sands of history, with only relics lying quietly among the shattered Terra, awaiting discovery by future generations.

Sometimes it's a piece of armor, sometimes a bone fragment. Other times, it's a weapon, shield, or metal shard.

The Imperium spent a great deal of effort to excavate their names, even going so far as to establish a completely new agency and invest a great deal of manpower and resources, but progress was always very slow.

The ripple effects of Terra's shattering have made excavation extremely difficult; in fact, the harsh environment isn't even the first problem explorers need to consider.

Countless people ventured too far into Terra, forgetting the designated return time, and remained there forever.

Karyl cut off his thoughts and turned his attention to the tribune who had nothing to say.

La Endymion did not answer his question, perhaps because he did not want to, but Karyl would be more inclined to believe that he did not know how to answer.

The tribunal's expression could probably be summed up in one sentence. "My lord has told me nothing."

That's a classic.

Karyl smiled, raised his hand and gestured, decisively changing the subject.

There's no point in asking further; Ra himself probably doesn't even know what his lord wants. This consistent mysticism is infuriating, but considering Ra's status, it becomes quite intriguing.

Maintaining a smile, Karyl pondered the factors behind the matter in his mind, but quickly gave up—he had never been very good at thinking, especially about things like this.

Let's take action first.

"How are you feeling now?" Karyl asked.

"All bodily functions are normal, that Xenos..."

The tribunal answered in this way, but inadvertently his brows furrowed, a hint of anger flashing across his dark face, and his voice became low and somber.

"It seems to have a set of adjustment techniques. I clearly remember being severely injured at the time. However, when I woke up, I had fully recovered."

"Of course!" Trazyn, still surrounded by the scribes, suddenly turned and shouted. "I am grateful to every guest who comes to the museum! Please put in a good word for me before His Majesty, Tribune!"

The tribunal clenched his right hand, which was resting on the sword at his waist, but he did not respond.

After that, Trazyn never got another chance to speak. The Ultramarines, whose expressions were already hostile, surrounded it and began bombarding it with their scribes.

Servo-skull laden with documents moved back and forth above their heads, while scribes shouted out numbers from time to time. Combined with the Infinite's long, green-glowing skull face, the scene was utterly absurd.

However, when combined with the ancient warriors undergoing examinations nearby, the absurdity transforms into madness. For those who still retain their sanity, accepting this scene is extremely difficult.

One thousand Astartes, ten thousand Auxilia, fifty thousand Secutarii, and various other armed forces. Such a massive military force appearing as reinforcements should have delighted any commander. But what if this reinforcement came from the past?

Some of them have even lost their unit designations. If this is still within the realm of understanding, then let's add another prefix to this matter.

A Xenos brought them here.

Moreover, the Xenos claimed that the Emperor had ordered him to do so.

Even to fanatics, this sounded highly dubious, let alone to the Ultramarines, who were known for their rationality. At this very moment, in his office, Roboute Guilliman was dealing with this matter.

Or, to put it more realistically: to deal with the siege by his company commanders.

Most of the company commanders and their officers expressed doubts and distrust about the matter, so they came to the Primarch to find out his thoughts or persuade him to take action.

Roboute Guilliman was delighted—it sounds paradoxical, but it's true.

He had been repeatedly emphasizing that company commanders did not need to completely obey his orders and must have their own thoughts. And now, that had come true, and they finally resembled the Ultramarines legion from ten thousand years ago.

Never blindly follow others, be opinionated, act in accordance with justice and reason, and not be a puppet of the Primarch.

Karyl could guess that he was probably in a state of blissful angst.

He sighed softly.

Roboute Guilliman was unaware of how similar his mindset was to that of parents in ordinary families.

The relationships between the Primarch and their offspring are extremely complex and cannot be understood by common sense. There is a reason why these superhumans undergo modification surgeries and endless, brutal training: before they were human, they were first and foremost soldiers and killing machines.

The Emperor could have easily and directly erased their and the Primarch's emotions, turning them into useful machines, but he didn't.

He demanded that his sons become extraordinary individuals, yet he also felt compassion and affection for them, wanting to interact and communicate with them as a normal father.

Just like Roboute Guilliman at that time.

How similar they are, Karyl thought.

He smiled, but of course, the tribunal standing nearby interpreted that smile in a completely different way.

La Endymion frowned, meticulously falling a few steps behind, his hand on his sword, head bowed, and he whispered in Karyl's ear.

"What happened, sir?"

"We can discuss the issue of honorifics later. Compared to that, I'm more curious why you think my smile is --"

Karyl paused for a few seconds, carefully choosing his words.

"--Are you going to deal with some problems?" he asked cautiously.

"It's just based on experience," the tribunal said. "But I'm not the only one who thinks this way; many others have mentioned it."

"What's up?"

The tribunal shook his head, offering no answer. Karyl sighed again, a mixture of helplessness and relief in his voice, and then turned to ask about something else.

"So, did you talk to these soldiers on your way here?"

"No."

Karyl looked at him with a hint of surprise.

"That Xenos's technology is flawed," Ramen said expressionlessly. "Or perhaps, it was intentional."

"It brought them out of the Stasis Field in batches. They should have felt disoriented; one second they were on the battlefield, and the next they were suddenly in a completely new place. That's only natural."

"However, I did not see such a reaction. The vast majority of them collapsed on the spot, suffering from physiological muscle spasms. Some even fell into a coma and had to receive medical care. If this was the case in Astartes, the situation for ordinary people would be even worse."

As he said this, he suddenly clenched his teeth, and his eyes seemed to blaze with fire.

"That damned Xenos," the tribunal gritted his teeth. "It had its minions treat them, and then it launched into a long lecture on its understanding of human physiology, and it did it all with remarkable accuracy."

Karyl paused for a few seconds, then said, "The Trazyn the Infinite, is a rare Xenos who doesn't hate humans. I'm not saying this to excuse it, but to let you know one thing: in its eyes, Ra truly has no ill intentions towards us."

"But it's arrogant," the tribunal said coldly, ending the conversation.

Half a minute later, the last gate inside the hangar suddenly descended, and the jagged shadows were dispersed by the lights. A huge figure stepped into the hangar rapidly amidst a massive amount of steam.

He was tall and bulky, like a specially modified war machine. His signature red robe proclaimed his status; however, perhaps more striking than him was the pale-faced giant behind him.

At that moment, all the Astartes in the hangar turned their gaze to his face, and they all frowned or showed a thoughtful expression, but it didn't last long.

Belisarius Cawl's voice quickly and loudly shattered the slightly eerie atmosphere.

"Where is it?!" the Archmagos shouted, the blue light in his righteous eyes flashing rapidly.

Within seconds, he located his target in the vast crowd and rushed towards it at the highest speed allowed at the moment, making a great show of force, as if he were charging towards the enemy.

The giant behind him had to jog to keep up, and even bowed his head to apologize to those affected along the way.

However, the target mentioned by the Archmagos remained completely unaffected. The Living Metal that made up its face twisted slightly, revealing a strange smile. This Xenos stood there, grinning, amidst the Ultramarines who were on high alert, and elegantly waved its right hand.

"My precious—no, my outstanding warriors, it seems our time together is coming to an end. I've decided to bid you farewell ahead of schedule, but I believe this won't be our last meeting."

"I, Trazyn the Infinite, ruler of the Solemnace Dynasty, will come to your aid in your darkest hour. Trust me."

A flash of green light appeared.

"Stop it!" Belisarius Cawl roared. "Don't let it get away!"

He gave the warning in time, and the Ultramarines reacted immediately—in that instant, six melee weapons slashed at Trazyn's body, but none of them hit.

The Necrons's hard body vanished in an instant, a dreamlike illusion, only the reactor in its chest and the green light in its eyes remained tangible. It smiled, gracefully stepping out of the Ultramarines' encirclement, and bowed slightly to Karyl.

"See you later, my judge," it said. "I will notify you when everything is ready."

As soon as he finished speaking, the green light went out and disappeared from the spot. Suddenly, a burst of high-temperature steam rose from the complex structure on the back that caused the Archmagos's hunched posture, and then Belisarius Cawl began to curse loudly.

He spewed out a torrent of profanities at an astonishing speed and breadth for half a minute, then quickly returned to normal. Ignoring the stares of the crowd, he turned away and muttered as he walked over to Karyl and the tribunes.

La Endymion looked at the Tech-Priest with an indescribable expression.

"My lord—!" Cawl spoke earnestly. "You saw it all! I heard it all! You will meet it again, won't you? Is it what I think?"

"I don't know what you're thinking," Karyl replied, taking a slight step back.

"Anyway, you'll see it again, right?!"

"Yes, I can't deny that," Karyl said helplessly.

"That makes things much easier! Please, take me with you!" The Archmagos waved his appendage with great enthusiasm. "I beg you, you must let me come along!"

"It's possible, but... well, never mind." Karyl sighed and shook his head. "Whatever you wish, Archmagos."

He turned his gaze to the giant standing behind him, who happened to look over at that moment with a very cautious look that quickly disappeared.

"Anazion Sotha Cawl." He bowed his head and slowly uttered a name. His voice was deep, and his accent was exactly the same as Cawl's Mars accent.

Karyl suddenly smiled and nodded at him, "Karyl Lohars. It's a pleasure to meet you, Anazion. This is the tribune La Endymion."

The Adeptus Custodes frowned. He hadn't wanted to introduce himself, but since things had come to this, he nodded to Anazion. It didn't seem forced; at most, it was just a little stiff.

Cawl watched this scene silently from the side, the Blue Radiance in his eyes never ceasing.

The conversation ended there, and the suddenly arriving Archmagos led Anazion, the pale giant, away from the hangar.

The Ultramarines discussed this indignantly for a few moments, then quickly led the scribes away. The Tech-Priest and Techmarine, having completed their inspections, followed closely behind, becoming the second group to leave.

And so, whether intentionally or unintentionally, the huge hangar was now completely empty of any "newcomers," leaving only the ancient relics from ten thousand years ago staring at each other, speechless.

Finally, a Death Guard broke the silence.

"They did it on purpose," the veteran said, his voice hoarse.

He was wearing an old MK3 suit, with mottled paint and peeling paint in many places. The dark green on the shoulder armor on both sides had even been peeled off almost completely.

His face, like the armor itself, was weathered and worn; beneath his pale, almost faded short hair lay a face full of scars and wrinkles born of exhaustion and numbness.

His words resonated with many.

"Anyway—" he began again, "I guess they just want us to calm down, and I have no problem with that. My name is Kefa Morag; some of you have probably heard of me."

"Lord Mortarion's personal guard?" a Salamanders asked.

The Death Guard's face twitched. He clutched his helmet and nodded silently. His companions stood silently behind him, offering a special kind of mental support, so his expression softened slightly, and he began to admit it.

"Yes, I was once the Primarch's bodyguard."

"You are still," an Iron Warriors reminded him. "The great Mortarion will be proud of you, Lord Kefa."

He clenched his right fist, struck his chest, glanced around, and said in a deep voice, "Narik Dregur, Warsmith of the 114th Grand Company of the Iron Warriors."

Kefa Morag was stunned, then forced a smile, "I didn't expect to see a brother who fought alongside me in the Battle of Macragge here."

Narik nodded to him. "May the Emperor protect us."

"Yes, the Emperor blesses us."

Another voice rang out, deep and resonant, as if echoing. The speaker was very tall, his golden-green armor adorned with dragon scales and a dragon head, making his identity immediately clear.

Nevertheless, his height, inherited from his Primarch, did not make him appear aggressive. His dark face, as if smeared with charcoal ash from a forge, was filled with sorrow and solemnity.

"Adro Branuer pays tribute to his brothers."

Karyl stood at the edge of the hangar, remaining silent, showing no intention of joining the conversation. He watched them exchange words, shake hands, and give a warrior's salute, his eyes utterly calm.

He admired these soldiers, without a doubt. They were people prepared to sacrifice themselves in life, and now, having been brought back to life, they still have to face the changing times.

They likely crossed the battlefield and arrived nearly ten thousand years in the future without even blinking. Such a shock is not something everyone can withstand. Nevertheless, they are still trying to restore everything to normal—at least to the normalcy they remember.

Those warrior salutes are probably no longer used by anyone.

Warrior guilds and warrior rituals were both products of the Legion era, with the warrior rituals evolving from guilds; the two complemented each other. Now, however, we live in the age of Chapter, where better and closer internal connections replace these traditional organizations, and each Chapter has its own unique characteristics Chapter.

In other words, those who practice these rituals have long been considered retired.

Karyl sighed and turned to leave, but the tribunal grabbed his right hand first.

"Forgive my overstepping," said La Endymion solemnly, then raised his right hand and called out his name in a loud voice.

And his position.

Instructor of the Eighth Legion.

Karyl noticed that a light had suddenly appeared in those people's eyes.