Interlude: Those Willing to Die

"You have no right to do that," Roboute Guilliman said.

"I have it," Roboute Guilliman said.

The Roboute Guilliman who gave the opinion, the Roboute Guilliman who said "You have no right to do that," had shining blond hair and fair skin. He had a broad chin and a high nose, and even though his features were all scrunched up, it didn't detract from his marble-sculpted handsomeness.

The other person was different; his difference didn't even require describing his appearance. Just by listening to his voice, one could distinguish him from the first Roboute Guilliman.

His voice was deep and husky, quite different from the young man's high-spirited energy, but despite this, their voices actually sounded almost identical.

Therefore, if the conversation between these two people were recorded and played for someone who had never met them, that person would likely conclude that it was a father disciplining his son.

Roboute Guilliman, with his full head of white hair, began to repeat the emphasis.

"I have it." He sat behind his desk, staring coldly at the young man. "If I don't allow it, then you won't be able to accomplish anything on either the Macragge's Honour or any of the ships in the Combined Fleet."

The young man's eyebrows furrowed immediately in disbelief, angered by the deliberate arrogance in his words, but he quickly calmed down.

For a moment, he even seemed a little embarrassed and at a loss, but he still tried to shake off this feeling and continued to explain his point of view.

Battle report--

He raised his right hand and pointed to a stack of Dataslate on the right side of his desk.

"Yes, the battle report." Roboute Guilliman interrupted him. "I know what you're trying to say: the Five Hundred Worlds are about to suffer a devastating blow, and from within, but you're not the only one who can draw that conclusion from them, and neither am I."

"My company commanders, my staff, and everyone working on the bridge can see this. We discussed this long before you arrived, and we are determined to resolve it in a normal manner."

His white eyes, which had almost dimmed from the calm conversation, lit up again at this moment. He began to emphasize slowly, slowing his pace.

"If there is a rebellion, we will quell the rebellion. If there is Daemon invasion, we will quell the Daemon invasion. If it is the work of Xenos, then we will slaughter all the Xenos that dare to invade Ultramar."

You won't make it in time!

Upon hearing this, the young man suddenly swung his outstretched arm down in anger, as if he were holding a sharp sword. His cheeks flushed red, and he even began to stammer slightly.

"You, you can't—you can't do this! Time is more important than anything else in war; it directly relates to whether information can be trusted! If we proceed according to your strategy, how long will it take to resolve these wars that are happening simultaneously? And how many people will die because of it?"

Roboute Guilliman looked at him, and for a few seconds lost the desire to speak, not because of the young man's tone, but because of a peculiar emotion that shouldn't have been there for him.

That feeling is called nostalgia.

"They really do look alike," he thought, almost letting out a sigh.

How can they be so alike? Almost exactly like me when I was young, debating with those stubborn elders in the Senate, at university, at the library entrance.

It took me a long time to overcome the deficiencies caused by this tension.

No one is born an orator, wouldn't you say, Father?

He slightly raised his eyes and looked at the two portraits hanging above the large bookcase not far away. His fists, which were on the table, suddenly loosened, and then he revealed a smile.

"So what do you plan to do?" Roboute Guilliman asked, even with a hint of surprise in his voice. "We only met a day and a half ago, and you're already giving me advice. Well, lad, what kind of advice? And what do you plan to do?"

"You're willing to listen?" The young man looked at him suspiciously.

"Of course, why not?" Roboute Guilliman said with a smile, then nodded, stood up from behind his desk, and walked to a porthole with his hands behind his back.

He deliberately left the young man time to compose his words; he knew he would do that, he understood him.

Roboute Guilliman couldn't help but chuckle.

Yes, he knows him as well as he knows this study or the Macragge. How well? Well, let's put it this way: behind him, there's a sofa and a small coffee table.

A hundred centuries ago, his brother Angron read a novel here about a veteran suffering from severe aftereffects and his miserable post-war life.

The book was from Macragge and was called "Maximus's Way." The protagonist of the book was named Maximus and lived in a fictional country that was about 80% similar to Macragge.

He was an ordinary soldier who retired in the era of flintlock muskets and suffered much bullying. He eventually died in the street, fighting against an imaginary enemy, and then, due to drunkenness, a fall, and his disabled leg, he drowned painfully in a stinking ditch.

This book comes from a cynical writer and critic who wrote it while the Ultramarines were conscripting large numbers of soldiers into Macragge.

Roboute Guilliman understood what he was trying to say, so even though many officers in the army were furious, he did not punish the man, but let him write this book—and many more books that followed.

All he did was get him on board and turn him into a special war Remembrancers, letting him witness the Ultramarines' war firsthand.

Thirteen years later, this man announced that he would no longer write any books and publicly apologized to Roboute Guilliman and the Ultramarines Legion.

He said he was sorry that he was so slow to realize the truth.

He added that he now understands that the army that the children taken from Macragge joined was not, as he repeatedly described in his book, committed "aggression," but rather genuinely sought to help.

Faced with readers who still didn't believe him, he self-deprecatingly explained his reasons: Did the invaders really spend so much effort on post-war reconstruction after the war, leaving behind advanced technology, a complete social system and welfare system to improve people's lives, and then just leave?

"Are you alright?" a voice suddenly sounded behind him.

"Why do you ask that?" Roboute Guilliman asked without turning his head.

The young man didn't answer, so he turned around and saw a face with tightly pursed lips, looking somewhat uneasy.

Roboute Guilliman almost smiled again—a dangerous thing for a politician like him. He could fake a smile, but he could never so easily reveal his true feelings to another person, even if that person...

"He is either a son or a father," Conno Roboute Guilliman once solemnly advised him.

Roboute Guilliman sighed.

"Go ahead and say it," he urged. "It's not a big deal, even if you think the plan is terrible."

Then the young man began to speak.

"I have a way to solve this once and for all. You just mentioned Daemon or Xenos, but you know in your heart that the wars that have occurred in those worlds were not started by either of them."

Similarly, their causes are also not...

A flicker of shame crossed the young man's face, but he persisted in continuing to speak.

"I don't want to explain why, but please look at me."

He stepped forward and stood in front of Roboute Guilliman. He was considerably shorter than him, like a teenager still developing—of course, given their combined size, this teenager's standard would probably be enough to beat 99% of the adults in the world.

He tilted his head back, looked into Roboute Guilliman's eyes which were brimming with white light, and continued speaking.

"Putting aside looks and physique, my way of thinking is what's truly dangerous. The way I see things, the way I speak, and the way I think about them are almost identical to yours. At least almost identical to yours when you were young."

"How do you know?" Roboute Guilliman asked calmly.

He received a smile, a smile that held a hint of weariness and a touch of pride.

"That's obvious, isn't it? I mean, although it sounds a bit unbelievable, but I..."

The young man lowered his head in thought for a moment, then raised it again. In his eyes, which appeared almost pale blue due to the light, Radiance that Roboute Guilliman had long lost was shining.

"I am you." He finally stated firmly. "At least a part of you. And those who start wars would never speak to you like I do."

Roboute Guilliman nodded, offering no rebuttal.

"Therefore, if you intend to conduct this war in a normal way, you will face hundreds and thousands of enemies who think your way, act in your image, and commit blood debts in your name."

"Each of them will have an army, because they are you, a more ruthless version of you. And you don't need to think about how to plan the war at all. So, I can easily conclude that you cannot win if you follow your methods."

Roboute Guilliman nodded again.

"That's right," he replied softly. "But when you're thinking about these things, have you considered another matter: the army I command isn't composed of ordinary people?"

The young man nodded with a pained expression.

"I've thought about it," he said softly. "But believe me, Astartes is nothing compared to a creature like me."

"A creature like you?"

The young man was silent for a few seconds, his Adam's apple bobbing, before he answered with difficulty, "Yes, a creature like me, or rather, a monster that thirsts for flesh and blood."

Roboute Guilliman stared at him expressionlessly.

"I can feel an urge to eat people, you know? But I've never done it. However, when that craving arises, there's always a voice inside me telling me that if I did, I would get—"

"Additional power."

Roboute Guilliman calmly picked up where he left off, and gazed with satisfaction at the young man's suddenly wide eyes.

"I know more about this than you do. In my experience, they probably have a weird recipe—"

"--We." The young man stubbornly interrupted him, likely imitating him.

"I'm one of them too," he said. "You can't ignore that; I'm one of the monsters too."

Roboute Guilliman narrowed his eyes.

"Them."

"Us."

"Them!" Roboute Guilliman suddenly roared. "You're not a monster!"

To the young man's astonishment, he resolutely waved his right hand. "Now listen to me, their recipes are numerous, and they may involve the power of the Warp, so we must prepare for the worst."

"That means they can acquire my genes by consuming the flesh and blood of Astartes and become more like me—more like me in every way."

He lowered his voice, took a deep breath to conceal his emotions, then raised his right hand and gestured. "That's all I needed to add. You can continue."

"Therefore, your army is very likely unable to defeat them," the young man said, dropping a conclusion in a rapid-fire manner.

It was only at this point that Roboute Guilliman realized he had seemingly helped his opponent defeat him in the debate.

A vague sense of annoyance flashed through his mind, but it didn't really spread. He pretended to ponder for a moment, then decisively conceded the young man's victory.

The latter showed a cautiousness mixed with simple joy, which Roboute Guilliman captured even though it was only for a moment.

The young man then began to explain his solution.

He began by mentioning Jago Sevatarion's help, then a word that clearly shouldn't have come to mind, "psychic power," which he emphasized as he went on to recount a discovery they made during their journey to rendezvous with the Combined Fleet.

What was originally just a routine daily check-up by Sevatar, where the Firstborn of the Night would use psychic powers to probe his mind, turned into a strange discovery on that particular day. For reasons unknown, Sevatar found a hidden "interface" deep within his mind.

Through a series of investigations, they finally confirmed that this was an interface that could be used to meet other "Roboute Guilliman," a small door connected to some unknown mental network.

"But only I can get in. Anyway, I've tried talking to a few of them," the young man said with a complicated expression. "They've all done things that are absolutely unforgivable, but they're still not satisfied; they're still craving more."

"Moreover, they know about this interface. They've even started discussing using it to form alliances, exchange information, and fight against you in war."

"So?" Roboute Guilliman asked, frowning.

"So I can kill them, one after another. They're all psychic entities in that place reached through the interface. I've already questioned Captain Jago Sevatarion about this, and he confirmed it using psychic abilities."

"Do you understand? I can find every single one of them through this so-called interface, regardless of whether they possess psychic abilities or not. This interface exists within their minds, just like mine. I can stop this disaster without shedding a drop of blood!"

For several minutes afterward, Roboute Guilliman remained silent. He was thinking; the matter was obvious. But he was perfectly capable of multitasking, yet he did not; he simply remained silent.

If it weren't for the sudden, jarring reminder from the Cogitator array on his desk, he probably would have continued in this silence.

"Primarch, we have received a signal from Lord Sanguinius!"

Roboute Guilliman suddenly looked up.