40k: Midnight Blade

Chapter 115 18. Red Sand (5)

Nuceria's Orbit, Macragge's Glory, and the Primarch's Study. A conversation is taking place.

"War," Robert Guilliman said. "Yes, it is our primary responsibility."

Angron did not speak, but nodded silently. The steel cable beat heavily behind his head several times, and the vicious friction sound reappeared in his skull.

Guilliman looked away unbearably. It had been two months, but he still couldn't get used to it - he felt that he would never get used to this. It was impossible for a normal person to remain indifferent when witnessing the suffering of others.

Staring at the scene outside the porthole, he continued to tell.

These days, he has a conversation with his brother every afternoon. Sometimes we just chat, talking about the past or the scenes in the mountains and fields. But sometimes, topics can get heavy, like right now.

"However, the war will end one day. I don't know when it will come, but I hope that when that day comes, my legion can become the leader of a peaceful world."

"ruler?"

"No, a helper and protector." Guilliman turned his gaze back seriously. "I know this may sound arrogant, but the transformation surgery and our blood have completely changed the soldiers in our legion. They are supermen in the physical sense, and they will also become supermen in the secular sense."

"And this thing is dangerous, and I've been careful to control it. So I can proudly tell you, brother, no one on Macragge will regard the Ultramarines as superior beings. Everyone. All are equal.”

Angron nodded calmly. He still didn't quite understand what Guilliman was talking about, but he remembered all these words. Anyone who says something seriously should be taken seriously.

"But, then again, this is just wishful thinking on my part. Not everyone thinks like me."

The Lord of Macragge showed an abrupt smile, slightly bitter. "One of our brothers once criticized me harshly. He thought I had dabbled too deeply in the world, which is not what a Primarch should do."

"Who?" Angron asked briefly, his light blue eyes narrowed slightly.

He couldn't quite understand Robert Guilliman's words, but he could make out other things.

Roboute Guilliman's "getting involved in the world" is a gentle exhortation. He knows his own transcendence, but deep down, this transcendence only brings him a sense of responsibility, not supercilious arrogance.

"Why do you ask?" Guilliman said half-jokingly. "You haven't seen them yet - even if you did, I don't want you to speak for me. I will argue with him myself."

Angron shook his head. "I'm not trying to speak for you, and I won't speak for you. I just want to know why he said that."

Guilliman was lost in thought.

Yes, why?

A shining golden face flashed across his mind, and a conversation that was far less harmonious than the current atmosphere—in fact, Guilliman preferred to call the conversation between him and Lorgar Aurelion a quarrel.

However, he also had to admit one thing - whether it was an argument or a conversation, every exchange with his brother made him think about many things that he had never thought about before.

Take Angron for example. He has a unique philosophy of life that belongs only to gladiators. This unique perspective, as rough as sand, always inspired Robert Guilliman.

".Because he doesn't understand."

After a long time, Guilliman replied.

He frowned, as if he was dealing with a riddle that no one could solve.

"Don't understand?"

"Yes, he doesn't understand why I want to." Guilliman shook his head and chuckled.

He switched to a more primitive tone, almost chanting, and just hearing it made Angron feel sick.

"He didn't understand why I wanted to give up my sanctity. Even though I was the son of God, I was willing to walk among the lambs. I was obviously the shepherd of God, but I was willing to give up my authority and take on responsibilities."

"He said that I caused the lambs to lose the opportunity to go through hardships, identify their true selves, and receive divine grace. In other words, he felt that I was depriving ordinary people of the way to approach God, and he thought that I was selfish."

Angron frowned deeply.

"Who is this person?" he asked in disbelief. "What on earth is he talking about? Being blessed by God? Where is God? What does selfishness mean?"

"He thinks our father, the Emperor, is a god," Guilliman said quietly. "Frankly speaking, this point of view is not difficult for me to understand."

"I haven't seen him." Angron asked bluntly. "Do you think he is?"

"Absolutely not," Guilliman replied firmly. "We all have different opinions about him, and for me, I'm pretty sure he's anything but a god."

Angron nodded thoughtfully. As usual, he wrote down this incident and then mentioned another.

"When will they come?"

——

When can we arrive?

Gil Birdwin, commander of the Twelfth Legion and War Hounds, asked himself, but could not come up with an answer.

Of course he couldn't get the answer. He was not a navigator. He didn't have the third eye to observe the bright light of the star torch to guide their firm determination. Thinking of this, Jill couldn't help but smile.

He had just made a little joke to himself - Resolve was the name of their flagship. Of course, this brief smile did not last long.

He actually knew very well that even the most experienced navigators might not be able to figure out how long it would take them to sail during the voyage.

Warp navigation generally occurs in two ways.

The first type is a calculated jump.

Calculate the intended route before entering the subspace, then dive in headfirst, and start praying that the unpredictable ocean currents in the subspace will not change during the voyage.

This method is called "purposeful seeking death" by most of the people Gill has met. The reason is simple, because the ocean in the subspace is changing every moment.

If you enter in this way, you can only sail blindly. If you are lucky, you will be able to return to the material world after a while, but if you are unlucky.

A terrifying number of Imperial ships are lost in the warp every year.

The second one is much safer - the Emperor built a star torch on Terra, and the navigators can see its light in the warp through their third eye and report it to the captain. Adjust course promptly. As long as it is not too unfortunate, then it is only a matter of time before reaching the destination.

But, then again, time.

Jill sighed.

The Warp was a terrifying world, a world vastly different from the places they knew, and time was the most significant part of the difference.

There is no distinction between day and night here. Although the clock machinery installed on the ship is still running, everyone actually knows that their time is just an appearance. If you really wanted to know how long your journey through the Warp took, you could only measure it when you returned to the material plane.

Some people say that one day in the Warp is equivalent to twelve days in the physical world, but Gil has reservations about this. He wanted to ask the person who said this, whether your day is twenty-four hours in Terran standard time, or is it the standard time on any other planet?

Differences exist objectively and will always exist, just like those legions who recovered their original bodies before them.

The Salamanders, for example, had some interactions with the Warhounds, and Gil talked to one of their Captains about it. The latter recounted in a tone of unacknowledged glee how they had stayed above the burning planet awaiting the Emperor's will.

And Novshendak - where the Iron Warriors recovered their Primarch. The Warhounds were also there, and they watched with their own eyes as the originally silent Iron Warriors were told by the Emperor's emissary that the Primarch was about to return. The commotion afterwards.

And what about them? They just stood aside in silence, and then left here dejectedly, continuing to roam in the dark sea of ​​​​stars, eager to one day receive news that would make them commotion.

They received it a month ago.

The Believer hails from Macragge, the emblem of the Lord of the Thirteenth Legion gleaming on the collar of his starched uniform. It was a serious middle-aged man, not tall, very tired, but still straightened his back, and spoke at the top of his voice the message Robert Guilliman had brought to the War Hounds.

"I have discovered your father in the extreme star field. There is no doubt about this. His name is Angron. I have attached the coordinates with the letter, and another official letter is sent to Holy Terra. The supply fleet will collect it after Set off immediately upon arrival. The Ultramarines and I will wait here until the Emperor's Hounds arrive."

Gil Baldwin still remembered how he felt when he heard the news, and how he ran up to the messenger and questioned him repeatedly.

There was a feeling of guilt in his heart. The messenger who had traveled a long distance to inform them was tortured by his excitement at that time. If Kunner, the champion of the first company, had not stopped him in time, the messenger would have been injured by his excitement.

He apologized afterwards, but the messenger didn't care. He just smiled, nodded, and wished them good luck.

After that, the War Dogs boiled up - after hearing their legion commander's broadcast, 120,000 people in the entire legion ran like crazy on the Unwavering Resolve, howling and cheering, and strict discipline was enforced. They forgot for a moment, and Jill didn't stop them.

He understands them.

How could he not understand?

Gil Baldwin closed his eyes and began to look forward to the moment when they would leap out of the warp. On the bridge, the navigators were still doing their work conscientiously. Geller's stance wrapped around the huge flagship, protecting it as it sailed through the boundless darkness.

——But you and I both know that there is always something peeping in the dark.

Yes, forever.

besides.

The card is so powerful that it must be Chaos’ conspiracy!