40k: Midnight Blade

Chapter 133 36. Mourning and Funeral (1)

Angron pondered.

He stood on the bridge of his flagship, neatly dressed in his blue and white uniform.

This suit of clothing was made by the war dogs before setting off. It comes from an ancient and prestigious family of dressmakers. Their ancestors are said to have made clothes for the emperor.

The Warhounds paid nothing for this suit of clothing, and when the family heard that this suit of clothing was to be dedicated to a Primarch who was about to return to the Empire, they simply forgot about it.

The dress itself is loose, but looks serious and elegant, and the two colors complement each other. Brings a balanced and subtle temperament. It is simple but never loses its atmosphere.

Angron was usually very serious when he wasn't talking, but now, with his clothes and the steel braids hanging on the back of his head, his seriousness was forced to add something more terrifying - but The Primarch of the Warhounds did not let this cloud his expression, he remained calm.

"grown ups--"

"——If you call me by that title one more time, I will throw you out, Karelian." Angron turned his head, with a less gentle smile on his face than ordinary people.

He looked at his gladiator brother, who shrugged and responded with a Nucerian proverb: "Beasts do not attack stones."

"I am not a beast, and you are not a stone."

"I would rather be a stone," said the Gladiator. "I still feel dizzy when I see these big windows on the boat."

"Just get used to it." Angron grinned, his voice incomplete, but his face remained calm. "These stars won't sting your feet like sand."

"Yeah, but they scare me to death." Karelian sighed.

He stood beside Angron as a mortal, but he did not appear to be groveling, and the Primarch saw nothing wrong with this. They really talk like a pair of brothers.

Kahn took in the whole thing, then looked away, and nodded gently to the other war dog standing guard by the bridge door. The latter expressed his meaning with a small nod, although the two No one spoke, but Kahn could guess what he was talking about.

‘I don’t understand Nucería either! ’

"Really? The first day you got on the ship, you didn't sleep all night. Kleist told me. She said you stared out of the window all night long."

Karelian laughed, and the gladiator said a long list of curse words in a faked weird tone. Angron couldn't help but burst out laughing - this was not Karelian's ability, it was a dead man. The ability of the gladiator named Korul.

He always talked like this when he was alive. You say it when you are being whipped, you say it when you are being beaten, you say it even when you have not had enough to eat, and you still say it when you are full. Except when sleeping, his mouth never stops.

Of course, he's shut up for good.

But there are still people in the world who remember him.

However, after laughing, they all fell into silence.

The gladiator and his giant brother lowered their heads and stared at the black metal ground of the bridge. Above them, a huge flag stained from blue to white with blood was slowly floating. Gil Birdwine and other war dead are densely arrayed on it.

"That man - is he really dead?" Karelian asked after a while.

"Yes." Angron said. "He died, and Kahn saw him disappear."

"Kahn?"

Angron turned his head and pointed at the person behind him with his thumb, instead of answering.

Karelian was silent again, and after a long time he spoke again: "He saved you, Angron."

"I know."

"And those blue warriors - the Ultramarines, right? And them, they saved us."

"Yes."

"How many died?" asked the Gladiator.

"A lot." Angron replied calmly, a huge number flashing through his mind. The only reason he didn't say it out loud was because Karelian didn't understand the concept of the number. He had only to say a lot and the gladiator would know what it meant.

"They all died for us?"

"No." Angron replied in a low voice. "Die for me."

"You are our brothers, and if they died for you, they died for us."

"This is different, Karelian," Angron said softly. "They are my heirs, and my blood flows in their veins. They were plagued by bad luck because they came to see me, and it has nothing to do with you."

"So, what about him? The man named Khalil Lohars?" The gladiator raised his head and stared at his brother closely. "His death has something to do with us."

Angron sighed.

He knew what his brothers and sisters wanted to do. They want to fight, want revenge, just like they have always done in the past.

Slave gladiators would be forced to fight anything in the sand pit, sometimes each other, sometimes against dangerous beasts. Death at the hands of another gladiator was a blessing, but they had no complaints if they died at the hands of a wild beast, knowing that someone would avenge them.

"I know we can't help you now, Angron, and maybe we never have. But we won't just stay on your ship and slowly turn into paunchy nobles. We still Gladiators, we fought for dignity and survival before, and we still fight for it now.”

The gladiator looked at his brother with a serious look that could almost be called a gaze and compulsion.

Angron looked back calmly and shook his head: "Do you think I let you on the ship to make you a noble?"

"If we don't fight, sooner or later we will become the same bastards as those slave owners." Karelian said with disgust. "We have never read and are illiterate, but we are definitely not stupid and we will not let ourselves become blind."

"We have seen the difference between you and us before, so now we can also see what your ship and your warriors are. You are an army, Angron, and this army is made up of giants. Made up of such a giant——"

He pointed at Kahn and the other war dogs on the bridge.

"——They wear such armor and hold such sharp swords. And they all listen to you, so, what are you?"

Angron finally frowned and shouted angrily in a low voice: "I will not become the same beast as them!"

"But what about us?" asked the Gladiator.

Angron was stunned. He didn't realize what his brother was talking about for the first time. After a short half second, he began to understand.

"We trust you will not become that kind of person, but what about us, Angron?" the gladiator repeated again.

"We are different from you. You can recover from multiple injuries. You can knock down those giant beasts with one hand - admit it, Angron, you are our brother, but you and we have never been the same. Same."

"I knew it the first time I saw you. You won't become anything like them, but us? We are just gladiators, Angron, and we must fight, and we must remember who we are to the end. Who, or we will forget. You invited us on board, and out of brotherly and sisterly love we came, but you cannot ask us to give up our birthright freedom.”

Gladiator Karelian stretched out his right hand, with the four fingers together and bent, and the thumb stretched out, making an ancient gesture. He looked at his brother - looking at the brother who was far taller and nobler than him, demanding dignity in the strongest possible manner.

"We must fight. Gladiators must repay kindness and revenge."

Angron was silent. After three minutes, he reached out and took the hand, holding it tightly, in the manner of a gladiator's oath.

Then, he turned around and called his current eighth company commander in High Gothic. Kharn walked quickly to his primarch and glanced at Karelian through the eyepiece.

His primarch spoke slowly.

——

"I have raised a new auxiliary force," Angron said to Robert Guilliman's holographic projection.

Guilliman pondered for a while, and the holographic projection came to life, and every detail on his face was clearly visible in the light blue technological creation. After a while, he nodded: "Your brothers and sisters?"

"Yes." The original body of the war dogs closed his eyes, supported the iron platform with both hands, and sighed.

The bridge was now empty. The Techmarines and crew from the Macragge's Glory had temporarily left. Angron politely asked them to leave. He needed some time alone.

"So, you have something to say?"

"Yes." Angron said.

His eyes were still closed, his face trembling, the effects of the Butcher's Nails would remain with him forever, and Angron was beginning to get used to the lessened pain.

Robert Guilliman's holographic image turned around and gestured around. After a while, he spoke.

"Then say it, brother."

Angron opened his eyes.

"When did you start to realize that we are different from other people?" he asked with difficulty.

"That's a good question." Robert Guilliman nodded thoughtfully. “Since I was a kid — ever since I would go into the classroom hunched over but still holding my head.”

He laughed, his smile not serious, but it looked bitter.

"I was actually reminded of it all the time. I tried to play with other kids my own age, but they turned me down because I was 'big like a monster.' I was devastated. But I also realize now that to ordinary people, we are indeed monsters.”

Angron did not answer this sentence, he knew that Robert Guilliman was right.

"I understand this very well now," Guilliman continued. "If a civilian who knows nothing about the Primarch sees us, his first reaction will definitely not be respect."

"He will be suspicious, surprised, and even afraid. No matter whether they are men or women, no matter how knowledgeable they are, it will be very difficult for them to understand and accept us, Angron. The common people will respect you and will You worship as a god, they may even kneel down to you and call the things you use sacred, but they just won’t go with you.”

Robert Guilliman pursed his lips into a sad, calm smile.

"Someone once said that the Primarch is a perfect creature without flaws. I don't know who said it, but I want to tell him that we are also flawed. We have too much power, but our emotions and reactions are different from ordinary people. This is where our flaw lies, we are different from ordinary people, but we must walk with ordinary people.”

He raised his head, and waves of fluctuations came from the holographic projection. His voice began to become soft and ethereal, as if coming from afar.

".otherwise we become something terrible."

"Becoming a monster?" Angron asked in a low voice.

"No, it's worse than that," Guilliman said. "He will become a monster named God."

"Lorgar Aurelion?"

"."

Guilliman looked at Angron in astonishment, and the latter raised his lips. Only then did he realize that he had been deceived - the Lord of Macragge couldn't help but laugh.

"Luojia is not a monster. He is warm and kind. Although I don't like his beliefs, I respect him just as he respects me."

"I haven't seen him, so I will tell you after I see him with my own eyes whether I agree with you or not." Angron said. "As for now. How far are we from Nostramo?"

Guilliman sighed, raised his right hand, took off the laurel wreath, and wiped it: "We have not conducted a warp voyage, so if we follow the required voyage between Macragge and Nostramo Judging by time, we should still need half a month.”

"Four and a half months have passed." Angron crossed his hands with a serious expression. "And I still haven't figured out how to face Konrad Coates"

Me neither, bro.

Standing on the bridge of Macragge's Pride, Robert Guilliman sighed softly. He also didn't know how to face the brother he had never met before - the first time we met. Hello, I brought news about the death of your adoptive father. He died in a disaster. I can't tell you the reason. We His body was never found, and there's no way we can tell you the truth. we are very sorry.

Then what? Are you just sorry?

Guilliman closed his eyes in pain, but what had happened had happened. Now that the matter has come to this, there is no room for argument anymore.

He spoke again.

".I plan to meet him without anyone else," Guilliman said. "He will lose his temper, he will - he may try to attack me, and if anyone from my Legion is present, things could get ugly. This is a serious political matter, Angron."

"Are you still thinking about politics?"

"I must," Robert Guilliman replied. “Otherwise my mind keeps telling me one thing over and over again.”

"What's up?"

Guilliman stared intently at his brother's holographic projection and said slowly: "I killed our brother's adoptive father."

Angron tilted his head and said nothing more, except for one sentence.

"I'll go with you then."

Also, this chapter is 4k, please vote by the way.

At the end of the month, I originally planned to put it all away, but after thinking about it, I forgot about it, because there are still 300 votes left to reach the 6k monthly vote, so I can set up some operating funds next month. Anyway, today will be a day of 10,000.