Warhammer: In the Name of Nirvana

Chapter 743 Guilliman is sobbing

"My Lord."

"You should eat something."

This is the third time that Fratus-Auguston has violated the order of his gene father tonight and knocked on Guilliman's door without permission.

On the throne, if it were a few standard months ago, he would rather die in obscurity than believe that he would repeatedly violate the orders of the Legion Master: but now the increasingly bad situation has forced the Ultramarines to do so.

Not only Auguston, but almost all the remaining legion officers of the Ultramarines Legion gathered in this corridor around Guilliman's office door. Medals, honors and gold service nails are everywhere on this piece of land that is at most a dozen meters square. The glittering light cannot cover up the almost similar anxiety on the faces of everyone present.

"My Lord?"

"Do you have any instructions?"

The Ultramarines' tone is as subtle as a child who has made a mistake.

Auguston clenched his right hand, which he used to hold the sword, into a fist, and carefully pushed the heavy door in front of him. After feeling that it did not move, he put his ear to it again: After a few seconds, the silence in the room made him retreat dejectedly.

"It's been three days."

The hoarse voice came from the front of all the Ultramarines present, like a barren land that had been dried out of moisture: Gage, the first commander of the Ultramarines, was leaning against the doorpost. He had hardly left this position for several weeks, because the gene father he swore to protect had not left this room for several weeks.

"It's been three days since he was willing to meet outsiders and have a meal."

Gage turned his head and first comforted Auguston, who was almost about to break his fist, with his eyes, and then ignored a waiter and his cart surrounded by a group of Ultramarines officers: it was filled with a dazzling array of delicacies, but it was slowly cooling down in a dead silence.

Such scenes have happened countless times in recent months.

Since the outbreak of the Badab crisis led Guilliman to convene a rare emergency meeting in Macragge, along with the successive mobilization of the military forces of the Five Hundred Worlds and the escalating situation on the [frontline], the entire Hera Fortress has been immersed in a strange silence and uneasiness for a full fifty days.

The source of this strange atmosphere is the monarch of the Five Hundred Worlds: the crisis of Badab and the wave of independence that is now clamoring throughout the Five Hundred Worlds seem to have accurately hit this iron-like primarch in some way that no one has noticed.

After the confrontation between the Five Hundred Worlds and the Holy Terra Armed Forces was irreversible, Guilliman dismissed all his subordinates, rejected all appointments to meet with outsiders, locked himself in his office alone, and fell into silence all day and night.

Although he still accepted reports or conveyed orders through various means, the actions of the Ultramarines Legion on the Badab front were not affected at all: because of this, the people of the Five Hundred Worlds, even those Ultramarines of low rank, did not notice anything unusual about the Primarch.

However, in the defender group of Hera Fortress, the Primarch's long-term self-imprisonment, his stubborn refusal to communicate, and his behavior of reluctantly taking a few bites of the food handed in every few days or even more than ten days, made more and more Ultramarines officers begin to gather in front of his door with worry.

This situation has lasted for about three to four weeks.

"Does anyone know how long the Primarch's hunger limit is?"

Gage's question caused a group of Ultramarines officers to look at each other, until one of them gave a tentative answer.

"Perhaps, we can ask the Dawnbreaker's military officer stationed in Macragge. It is said that Lady Morgan is keen to let her descendants study the body structure of the Primarch. We should be able to infer from the data they provide that the Dawnbreaker has no reason to refuse this matter."

"That's useless."

Someone immediately refuted.

"That's Lord Morgan. Do you think she will test the problem of [hunger]?"

"I think we should reverse the inference through our own physical data: if I remember correctly, there was a battle brother in the Third Regiment who maintained a high-intensity battle for two weeks without eating at all. This can be used as an argument..."

"This is useless. How can the Primarch's physical condition be consistent with ours?"

"Not to mention the fake death..."

"If that's the case, we should break the door and rush in now."

"If you ask me, instead of arguing about these useless data issues here, it is better to find a way to get the Primarch to allow us to go in: at least let him eat something again..."

"Then put Badab latest..."

"Enough!"

Gage clenched his teeth, and with a stern low shout, he suppressed all the ups and downs in the corridor in the blink of an eye: as the second-in-command of the legion after the Primarch, Gage's status is actually higher than the four heroes regarded as his deputies by Ghi.

That is why he was in charge of Macragge during the Nicaea Conference and did not suffer from the sudden disaster caused by the Thousand Sons Legion: but he did not think this was a good thing, especially when the follow-up impact of the Nicaea incident was gradually spreading throughout the Ultramarines Legion and even the entire Macragge.

Apart from anything else, the loss of hundreds of elite officers, including Yingjie, was unacceptable: Gage glanced at the faces in front of him, who were either unwilling or guilty, and felt a strangeness and loneliness that was difficult to describe in words.

The owners of these helmets, these ranks, these positions and status were originally brothers who shared life and death with him, but now they are all inexperienced juniors: I didn't expect that just a short separation would separate him from hundreds of old friends who shared life and death with him.

Thinking of this, Gage looked at the few old faces: Auguston turned a deaf ear to everyone's commotion. He stood in front of the Primarch's door like a sculpture, his face gloomy as if he was a dead man.

On the other side, Orfeo, who had just inherited the position of Hero, and Ptolemy, the chief think tank of the Legion, stood very close. They seemed to be thinking seriously whether to disobey the order from the Primarch and use their swords and psychic power to force the door open.

"Ah..."

Gage heard his own sigh.

He could feel that a gloomy atmosphere was gradually enveloping the Ultramarines Legion, which was originally high-spirited. This atmosphere was not only because of Badab, but also because of the memory of Nicaea that had been erased long ago: Nicaea caused hundreds of their proud battle brothers to die in such an unclear way.

In fact, thinking of this, Gage could more or less understand why his gene father was so out of control: he lost so many beloved offspring for no reason, and now not only did he not have the power to track down the murderer, but he was also deprived of the qualification to remember the cause of death of his offspring.

If it were him, I am afraid he would be like Lord Guilliman, and after hearing the information from the front line of Badab, he would not hesitate to issue an order to confront Terra, right?

Unfortunately, this order is bound to cause endless troubles for Macragge.

The Primarch should have realized it.

Gage lowered his head in pain, but he knew he couldn't fall down. He was the second-in-command appointed by the Primarch. He needed to come up with a solution for the Legion at this time: at least the man in the room who could come up with a solution should be asked to come out first, or stabilized.

Well, in this case, there seems to be only one answer for him to ask for help.

"How long will it take for Lady Euton to arrive?"

The warband leader turned slightly and asked the attendant standing behind him.

"It should be these few minutes."

The attendant answered fluently.

"Ms. Euton just said goodbye to Ms. Keliphany, the envoy sent by Lord Perturabo, fifteen minutes ago. It is said that the two of them have signed a new cooperation agreement, which cannot be made public for the time being because of the impact on Holy Terra."

"Damn Terra!"

Before Gage could speak, a curse filled with incomparable resentment came from the direction of Auguston: the face of this most reckless Ultramarines had become distorted like a demon in mythology, his upper and lower teeth were biting, and veins were bulging on his clenched fists.

"Fuck Terra!"

"A bunch of ballless beeps--"

"..."

The voice was so angry, and the anger was so pure that it didn't care about the meaning of the words and his position at all: Gage heard every word clearly.

Then, the Chapter Master of the First Ultramarines Chapter, who was also the oldest Terran veteran in the Legion, instinctively narrowed his eyes, a flash of disgust and hostility flashed in his pupils, but then disappeared at an astonishing speed.

He said nothing in the end.

Turning around, Gage tried to ignore the emotions that were surging among all the Ultramarines officers behind him because of Auguston's angry roar: that was the resentment towards Holy Terra, that was a torrent that released all the grievances and dissatisfaction.

That was a wave that no one could resist.

Whether it was him or the Primarch.

The Terran veteran shook his head and sighed silently.

In any case: the Ultramarines and the Five Hundred Worlds are going to change this time.

I hope this is not Terra's intention.

After all...

A correct version of the book in 16-9!

——————

"This is so stupid."

Amidst the respectful manners and expectant eyes of hundreds of Ultramarines, the Lord of the Palace of Macragge pushed open the small door designed specifically for her, carrying a basket of dishes she had just made, and ignored the orders of the Primarch, and marched into Guilliman's silent kingdom with great momentum.

"Very stupid."

She repeated it again: her voice was full of the severity of a mother.

"Because of other people's mistakes, because of the stupidity imposed on you by others, you want to abuse your body in turn? I don't remember teaching you such a stupid way of doing things: no matter how bad things get, it will never be worse than your own body collapsing."

"Robert!"

"Are you listening to me?"

Ms. Euton was moving forward in the cobalt blue darkness. She did not immediately fumble for the button to control the light, because she was so familiar with this office: more than a hundred years ago, she accompanied the then Regent Connor day after day to handle the political affairs of Macragge here, and later, the person she was responsible for accompanying became her son.

Ms. Euton first looked at the throne of the Primarch in daily life: the thinker in front of the marble chair was still shining, and the neatly placed documents on both sides showed that the Primarch had been fulfilling his responsibilities, but he himself did not sit in front of the light.

The Lord of Palace Affairs moved his neck, and his eyes kept shrinking among the portraits of kings with gold frames. Finally, under the shadow of King Connor riding a horse to kill the enemy, he found the giant that everyone was dreaming about.

Guilliman was standing there, in front of the only window in the room, which was a place where he could see the main city of Macragge: the dim moonlight at night and the gradually extinguished lights in the main city passed through time and space, slapping on the solemn face of the Primarch, illuminating his tall nose and withered golden hair, as well as his pair of pupils that had lost their luster, and the layers of wrinkles under his eye sockets that made people feel distressed.

"Robert!"

Ms. Euton didn't care about anything else and immediately ran to her child. Her steps were so hurried that she even forgot that she was still wearing a long dress that she had to wear carefully in diplomatic occasions: before she took a few steps, at least fifty or sixty meters away from the Primarch, Ms. Euton stumbled and fell to the ground.

But the pain did not come, and the warm palm supported the Lord of Palace Affairs: her child respectfully helped her up and walked all the way to the sofa in the middle of the room, and then casually pressed the light button.

"I'm fine, Lady Euton."

It can be seen that the Lord of Macragge is trying his best to appear calmer, but his overly pale face and the fatigue in his voice that made Lady Euton feel distressed all betrayed the Primarch's poor condition at the moment.

"Don't lie, child: you know you can never deceive me."

"..."

Guilliman lowered his head, speechless.

And Euton stretched out her fingers and stroked Guilliman's cheek distressedly: her son has become so old now, with white spots at the corners of his mouth due to long-term lack of rest and excessive psychological pressure, and a few strands of withered hair either lazily resting on his earlobes or covering his full forehead.

The mother of the Primarch combed them open and habitually groomed her children.

While grooming, she patiently waited for the fatigue in the Primarch's eyes to fade away with the most gentle voice in Guilliman's memory.

"Tell me, Robert."

"What are you worried about?"

"..."

Guilliman covered his face and almost curled up in his seat, keeping this posture, and remained silent for a long time.

He didn't speak, nor did he make any breathing or sobbing sounds. It was not until Lady Euden approached with concern that she heard her son talking to himself there. The voice was so subtle that it didn't sound like the Primarch, but more like a crying child.

"Lady Euden..."

"Why..."

"Why do you say..."

"Why...are they all asking me to be an enemy of Terra?"

"Why...why must we become the rebel?"

"Why..."

"Why can't we tolerate Terra?"

"Why can't Terra tolerate us?"

"Why...they all want it so much..."

"War..."

"Independence..."

"And killing each other."