Lox realized that these Space Wolves were far less barbaric than they appeared capable of being.
Although they were one of the noble Astartes Legions, they dressed themselves like savages, eating raw meat and drinking blood. Even the animal pelts hanging from their bodies had not been tanned or deodorized.
Yet from the account given by this Wolf Lord named Fafnir, it was obvious that he was clear-minded and meticulous in his reasoning. He used Magnus's betrayal as his opening point to prove the necessity and righteousness of his actions.
What true barbarian would so methodically justify claiming the moral high ground?
The barbarians of ancient Terra certainly would not. Their thoughtless brains would only dwell on where to rape and plunder next, and how to indulge their primitive thirst for slaughter.
"These Astartes are rather interesting. Space Wolves, White Scars... Do they disguise themselves as barbarians to gain an advantage in war? Or is it simply the influence of their homeworld cultures?"
"Space Vikings, space Mongols, and space Romans."
Then there were the Thousand Sons and the Iron Warriors. Were they not simply replicas of ancient Egypt and ancient Greece? Lox found all of it strangely familiar.
Lox did not know why that genius madman, the Emperor, had designed them this way, reviving cultures that had long been swept into history's garbage heap in the thirty-first millennium.
Did it give him some peculiar sense of accomplishment?
Fafnir's eyes shifted as he continued his account.
"Given what has already occurred, more than one Primarch has chosen corruption and rebellion. That number is even approaching half." The Space Wolf asked Guilliman, "My lord, what do you believe that signifies?"
Guilliman did not answer, and the Wolf simply spoke the deeply offensive words himself.
"It signifies that everyone is capable of falling.