The Space Wolves' hands were stained with blood they never wanted. Leman Russ could do nothing about it, only comfort his sons' anguish and sorrow in his own way.
His sons had someone to comfort them, but who would comfort Leman Russ?
The Emperor was exceedingly busy, without even the time to spare a glance at the battle reports. Naturally, Leman Russ would not burden the Lord of Mankind's precious time—time he wished he could split in two—with his own psychological troubles.
In the end, the Primarch who noticed Leman Russ's low spirits was Magnus.
After a joint combat conference ended, Magnus approached Leman Russ and warmly, solicitously asked what troubled his brother.
Leman Russ was greatly surprised by Magnus's enthusiasm. Baring his fangs in a grin, he answered, "I'm troubled because the liquor I brought from Fenris is almost gone. Hahaha!"
It was a lie. Magnus could sense it, both psychically and physically.
He refused to let it go, displaying a scholar's trait of getting to the bottom of things. He followed closely behind Leman Russ, constantly asking after his well-being. At last, in an empty corridor, Magnus guessed what weighed on Leman Russ's heart.
"My brother, there is no need to bear every burden alone. We are brothers. Shouldn't we support one another?"
Looking into Magnus's eyes, filled with pure sincerity, the mask of savagery Leman Russ wore finally began to crack.
He suddenly stretched out a hand and slapped it against the wall behind Magnus. In the ancient era when Terra was still called Earth, this gesture had been known as a kabedon.
Leman Russ stared intently at Magnus. Clutching ancient documents to his chest, Magnus stared back at him.
Their gazes met, and for a moment, a strange emotion arose from...
"Enough! Enough! I can't keep