Interlude 112: Old Things (II)

Roboute Guilliman stood up from behind his desk.

"No, there's no need for that." He told his company commander, the Invincible Sun, Sol Inviktus, with a resolute tone.

"Let them see. What do we have to hide? Are we supposed to tell these veterans that they have no right to know what happened to their Primarch, their Legion, and their brothers?"

"But, Primarch, I'm worried."

"What are you worried about?" Roboute Guilliman looked at his son, who seemed hesitant to speak. "Are you worried they'll see this as a betrayal of Legion culture?"

"More than that," Lieyang said in a low voice. "After all, you are the main author of the Codex Astartes."

"So?"

"."

Roboute Guilliman took a deep breath, shaking his head with a mixture of amusement and exasperation. "Yes, I am the primary author, but its implementation was agreed upon by all Primarch. Moreover, the Legion's culture has been carefully maintained."

"I wrote this Codex Astartes in the hope that those split-off subgroups could quickly form combat power, so every case I included in the Codex Astartes has been carefully selected."

"Once they've read the Codex Astartes in their entirety, they won't be at a loss when faced with an emergency. They can't possibly not see that, my company commander, you're worrying too much."

Really?

Sol Invictus hesitated again before leaving the office with his Primarch.

Not long ago, a huge debate took place here, involving all the company commanders. They came here to persuade Roboute Guilliman, but failed and were instead defeated one by one by the Primarch.

Rational analysis, passionate debate, presenting facts, and reasoning—even disregarding their Primarch identities, the company commanders could not possibly win this argument against Roboute Guilliman.

However, just as one wave subsided, another arose. The debate had barely ended when the company commander received news that the instructor had led the veterans into the archives of the Macragge's Honour.

The person in charge—a woman who had served as an administrator for forty-four years—was very uneasy about this. Invictus, who had originally planned to go to the training ground to stretch his muscles, immediately rushed to the Primarch's office after receiving her message and explained the matter in detail.

But Roboute Guilliman didn't seem to care much about it.

"Actually, Lieyang," Roboute Guilliman murmured, calling out the company commander's nickname, "My initial intention in setting up that archive room was simply to remind myself that it was absolutely necessary."

"I also feel uneasy about the implementation of the Codex Astartes. The Legions may indeed be bloated, but is the structure of the Chapter too insignificant compared to the wars they will face? Moreover, what if these separated Chapter have no further connection with their parent Chapters?"

He suddenly stopped talking, not continuing the topic. The company commander felt a chill, already guessing what Roboute Guilliman hadn't said.

For a moment, the only sound on the road leading directly from Roboute Guilliman's office to the archives was the sound of their footsteps.

Outside the heavy porthole, the stars Radiance, and the soft light from the ceiling cast their Shadow behind them, making everything seem ordinary.

However, this was just another walk accompanied by the company commander. The guards, who were used to seeing them on duty, only began to notice the difference when they reached the outside of the archives.

How much space would a thousand Astartes occupy?

More meticulous respondents would ask for more information, such as whether they were fully armed, whether there were veterans wearing Terminator, and how many company flags they were carrying.

Those who don't care as much will immediately give a vague answer, such as a gathering place or a few trenches.

Sol Invictus could give a definite answer: a thousand Astartes could completely fill the wide corridors of the Macragge's Honour.

From here to the end, every corner was filled with Astartes waiting. The corridor, which used to allow a Land Raider to pass through unimpeded, was now completely blocked.

The company commander nearly gasped, but his Primarch chuckled softly, then stepped forward, nodded to the veterans who noticed him, and shook hands with those closest to him, greeting them warmly as if he had known them all along.

The Invincible Sun stood silently behind, watching Roboute Guilliman display his diplomatic—or rather, social—talent, like a silent statue.

However, even real statues attract attention. The company commander inevitably made eye contact with the soldiers; it wasn't hostile, but it wasn't friendly either.

To him, the soldiers' scrutiny was meticulous, as if they were assessing whether a new recruit was up to standard. His keen senses made it hard for him to ignore this, which infuriated him.

Moreover, he was quickly drawn into the conversation.

"It's so good to see you again, sir." An Iron Warriors gave Aquila Salute to his chest, his tone respectful. "And this gentleman, is he your company commander?"

"Yes, he's my company commander, Narik," Roboute Guilliman said with a smile. "Sol Invictus, 321 years of service, a veteran of countless battles, he's my right-hand man."

The Invincible Sun felt slightly relieved, recognizing the Primarch's protective stance. He then straightened his back, accepting the man's gaze. This gesture contained a hint of resentment; he respected these veterans, but he didn't believe they had served longer than him.

Subtracting the time spent in the Stasis Field, Inviktus believed that few of them could serve longer than he had. Of course, whether the intensity of the wars they experienced was the same was another matter, and he would not ignore the facts in order to maintain his pride.

"Three hundred and twenty-one years?" The Iron Warriors known as Narik showed a slightly surprised expression. "That's astonishing. Hello, Company Commander Sol, I also know a company commander named Sol Tavetz. Have you heard of him?"

Inviktus nodded solemnly.

"Of course I've heard of Sol Tavetz, the Chapter Master of the Emperor's Children."

"He's become Chapter Master?" The Iron Warriors was slightly taken aback.

"And still now," the company commander emphasized. "He's been the battle group Chapter Master ever since the Emperor's Children was split into Chapter."

"So, have you seen him?"

"No."

"I've seen him before," said the Iron Warriors, then stepped forward and extended his right hand toward Invictus. "Narik Dregur, the Warsmith of the Iron Warriors' 114th Grand Company. Of course, the battalion may no longer exist."

The Invincible Sun stepped forward, gripping the forearm of the right hand tightly, and nodded to its owner. "Sol Invictus, First Ultramarines Chapter, it's a pleasure to meet you, Narik the Blacksmith."

"It's the Warsmith." The Iron Warriors grinned. "Don't get it wrong. The blacksmith's right here."

He withdrew his arm, took a step back, and made way for a person who was slightly taller than him. The person was wearing a magnificent suit of armor, with the dragon head on the left shoulder being particularly eye-catching. Invictus didn't even recognize the model at first glance, which showed just how magnificent it was.

But it is far more than just ornate; the gold outlines and reliefs are merely embellishments. Every detail is brimming with a palpable sense of power.

"Adro Branuur," the man introduced himself. "A member of the Firedrakes, salute to you, Company Commander. Also, as the Warsmith said, I am a blacksmith—"

He smiled slightly, blinked, and looked at Roboute Guilliman again.

"--I'm very good at making and repairing things, so, sir, if you don't mind."

"I couldn't be happier," Roboute Guilliman said sincerely. "To receive help from the Salamanders is something every legion would love to do."

He deliberately used the word "legion." Invictus noticed this subtle difference, but before he could think about it, he saw two people walk out of the open metal door of the archives.

One person was dressed in iconic golden armor, fully armed, while the other was empty-handed, wearing a long robe that offered no defensive capabilities, and was merely a mortal.

"How is it?" Roboute Guilliman smiled and walked over. "My archives, are you satisfied with it? Gathering information from across the Imperium Chapter here isn't easy."

"You shouldn't ask me that question," the person being questioned replied. "I'm just a caregiver."

During the conversation, another person walked out the door. The weathered and faded armor made Invictus frown. He didn't understand what the Techmarine and Tech-Priest who went to check were busy with.

How could we allow an old warrior to be so disrespectful in front of the Primarch?

Two seconds later, his worries vanished again.

"Kefa!" Roboute Guilliman called out his name, a look of surprise flashing across his face. "It's you!"

"My lord," the Death Guard, addressed as Kefa, forced a smile, "I could say the same thing to you, but no, thank you."

He took a step back, avoiding Roboute Guilliman's embrace, and bowed deeply.

"What are you doing?" Lord Macragge asked, frowning.

"Thank you," Death Guard said hoarsely. "And I apologize for my initial doubts."

"Before stepping into this archive, my shortsightedness prevented me from understanding why you would take the lead in writing a book about dismantling the Legion, but now I understand its necessity."

"The will of our Father has not been forgotten; it flows in every Son of Mortarion, who carries it throughout the galaxy. To see this makes me deeply uneasy; please forgive me."

Roboute Guilliman sighed, strode forward, and pulled him up.

"Don't do this," the Primarch said, enunciating each word clearly. "You are insulting us all, Kefa. Why do you assume that the names of heroes will be forgotten?"

Invictus saw that the Death Guard's face was trembling.

"I—" he managed to utter. "—I'm so sorry, sir."

"Don't be sorry for this, Kefa. There's nothing to be sorry about. Everyone remembers Mortarion's name. His spirit is known throughout the Imperium. Every soldier who has fought so hard in the trenches on the front lines has mentioned his name. Lord of Death, resilient, never yielding. He is our role model, do you understand?"

"I understand."

"Very good." Roboute Guilliman nodded slightly, his voice suddenly rising. "And you are his son, I demand that you also set an example, do you agree?"

Kefa Morag straightened up abruptly, his steel boots clanging, and he instinctively saluted.

"Then, I ask you—"

Roboute Guilliman turned around and pulled Invictus aside.

"--Accompanied by my company commander, lead your brothers to the armory and foundry to collect their weapons and undergo maintenance. Do you agree?"

"I agree, sir."

Death Guard sighed softly and looked sincerely into Roboute Guilliman's eyes.

He said softly, "You're still the same as you were ten thousand years ago, always issuing commands that no one can refuse."

Roboute Guilliman didn't respond to the remark, but simply stepped aside to let his company commander turn and lead the way. The Death Guard followed closely behind, each saluting the Primarch as they passed him—a respect that couldn't be faked.

Karyl had been watching all this in silence, knew that the Mortarion guard had most likely worn a helmet while in the archives, sharing what he saw through his goggles with all his brothers' helmets.

This doesn't break the rules; it's just finding a loophole. It's clever and saves a lot of trouble.

He couldn't help but chuckle, then received another whispered question from the Adeptus Custodes.

"Grown ups?"

"La, what's wrong with you?"

"I don't know, I feel perfectly fine. I just wanted to ask you, is there something wrong with you?"

"What problem could I possibly have?" Karyl replied in a low voice, his smile vanishing, leaving only a furrowed brow. "I was just smiling. Does smiling mean I'm going to kill someone? Or solve some 'problem'?"

The Adeptus Custodes straightened their backs and stood silently like statues. Roboute Guilliman, however, expressed his opinion.

"Karyl, if I may be so bold, statistically speaking, five out of every ten times you smile—"

" --Roboute." Karyl smiled at him. "Would you like to guess what that smile means?"

Lord Macragge shook his head, pulled Narik Dregul, who was still in the ranks, into the archives. Watching his retreating figure, Karyl took a deep breath, then looked at the tribunal.

"So."

"What, sir?"

Is he telling the truth? Every five times?

"I can't say for sure," La replied lightly. "But I don't think laughing is a sin, sir; it's just that your laugh is a bit scary."

Karyl silently propped himself up on his elbow, placed his left hand on his chest, and covered the lower half of his face with his right hand, assuming a thoughtful expression.