Can I Have a Taste?

"Hey,"

The young Ultramarines suddenly spoke again, his gaze falling on the makeshift food box Hassan had placed on his lap.

Besides bread, there was also a small, enticingly colored pan-fried pork chop carefully wrapped in parchment paper—clearly a meticulously prepared dish.

The soldier's eyes revealed a pure curiosity and longing, much like a child seeing delicious snacks at the neighbor's house.

"Your piece of meat... looks really good."

"May I try some?"

Hassan paused for a moment, then burst into laughter, his laughter filled with pride. "Hahaha! You have a good eye!"

My wife made this herself!

We used real meat that we salvaged from an old warehouse—a rare find that was completely uncontaminated!

Spices were also part of her collection!

When he spoke of his wife, his face radiated the deepest appreciation and pride a man in his thirties has for ordinary happiness after experiencing hardship.

Marrying her was perhaps one of the most praiseworthy achievements in his ordinary life.

The Ultramarines carefully used his three fingers, which were far larger than normal but unusually gentle at the moment, to pinch a tiny piece of meat from the edge of the oil paper, and then solemnly put it into his mouth.

He didn't chew immediately, but closed his eyes, letting his taste buds fully experience the unfamiliar and precious flavor.

Slowly, meticulously, almost reverently, he began to chew.

That massive body, which could easily lift a turret, now displayed an astonishing tranquility and focus as it savored this small piece of meat.

The lines on his face softened, and he even had an almost innocent expression of being immersed in simple joy.

It's hard to imagine a war machine that stands like a savage giant and moves like an eternal Titans.

Sitting on this stone pier amidst the ruins, he reveals such unguarded, childlike satisfaction with the small piece of food made by an ordinary wife.

Hassan's smile gradually froze on his face.

He stared blankly at the giant so close to him, watching the subtle changes in expression on his young face.

Looking into his clear blue eyes, which were slightly curved as he savored the delicious food.

He suddenly realized a fact that he, and perhaps many ordinary people, had subconsciously overlooked.

The "angel" before us, who can move the Rock with her bare hands and accurately kill targets a hundred meters away with Bolter... is really still a child by age.

He's only twenty years old.

Hassan had heard some rumors about Astartes:

Most of them were selected around the age of ten and underwent brutal selection and a series of unimaginable transformative surgeries.

From then on, they bid farewell to childhood and plunged into an endless cycle of training, conquest, killing, and defense.

Their lives were lengthened, their bodies were strengthened, and their wills were forged into steel...

But were some things also frozen in time, or hastily traversed?

A complex emotion welled up in Hassan's heart, a mixture of sympathy, pity, and a deeper, elder-like tenderness.

He put down the wine jug and bread, and stood up.

Even when standing upright, the top of his head only reached the chest of the seated Ultramarines.

He stretched out his arm with effort and some strain.

Finally, his palm gently, with a slightly rough touch, caressed the Ultramarines's hard-lined, hot cheek.

The skin felt much tougher than he had imagined, like thick, tanned leather, but the vibrant warmth of life emanating from beneath it was so real, so... vivid.

The young Ultramarines stiffened slightly, stopping his chewing motion.

Somewhat surprised, he opened his eyes and looked at the mortal in front of him who was suddenly touching his cheek.

Hassan tilted his head back and gave him a gentle smile, like a neighbor looking at his own nephew.

That smile held no reverence, no distance, only the most genuine care.

"If you like it, eat more, child."

Hassan's voice was soft, yet carried an undeniable sincerity, "Eat without worry. Tonight... I'll have my wife make some more."

You've worked hard, you deserve something good to eat.

The term "child" completely stunned the young Ultramarines.

For the first time, a clear sense of bewilderment and shock appeared in his clear blue eyes.

Could they... really establish such connections with ordinary people?

It's not just about command and obedience, protection and being protected, rescue and being rescued.

It turns out that this warmth, which is devoid of any utilitarian motives, stems not from any orders, but solely from the most basic care between people...

Could he, an Astartes, an Emperor's Angel of Death, also experience and be given such things?

They were simply faithfully carrying out the will of the Primarch.

The Primarch said, "Cherish mortals," so they went and learned to attend to the needs of mortals;

The Primarch said, "Help rebuild," so they laid down their weapons and picked up tools;

The Primarch said, "Integrate with them," so they tried to sit down and share food and words.

They were the Imperium's sharpest sword, perfect tools that should have no superfluous emotions, fighting only for the survival of the Emperor and humanity.

But now it seems... beneath the coldness of the blade, within their modified bodies, they still seem to retain some part that belongs to "humanity".

That part of them will be touched by delicious food, moved by sincere care, and feel overwhelmed and... warmed by a simple expression of approval from an "elder".

"Th... thank you..."

The young Ultramarines finally regained his voice, which was much softer and deeper than when he spoke normally.

He no longer straightened his spine to maintain that dignified posture, but obediently, almost instinctively, lowered his proud head.

He bent his steely back slightly, pressing his cheek closer and more gently against Hassan's calloused and dusty hands.

Like a tired child returning home, resting his head in the palm of an elder's hand.

Hassan placed both hands on the soldier's face, and he could feel the slight tremor beneath the soldier's skin.

He didn't say anything more, but simply leaned forward slightly.

He gently and solemnly pressed his forehead against the broad and firm chest of the young soldier.

Sunlight filtered through the sparse clouds, illuminating the two figures—one sitting, one standing; one mortal, one "god"; vastly different in size, yet intimately connected.

Hassan closed his eyes and, in his heart, prayed silently in his most devout tone:

"May the Emperor bless you, my child... May He bless all children like you, who protect us, yet also yearn for a little human warmth..."

Beside the stone pier, the liquid in the wine jug gleamed faintly, and the aroma of the pork ribs in the food box was faint and elusive.

This scene was more magnificent than any victory.

"This... is exactly what I've been hoping for."

The sound came from the direction of the Golden Throne.

It was no longer a grand will echoing deep within the soul, but a real, hoarse voice, like metal scraping against metal, filled with endless weariness.

It struggled to squeeze through the parched vocal cords and complex life support devices, echoing in this eternally silent temple, where only the hum of the throne could be heard.

On the throne, the "mummy" that was once regarded as a symbol of eternity still sat upright in that painful and stiff posture.

"Unfortunately... I couldn't finish it."

The emperor's voice continued, and there was a deep, almost heartbreaking emotion in the tiredness:

Even the Salamanders Chapter, which places the greatest emphasis on connecting with mortals and is the most compassionate... rarely displays such a natural, such... 'human' demeanor in its offspring.

The voice paused, as if recalling or comparing.

"You... have been high and mighty for too long, and so have my brothers."

Guilliman's voice rang out, and his words made the Emperor's tone turn surprised.

"Hard to imagine, right?"

Guilliman spoke softly, as if continuing the Emperor's unfinished thoughts:

"A ' Lesser God ' feared by the Warp Chaos Gods, possessing the essence of C'tan, capable of tearing apart Greater Daemon with his bare hands... would actually utter such words."

"You are just like a human being, my child."

The Emperor's voice held a deeper sense of emotion, even carrying a subtle hint of envy that he himself was unaware of:

Even I, who once sailed in the Great Crusade Fleet... probably wouldn't dare say I 'looked' like a human being.

But you, Robert, are more like me."

If outsiders were to hear these words, it could likely trigger a crisis of faith.

But in the throne room at this moment, it sounded like the simplest conversation between father and son.