180-Degree Kill

Malcador knew they were doomed.

No one could refuse the Emperor, and no primarch could refuse a Lord of Humanity who was baring his heart.

Every word the Lord of Humanity spoke was true. You knew he was telling the truth. You looked at his slightly disheveled long hair, at the earnestness and starlight in his eyes, and your heart wavered deeply.

Yet your reason cried out amid the swaying storm. Its voice pierced the tempest and told you—

Neos simply wanted to run away.

Everything he said ultimately served only one purpose: escape, leaving you with an even greater burden afterward.

That was why you knew he could not be allowed to leave.

But you still wavered.

Malcador took a deep breath and told himself that he absolutely could not waver in his stance. The youth then quietly glanced at the primarchs—

Unfortunately, among the primarchs, only Mortarion seemed to maintain an absolutely firm position. Hades remained outwardly unruffled, but Malcador knew Hades would not let that old bastard run either.

The Warp-touched secretly sighed in exhaustion. At times like this, the virtue of being "stubborn" truly showed itself. Mortarion's obstinacy made him the most resolute one.

"Yes."

The Pale Lord spoke first.

"You're a bastard—so I have no intention of letting you go. I've already arranged your work schedule. In a standard Terran week, you will be allowed seven hours of rest. Then you will work, or fight. Your choice."

Ferrus coughed, but Magnus was the first to speak. Magnus spoke weakly, yet she was the first to object to Mortarion.

"We shouldn't be so harsh... Perhaps we could be a little more lenient..."

Under Mortarion's deathly stare, Magnus's voice grew softer and softer until it finally vanished.

Magnus leaned back and decided to shut up. The Crimson