87. Between the Stars (III, 3k)

Roboute Guilliman smelled a burnt odor, so terrible that his sense of smell was almost destroyed within the first two seconds of its appearance.

The smell came and went quickly; his pain vanished in an instant, so quickly that he almost doubted whether he had really smelled it.

It wasn't until he saw the blue smoke emanating from the Astartes and his armor, which looked as if it had melted away, that he realized the smell might not be an illusion.

He heard footsteps, turned around, and saw the First Chapter Master escorting his steward over.

Marius Gage supported her carefully. Roboute Guilliman pursed his lips; he didn't really want them to come, at least not Euten. This scene wasn't suitable for her to see.

--In fact, he had thought that Euten would show even a little shock at witnessing the shattered shoulder armor and the horrific scene, but she didn't.

She gripped her cane tightly, her expression serious and focused, remaining calm and composed amidst giants who were far taller and stronger than her.

"What's going on, Roboute?"

"I cannot answer your question at the moment, ma'am."

Roboute Guilliman muttered something as he bent down, and the First Chapter Master, who had replaced him, helped Euten up. Euton shook off his hand, leaned on his cane, and shook his head. His face, beneath his short, graying hair, was extremely serious.

"It's fine if you don't answer me, but you need to figure out exactly what happened. I'm going to exercise the authority you gave me to receive them, Roboute."

She raised her right hand and pointed to the 499 Astartes who were blankly accepting garlands and cheers at the end of the red carpet.

Their somber armor seemed even warmer amidst the crowd's enthusiasm, but Roboute Guilliman could roughly guess their mood from their gait, and his facial features became even more tense.

"I understand, ma'am," he said softly.

Euten nodded to him, her gaze softening considerably. Leaning on her cane, she remained silent, but her expression conveyed everything she wanted to say to Roboute Guilliman.

Lord Macragge smiled at his foster mother, then hardened his heart and ordered his First Chapter Master to escort her away.

He turned around and saw a pair of open eyes.

"Instructor Karyl?" Roboute Guilliman asked seriously. "What's going on?"

"I need to request a quiet room so I can explain," Karyl said slowly. "And at least half an hour to talk—alone. Just the two of us."

Roboute Guilliman did not refuse and began to feel fortunate that he had already gotten Marius Gage and Ms. Euten out of the place.

If they heard this, they would absolutely not accept it. In fact, let alone accept it, Roboute Guilliman even suspected that his housekeeper would be angered by the matter.

No, now is not the time to think about these things.

He cut off his thoughts and calmed himself down. "A quiet room isn't a problem, half an hour for a conversation isn't a problem either, being alone together is something I can negotiate. But what about this person?"

"He is Company Commander Van Cleef of the Eighth Legion," Karyl said slowly. "He is alive and needs medical assistance. That's all; I can't reveal any more right now."

Silence.

For a full five minutes, Roboute Guilliman remained silent. To the Macragge, his silence was almost deafening. But Karyl Lohars simply met his gaze calmly, maintaining the same silence throughout.

Staring into those eyes, Roboute Guilliman finally nodded slowly.

"I believe you," he said. "I believe the person who holds the reins of those eyes wouldn't lie to me—but what kind of medical assistance does Company Commander Van Cleef actually need?"

Please wait a moment.

Karyl approached Van Cleef, raised his right hand, and gently yet firmly removed Van Cleef's helmet. Accompanied by a horrifying sound of flesh being torn apart, the helmet, which seemed to be melting, was slowly removed.

The face beneath was utterly mutilated, the skin surface looking as if it had been ignited by Phosphex flamethrower, the tendon texture melting and dripping onto the ground, sliding down the face where the white bones had been exposed.

Moreover, he was standing with his eyes open—or rather, he could no longer close them. He was fortunate enough to retain his eyeballs and his sight, leaving misfortune to those who were observing him.

Roboute Guilliman noticed that he was still breathing.

Lord Macragge's eye twitched suddenly.

Immediately afterwards, he felt a chill—he couldn't tell where the feeling came from, but he saw Karyl, who was facing away from him, resolutely press his right hand against the melting flesh and blood of the face.

"This was my fault, Van Cleef."

He said in a low voice, almost a declaration, "But you don't have to die, at least not here. That thing backed down at the crucial moment; it didn't want me to trace it back to you through the mark left in your heart. It escaped, but you will suffer for a long time."

Van Cleef opened his mouth, and charred teeth emerged from between his flesh—a terrifying thought suddenly occurred to Roboute Guilliman: he realized that the company commander's healing abilities were still at work.

However, his flesh and blood instinctively refused to be reborn.

Why?

Realizing this made Roboute Guilliman's eyes widen, and he almost felt dizzy.

Van Cleef opened his mouth and made a few hoarse "ahs," as if trying to speak. But his voice was clearly not as fortunate as his eyes; he had lost the ability to speak. Yet Karyl listened intently, even nodding repeatedly.

After a moment, he nodded.

"I see."

Roboute Guilliman couldn't see Karyl Lohars's expression, but he could hear the suppressed anger in his tone—he himself often spoke in that tone to others; he was a veteran at it.

"But this isn't your fault, Van Cleef. You don't know what that thing is. But I assure you, it will get its comeuppance."

Roboute Guilliman saw the Eighth Legion's company commander slowly nod. He then turned and made a complex, continuous hand gesture to the Ultramarines behind him.

He didn't need to use words to express the words "medical assistance." In the Ultramarines' internal tactical manual, he had compiled hand gestures for every possible situation to use in an emergency.

Karyl Lohars turned around and looked at him with a suppressed yet calm expression, which for a moment made Guilliman feel as if he were looking in a mirror.

He knew that expression all too well.

"A room," Karyl said softly. "And thirty minutes of alone time during which I will answer all your questions."

"These things are no problem," Roboute Guilliman said, as he heard footsteps behind him. He knew it was his—

He stopped thinking, sighed deeply, and raised his right hand in a gesture to stop. His medics stopped behind him; the hum of his Power Armour was still audible, but the footsteps had ceased.

Then he saw a company commander from the Eighth Legion take his own helmet—a molten, blood-soaked helmet—from their instructor and slowly put it on.

His fingers were trembling, but he didn't stop for even half a second.

"Company Van Cleef," Roboute Guilliman said sternly, "We'll heal you."

He stepped aside to let the physician pass. He saw Karyl Lohars's grateful eyes, but for the first time, he didn't know how to respond.

--

This is a study, clearly. The marble table is incredibly heavy, obviously not the size of a mortal. It is piled high with papers—from parchment rolls to plain white paper, and even a few local Macragge newspapers.

At the other end of these papers were stacks of Dataslate. Just then, sunlight streamed in through the long, narrow floor-to-ceiling window, casting a comforting warmth onto the reddish-brown wooden floor.

Lord Macragge let out a long sigh and took off his uniform. Heaven knows how much effort he had just spent persuading his steward to grant him this precious half hour.

He turned around and hung his clothes on the coat rack by the door, intending to find a suitable opening line, but his guest took the initiative and spoke first.

"Just as I said," Karyl said calmly, lowering his stance. "I will answer every question you have, Lord Roboute Guilliman."

"."

Roboute Guilliman paused for a moment, his right pinky finger tracing the knit of his trousers for a few seconds. Then, from among hundreds of alternatives, he chose a more cheerful tone.

"My brothers say you don't like using honorifics," he said. "Rogal wrote me hundreds of words admonishing me about your little insistence on this; it seems he was wrong?"

"Rogal Dorn is not wrong, but I am not speaking to you in a personal capacity right now."

Karyl Lohars —the instructor of the Eighth Legion —slowly shook his head. "Therefore, etiquette is essential."

Roboute Guilliman nodded impassively, realizing that his opponent was clearly more formidable than he had anticipated—yes, he hadn't taken Karyl's words seriously.

Answering every question is something you can just take with a grain of salt; those who actually do it are either children with innocent hearts or politicians who are absolutely terrible.

Without realizing it, he seemed to have come to regard Karyl Lohars as a political rival.

"So, may I begin asking questions?"

"Of course," Karyl nodded slowly. "But before that, I'd like to have a map of the city of Macragge."

Roboute Guilliman frowned.

That's all for today. 13,000 words. I'm tired, I can't write anymore.

Requesting votes.