I Won't Accept This

"Don't be so pessimistic, my dear... Onii-chan."

A voice, steady yet strangely lighthearted, abruptly broke the heavy, leaden silence of the dungeon, drifting slowly from the end of the corridor.

The footsteps were clear and unhurried, each step seemingly on a harmonious rhythm.

As the owner of the voice approached, the suffocating, oppressive, and despairing atmosphere that enveloped the dungeon intensified.

It was as if an invisible warm breeze had gently blown through it, causing a subtle, almost imperceptible loosening and change.

It wasn't that it was forcibly dispersed, but rather that it was encompassed and neutralized by a grander, more serene sense of presence.

Outside the cell stood twenty white-helmeted Ultramarines, standing like steel sculptures with piercing gazes.

Almost the instant the sound rang out, they turned around in perfect unison, faced the source of the sound, knelt on one knee, and lowered their noble heads.

The sound of metal knees striking the ground merged into a short, respectful clang.

It's not just them.

In the outermost passages of the dungeon, there stood the Adeptus Custodes Guards, clad in magnificent golden armor, ever vigilant as if extending the Emperor's will.

Also, at the instant they sensed the identity of the newcomer.

Without hesitation, he curtsied to the approaching figure with the most standard court etiquette.

They were kneeling before the de facto supreme ruler of the Imperium.

Robert Guilliman, the Emperor's only legitimate and recognized successor, Lord Regent of Holy Terra, Lord of Ultramar Primarch.

Guilliman strolled into the dungeon, a place where ancient sins and suffering were imprisoned. His gaze first swept over the kneeling guards, and he nodded slightly.

The gaze then fell upon the two figures inside the cell—the still-excited Cypher, and Angron, huddled in the corner, seemingly one with the shadows.

He completely ignored Cypher and went straight to Angron's cage.

He stopped, a smile on his face that was a mixture of helplessness, understanding, and a sense of "you should have known" about him.

"I said, brother."

Guilliman's voice wasn't loud, but it reached Angron's ears clearly, carrying an almost casual, conversational quality.

"Our father... he's not human, you didn't just find that out today, right?"

He spread his hands, making a "that goes without saying" expression:

"Could it be... that you've only now, more than ten thousand years later, suddenly realized with a start that our great, sacred, sovereign Emperor, the Master of Mankind..."

Deep down, he's someone who's ruthless and efficient to the point of being almost... well, to use a less-than-elegant term—a beastly guy who'll stop at nothing to achieve his goals.

Guilliman's tone contained not a trace of disrespect for the Emperor.

Instead, it's filled with a sense of "that's just how it is, accept it," even tinged with a bit of irony.

"You need to understand, Angron,"

Guilliman leaned slightly forward, looking at the crimson figure still not raising its head inside the cage, and spoke earnestly, as if he were advising a brother who was stuck in a rut:

"That old man, the Emperor, cannot be measured by the moral or emotional standards of 'ordinary people' at all."

He is a goal-oriented, ultimate being.

As long as the goal he believes is 'most beneficial to humanity as a whole' can be achieved, let alone sacrificing individual worlds, individual legions, or even...

He paused, as if searching for a sufficiently impactful metaphor, then continued in a serious tone:

Even if it requires him to expose his hook so that that old codger Nurgle can 'appreciate' it.

As long as the final result aligns with his 'human sustainability plan'.

I bet he'll do it without batting an eye, and might even be somewhat interested in 'academic discussion'.

In his view, process, means, individual feelings... these can all be tools and costs to achieve the ultimate 'good'.

Therefore, don't expect him to meet human standards; that will only make you miserable.

After Guilliman finished speaking, he straightened up, his face still bearing that "take it easy" expression.

"Are you... here specifically to mock me, Guilliman?"

Angron, who had been silent all along, finally reacted.

He ignored Guilliman's long "enlightenment" about the "inhuman" nature of Emperor.

Instead, he slowly raised his head, his weariness and a hint of wariness evident in his expression.

Those once fiery red eyes, burning with endless rage, now appeared dim and murky, their depths filled with an unyielding grief.

He looked directly at Guilliman, his tone flat, yet carrying a cold indifference that kept people at a distance.

He admitted that his thirteenth brother possessed a power that he could neither comprehend nor contend with.

But being powerful doesn't mean you can trample on the last vestiges of his dignity, which he now huddles in with pain.

If Guilliman came here merely to condescendingly "instruct" him, or worse.

If it's to enjoy his pathetic and desperate appearance, then he'd rather remain silent and respond with the deepest contempt.

"Hey, don't put on that 'keep away, strangers' attitude."

Upon seeing this, Guilliman immediately adopted a deeply hurt expression, as if Angron's indifference had profoundly wounded his "brotherly" heart.

"I'm not here to kick someone when they're down."

I came here specifically to keep you company and cheer you up, since you're all alone... well, plus that noisy little green guy over there... it must be so boring being cooped up here.

How about it? Aren't you touched?

Angron did not respond, but simply stared at him with his lifeless eyes.

Guilliman didn't seem to care. He raised a hand and casually placed it on the thick bars of the Angron cell, which were made of a special alloy and engraved with suppression runes.

Then, under the increasingly stunned gazes of Angron, the dumbfounded stares of Cypher, and the instinctive tense postures of the Ultramarines and Adeptus Custodes kneeling outside—

Guilliman's fingers merely gave a light squeeze.

"Squeak--Crunch--!!!"

A piercing, teeth-grinding noise, as if metal was being forcibly twisted, stretched, and finally snapped, suddenly rang out!

That alloy fence was strong enough to withstand continuous fire from Bolter and restrain Primarch- level forces.

Under Guilliman's seemingly casual grasp, it was like a wax stick melted by high temperature, or a withered branch broken by a giant.

It easily deformed, tore, and severed a huge gap large enough for one person to pass through!

There were no Psionic Energy flashes, no energy bursts, only the purest and most ruthless manifestation of material power.

It was as if the atomic structure of that fence, under his will, became as loose as a sandcastle.

Guilliman brushed off non-existent dust from his hands, as if he had done something trivial.

He lifted his leg, took a step, and walked directly into Angron's cell through the gap he had torn open with his bare hands.

Now, there is no longer any physical separation between him and Angron.

"Look, brother,"

Guilliman stood there with his hands outstretched, a kind of naive "frankness" on his face:

I'm right here.

I'm standing right in front of you.

The distance is so close... if you're willing, your fist could land squarely on my 'punchable' face in the next second.

He even leaned forward, pointed to his cheek, and said in a provocative tone:

"How about it?

Let's have a go!

Haven't you always believed that you were the most warlike, the most skilled, and the most eager for direct combat of all the Primarch?

Coincidentally, people outside now call me ' Son of War '...

To be honest, I, the holder of this title, am quite dissatisfied with your title of 'most valiant'."