118: The Last Calm Before the Storm

Terra

The cold wind howled through the night. The points of light flickering in the sky were no longer distant stars, but fleets moored in orbit above Terra.

The Imperial Palace was brightly lit.

The room was a mess. Guards in flamboyant makeup hurried back and forth, and suppressed little shrieks occasionally rang out. Still, the Pale Lord frowned in displeasure.

They were undergoing "styling adjustments" so they could appear glorious and majestic at the upcoming parade, greatly inspiring the soldiers.

Even primarchs looked disheveled after high-intensity work, so grooming was essential. Ten thousand years ago, this had been a common procedure in certain image-conscious Legions.

Primarchs did not remain perfect forever. Their hair grew longer, their beards came in, and stress made them look more haggard—their skin looked worse.

Thus, Sanguinius and Guilliman had designated it an official procedure.

Mortarion's response was one of extreme impatience. Perhaps the past ten thousand years had taught primarchs how to handle administration, interpersonal relationships, and psychological issues, but he still had not learned how to manage his appearance.

After awakening to his true nature, perhaps the Pale Lord had become even more self-abandoning in this regard.

That made this all the more necessary. Hades's original words had been,

"Damn it, at the very least, you can't scare people, right?"

Forget adding positive buffs—at least do not give the friendly forces negative buffs.

That was Hades's bottom line.

Mortarion's styling also focused more on concealing his inhuman features than, like Sanguinius once did, painting elaborate makeup across his face, or like Guilliman, trimming his hair and beard.

The design process for Mortarion's appearance had already driven six stylists to resign under the pretext of illness and flee. Because Hades intervened, the Pale Lord had not sought revenge afterward.

The new stylist arrived at