67. Reclaiming Hope (Final, Two-in-One)

Though the dust had clearly settled, Roboute Guilliman did not look relaxed in the slightest.

Everything on the tactical table lay within his sight. Even if they had pulled some seven- or eight-year-old child from the Loyal Heirs Academy to take a look, that child would have unhesitatingly concluded that humanity had won. The flanks, the front lines, the rear.

No matter which point one considered, the Necrons' defeat was inevitable.

Now, humanity merely needed to proceed step by step with clearing the battlefield and accepting prisoners to claim the final victory with ease.

Yet Guilliman still stood motionless before the table, his brows tightly furrowed as icy blue seawater soaked his face. From afar, he looked almost like an ice sculpture, a grim statue gazing into the distance.

His brother descended from the sky, landing slowly behind him.

Sanguinius perfectly controlled every ounce of strength within his body, making the landing almost completely silent. His steel boots touched the ground. He released his grip, allowing the ancestral warblade gifted to him by the Necron general before its death to stand steadily upon the ground, then slowly spoke.

"How goes it?"

"We have won," Guilliman replied. "After you dealt a devastating blow to their true main force, we no longer have anything to worry about."

"Is that so? Yet your expression does not look like that of a victor."

Sanguinius slowly walked to his side. The warrior's sharp edge had faded from his face, and the concern in his eyes was utterly sincere. Ordinarily, such precious brotherly affection would have immediately made the lord of the Five Hundred Worlds, who had not seen another brother in ten thousand years, want to smile.

But now, his face remained utterly stiff.

He shook his head coldly. "I was merely thinking."

"Thinking about