Drama (6k)

The Eighth Legion's temporary headquarters was located in a separate, thirteen-story building, occupying a vast area.

The Ultramarines did not treat them with any disrespect because of their numbers; everything was done to the highest standards, even the Eighth Legion's flag was raised atop the building. Passing Macragge citizens could easily spot it fluttering in the wind, a highly unusual sight, as no other legion had ever visited Macragge before.

Many newspapers devoted considerable space to describing these soldiers from another legion, each with its own unique description, but all of them unanimously chose to depict the sinister appearance of the Eighth Legion on the tarmac that day.

This is quite interesting; the Macragge people's curiosity is undeniable. These days, there have even been quite a few interview requests being sent to the temporary headquarters—as for who's responsible for answering them, you probably already know the answer.

Besides Terra's Xianni, who else could maintain that level of energy in today's circumstances?

"No, we don't give interviews," said Xianni. "Yes, we are soldiers from the First Company of the Eighth Legion, but we don't give interviews."

He hung up the phone and couldn't help but sigh—to this day, Xianni still couldn't understand why Macragge was able to establish such a relationship between Astartes and the common people.

The latter do not regard the former as some kind of lofty god, but rather as a part of society. They always speak of "Ultramarines" with pride, but not in a distant way; on the contrary, they are quite close.

"How many times has this happened?" someone asked from the darkness.

--If you ask.

Yes.

They didn't turn on the lights.

Without turning his head, Xianni said, "The tenth time today."

"Primarch above. This is giving me a bit of a toothache."

"Come on, your teeth were replaced with alloy ones twenty-one years ago."

"I'm referring to phantom neurosis," the person in the darkness said. "It flares up every time I'm in a bad mood."

"So you've been in pain for twenty-one years, Mollez?" Xianni grinned, instinctively mocking the adjutant of the First Company. He had been punished many times for this, but never learned his lesson.

The latter merely responded with a cold snort and then ignored him. For a moment, the atmosphere in the garrison office was as silent as a cemetery.

Whenever this happens, it means that whoever speaks next will bring the dead back to life—or rather, they will say something that would scare the dead out of their coffins.

"Is the company commander dead?" Xianni suddenly asked.

"."

The adjutant didn't speak, but a hissing sound came from the darkness.

"What do you know, Mollez?"

"No, I don't know," the adjutant replied curtly. "But I do know one other thing: Van Cleef will be quite angry about that."

"I'd rather see him angry," Xianni muttered. "We haven't seen him for six days."

"Perhaps he was on official business."

"But something was off while we were still on the transport ship—or rather, he started acting strangely from the moment we set off. And what official business could keep him so busy that he wouldn't return to his base for six days straight? He's not an instructor who never takes a break."

"The instructors took a break."

How do you know? Have you seen it?

"I've seen it."

Mollez nodded in the darkness—or rather, behind Xianni —or, to another giant who had appeared out of nowhere.

"Really?"

"Of course it's true." A third voice rang out, soft and gentle. "How could I not need rest, Xianni?"

Xianni from Terra suddenly turned his head.

"Well--!"

"No need to explain, Xianni, we heard everything clearly," Mollez said sternly. "We're not so bombed that we've lost our hearing."

"I"

"I just haven't been resting as much as I'd like," Karyl chuckled. "But that doesn't mean I don't need rest. A person's energy is always limited, like your company commander."

"What's wrong with him, instructor?" the adjutant asked.

"He fought a fierce and arduous war," Karyl whispered in the darkness. "A battle to the death, and he won."

"So he's in the hospital now?" Xianni asked tentatively.

"Yes."

Can we go see him?

"No, Xianni, unless you want to disturb his recovery."

But I have many questions I want to ask him.

"I have it too," Karyl said. "But I choose to wait until he's fully recovered."

"Is this an order?" the young man from Terra asked, unwilling to give up.

"Yes."

Then he heard his instructor reply in a serious tone.

"This is an order from the instructors of the Eighth Legion, Xianni. Do you obey?"

"I will comply."

--

"How does it feel to talk face to face with such a giant, madam?" Roboute Guilliman asked, head bowed, as a torrent of Dataslate, but not a single number slipped away; he caught them all.

"Is this an accusation, my lord? Because of my unauthorized actions?"

"."

Roboute Guilliman didn't answer, but simply looked up at her.

Tarasha Euten sat in a human-sized chair, awaiting his reply. She sat across the marble table, her expression quite amusing. For a moment, Roboute Guilliman thought she seemed angry. But judging from her raised right eyebrow, she was probably just joking.

For a moment, he was unsure what his housekeeper was thinking.

So he decided to be honest.

"Of course not," Roboute Guilliman said. "I'm just worried about you."

"What are you worried about? Do you think he'll get angry at me?"

"That's not it."

"Then what are you worried about, sir?"

"It's Saturday, ma'am. You're not working today, so could you please stop calling me 'sir'?"

"No, the housekeeper doesn't get holidays—I've told you before that I don't like holidays, but you insist on giving me two days off every week. Do you want me to lie in bed and waste my time doing nothing?"

Roboute Guilliman suddenly felt a headache.

He put down the Dataslate and inevitably glanced at the two portraits. His adoptive mother took this action in full view of him.

"I'm asking you a question, sir." She frowned. "Even if you don't intend to answer, you shouldn't have gone to your foster father to complain."

Roboute Guilliman almost laughed—in his memory, Euten rarely joked, let alone made such a childish joke.

He tried to conceal his emotions with his usual serious expression, but failed. The woman sitting opposite him simply frowned slightly, rendering all his efforts futile.

Roboute Guilliman finally burst into laughter.

"I'm sorry," he said sincerely, smiling. "But I really couldn't help it, ma'am."

Tarasha Euten didn't answer, but smiled as well. A sense of relief began to spread through her relaxed wrinkles.

"I'm so glad you're alright, my dear sir," she said softly. "You silly child, did you really think I came here today to interrogate you?"

"You've done this kind of thing quite often before, madam," Roboute Guilliman said. "I remember every sarcastic remark you've made to me, like last time when you said the clothes I wore to see Rogal and the others were far less formal than my ceremonial armor."

Isn't that so?

"Yes," Roboute Guilliman nodded. "You make me feel ashamed, ma'am."

I certainly wouldn't accept such an assessment.

Roboute Guilliman didn't answer that question. Instead, he picked up the Dataslate and handed it to Euten at the other end of the marble table. Yodon took it with both hands and then placed it back on the marble table.

Her reading lasted for about five minutes, during which time her brow remained furrowed. Roboute Guilliman did not interrupt her; he simply waited patiently.

Patience is always a virtue, Roboute Guilliman thought, gazing at the portraits of his fathers.

"You plan to donate a batch of supplies?" After a brief silence, the housekeeper asked.

"Yes."

"Ninety tons of Adamantium may not sound like much, but it's still priceless, sir. A single shipment of supplies is probably insufficient to demonstrate your sincerity. Moreover, the Eighth Legion has come with the intention of establishing a trade route."

"And this is entirely beneficial to Macragge," Roboute Guilliman continued, picking up where his butler left off.

"My brother Konrad Curze Curze wrote in his own letter that Nostramo is a planet with ample Adamantium production. I don't know how he defines 'ample,' but we will obviously need it. So it's certainly not just a shipment of supplies; in fact, my sincerity goes even further."

Macragge definitely needs it; who doesn't need Adamantium?

"He wrote you a letter?" the butler asked in surprise.

She didn't immediately pay attention to the matter of Adamantium and trading; considering her position and past performance, it was quite puzzling. But Roboute Guilliman knew in what capacity she was asking this question, so he wasn't surprised, and in fact, he had expected it to happen.

"Yes, it's incredible for his age," Roboute Guilliman said, shaking his head with a smile. "When I was two, I was busy flipping through newspapers looking for science stories."

Euten pursed her lips, and after a while, she sighed.

"The universe is so cruel to us," the woman said with a hint of sadness. "A two-year-old child is being forced to learn politics."

"This is just the beginning."

Roboute Guilliman said calmly—his tone was even somewhat ruthless.

"He also has to learn to accept every dirty trick of the trade in politics, and his intellect will help him learn these things quickly. It will be painful, that's obvious, but he has to accept it because that's what we're born to do."

"So?"

"Sacrifice," Roboute Guilliman said. "Believe me, madam, I don't want to be stuck in this chair either, nobody wants to be. But I have to. At certain times, ability and responsibility are linked. Even Russ has to keep his pack in check during peacetime, let alone me and my young brother whom I've never met."

"It's 'young,'" Euten corrected. "Not 'young.'"

Roboute Guilliman sighed and didn't continue the topic. "I intend to provide Nostramo with a ten-year aid program, in every way—from supplies to personnel—frankly, madam, my plan is to give them whatever they need."

Euten frowned.

"And what about the trade in Adamantium?" she asked briefly.

"We'll pay the money. If they want us to pay with goods, that's fine too; either way is acceptable."

Roboute Guilliman noticed that his housekeeper's brow was beginning to furrow more and more.

"What does this mean?" she asked, puzzled. "Is something happening to you that I don't understand, Roboute? I know you did this with good intentions, but will your brothers really accept it? I haven't seen them often, and I haven't met many of them, but they're all very proud."

I'm very proud too.

"But that's no excuse for doing this!" the steward asked doubtfully. "By doing this, you're practically politically branding your brother's home planet with the Macragge name, Roboute. Is that really a good thing?"

She had something she didn't say, but Roboute Guilliman could hear it and see it in her eyes.

Is this allowed?

That's certainly not good, ma'am. But it has already been permitted.

Roboute Guilliman fell into a brief moment of contemplation. He remained silent, his cheeks taut, his blue eyes calm, like the ocean at dusk. Only after what seemed like an eternity to the Primarch did he speak again.

"Therefore I need to get permission, a formal permission," he said.

Euten waited for his next words.

"So this afternoon I made an appointment with Karyl Lohars, the instructor of the Eighth Legion, to discuss this matter with him—if all goes well, the Eighth Legion will depart for Nostramo after their company commander recovers from his injury, carrying my greetings, wishes, and sincerity."

Euten sat up straight, quickly getting into position. Her cane rested flat on her knees, trembling quietly. She asked, "Should I stay here?"

"Of course." Roboute Guilliman nodded with a smile. "Madam, where else do you think you could go?"

"It's working hours now," Ms. Euten said sternly. "So stop talking to me like that. What time did you have your appointment?"

Thirty-three minutes later.

"I'm going to change my clothes." She quickly stood up.

Roboute Guilliman shook his head, a wry smile on his face, and quickly asked a question before she opened the door, "Does he really make you so nervous, ma'am?"

"You'd better get nervous too!" his woman said.

I've been nervous since last night, but not because of this meeting, Roboute Guilliman thought to himself. Then he watched her leave.

--

Generally speaking, a person's emotions are easy to observe.

The simplest way is to observe the other person's facial expressions; experienced people will stare intently into their eyes. More seasoned individuals will combine this with their body language analysis.

However, when Karyl Lohars sat in the Primarch- sized chair opposite the marble table, Tarasha Euten found that she could no longer see any expression on the giant's face.

The emotional reactions he displayed during that conversation seemed like an illusion; now, sitting here, opposite her master, was an impenetrable block of ice.

Is this normal? Euten wondered to herself. She looked at her master again and found that Roboute Guilliman had also become a block of ice.

"Good day," Roboute Guilliman said. "Or rather, good afternoon. I'm a little unsure of the time right now, Instructor Karyl —anyway, I hope you're doing well."

The visitor smiled slightly.

"You too," he replied softly.

"Is Company Commander Van Cleef alright?" Roboute Guilliman asked again.

"He'll be fully recovered soon. I'm so sorry, none of us expected his armor to malfunction so badly."

The visitor raised his hand, made a gesture, and looked distressed.

"The cable conduit exploded; several components malfunctioned. I apologize for the inconvenience caused to Macragge these past few days."

"It's just offering a little help, there's no inconvenience involved, and you don't need to feel apologetic, Instructor Karyl," Roboute Guilliman said seriously but gently. "Macragge never shortchanges its friends."

The visitor smiled and nodded, a hint of gratitude flashing across his face.

Perfect gratitude.

Roboute Guilliman smiled slightly, lowered his head, picked up a Dataslate from the table, and handed it over. "Please take a look at this, Instructor Karyl."

The visitor reached out and took it, asking, "What is this?"

"A covenant," Roboute Guilliman replied, his demeanor impeccable, his pronunciation so perfect it was almost unbelievable, a far cry from his usual manner of speaking.

Euten, sitting to the side of the long table, frowned.

"A covenant?" the visitor asked, looking around. "What type?"

"Regarding the alliance between Macragge and Nostramo," Roboute Guilliman said succinctly. "Nostramo provides Adamantium, and Macragge provides anything else you need."

Something was even more wrong, Euten thought. He hadn't even said what was needed—would Roboute Guilliman really be that sloppy?

She looked at her child, stared, and then noticed that he was forcing himself not to turn around and answer the question she hadn't asked.

That rejection was so obvious to Tarasha Euten that it left her somewhat at a loss for how to respond.

The next second, Roboute Guilliman heard his housekeeper sigh.

"Enough, enough," she said. "Logically, I shouldn't interrupt in a conversation like this, but your acting is just too clumsy—you planned this all along, didn't you?"

"No," Roboute Guilliman said.

He still didn't look at Euten.

"Yes, ma'am." The visitor—or rather, Karyl Lohars— smiled, and the ice melted completely.

With the evidence irrefutable, Tarasha Euten looked at her son, who remained silent for a moment, coughed, turned around, and said earnestly, "Sometimes, it's necessary to conceal some of the truth, ma'am."

"I'm the one who taught you this," his woman said expressionlessly. "When you were twenty-one, you didn't want to tell the public the truth about the floods because officials were cutting corners on building materials and lining their own pockets. But you didn't know whether you should lie or not, so you came to me for advice, and I told you this."

"I apologize," Roboute Guilliman said honestly.

"I don't want your apology, sir. I want an explanation," said the butler. "If you didn't intend for me to attend this meeting, you could have just said so from the beginning, instead of conspiring with our guest to persuade him to put on a show for this old woman."

As she spoke, she even laughed, "This is truly remarkable, enough for me to boast about to my old friends when I retire."

"You're only sixty," Roboute Guilliman replied, trying to sound calm. "Nobody will say you're old, and there's always the life-extending surgery."

"I've lived more than half my life already, and even if I were to use that thing, I wouldn't let it change my appearance!" Euten said sternly.

"I seriously doubt you'll even find a doctor willing to operate on you," Roboute Guilliman muttered, looking away. "You might be chasing them down the hallway with forceps."

Karyl remained silent, watching the interaction between the mother and son with a smile. His reason for not speaking was simple and normal—how could an outsider possibly intrude on this obvious conversation between mother and son?

However, one thing is quite interesting: the woman was observing her adopted son's reactions every now and then while talking to him.

I'm not important, look at him more. Karyl thought. This meeting, strictly speaking, was just something your son arranged to put your mind at ease; he wanted you to see that he's "back to normal," otherwise why would he go to all this trouble?

"I'm not so old that I'm insane enough to go after doctors!"

Who knows if it will happen?

Roboute Guilliman!

"I'm sorry." Roboute Guilliman covered his face. "I apologize, ma'am. I only held this meeting because I wanted to put your mind at ease."

"I was relieved more than forty minutes ago," Euten said angrily. "Do you think I can't tell the difference between your worried look and your relieved look?"

She stood up angrily, grabbed her cane, and left without hesitation or saying another word, leaving the office to Karyl and Roboute Guilliman.

The latter met the former's gaze and let out a long sigh.

"I can't deal with her," Roboute Guilliman said with a wry smile. "I never have. She always finds a weakness in me."

"A wise child is better than a mother."

Is this also an ancient Terra language?

"Terra has many old sayings, Roboute," Karyl smiled slightly. "Like, 'Good intentions gone wrong.'"

"I understand," Roboute Guilliman said with a sigh. "So, let's get down to business?"

"Sure."

Karyl nodded, pushed the Dataslate back, and said, "But I'm actually quite surprised that you'd want me to go with you on the exploration of the Ultima Segmentum."

There's another 2k chapter, but I feel like only 2k is a bit too little. I'll try harder and see if I can write a 3k one.

By the way, want to guess what will happen next?