Roboute Guilliman did not fear a difficult battle. What he feared was a battle with no idea how long it would last or how victory could be achieved. It was torment without meaning, leaving him only to watch his sons be ground into pulp within a creaking meat grinder.
Guilliman's pacing gradually grew louder. His frantic thoughts were cooling bit by bit, but this mind of his would never produce a sufficiently rational decision by simply stopping his steps.
The heroes exchanged glances. Felix gathered his courage and stepped forward again to persuade him. "Primarch... even if we take a step back... if that mortal truly is your mother, I don't think she would want you to risk your life for hers. Lady Euten understands the stakes. She has already prepared herself for sacrifice..."
Before he could finish, Guilliman's palm struck him.
The slap was faster than Felix could have imagined. Even his superhuman senses could not catch the shadow it cast as it cut through the air, nor the rushing gust that shook the atmosphere.
The only thing he knew was that the blow landed squarely on his face, spinning him around on the spot before sending him crashing awkwardly to the ground.
Looking at Felix's swollen, bleeding cheek, Guilliman said coldly, "So she was prepared to sacrifice herself. It isn't your mother who will die, so of course you can make such callous remarks."
"Even if it were my mother, I would make the same choice."
Felix's resolute gaze, paired with his answer, left Guilliman unsure whether to laugh or cry.
"Then that means you are not a good child."
"It means I place humanity's interests above my own."
"You certainly have a sharp tongue. Who taught you to say such things?"
"You did, my lord. During the