There is no harm without comparison.
It turns out that it wasn't that the imperial people were too high-profile, but that the barbarians from Barbarus didn't understand art.
The dome was arched, and flames hung down from above along with gold sheets, illuminating the hall. The ratio of darkness and light was just right, complementing each other, and the walls lit by candlelight emitted a shimmering glow.
Beneath the chandelier carved with pearls, gold and silver, there is a sea of bright white silk, with tables and chairs of different heights rising and falling, forming a law called the Empire.
The tallest tables and chairs are naturally where the light and jewels are gathered, while the tables and chairs below are like the aftermath of the waves, surrounding the giant, bowing their heads in submission and willing to serve as a foil.
Human rulers are always mean. They cannot tolerate being in the same room with people of the same status as them, as if equality would cost them their lives.
The cheapest joy naturally comes from comparison. There is a special kind of beauty in looking down on others. The approval of the crowd gives birth to happiness. However, conversations with those in power will only lead to confrontation.
So although this is a gathering of the Primarchs, there are still planetary governors from other planets and diplomats from garden planets. If a banquet is compared to an outing, then these people are the existence of birds singing or frogs croaking in nature.
Actors and dancers twirled on the dance floor, chords floated out from the luxurious and low-pitched string music, graceful and enchanting. They stood out from millions of people, just improvised toys of the imperial nobles.
But even if their skills and charm are high enough to make the king take off the crown and the brave man break the sword, they are still not the protagonists of this banquet.
Even most people's eyes and attention were not on the stage, but were focused on the center with a restrained and forbearing gaze.
The skinny giant sat on the most remote throne. He was plain and desolate, dressed in plain clothes, which reminded people of the wasteland covered with dark clouds before the rainstorm, remote and depressing.
It’s not like people haven’t seen rulers who love the late night, and dark tones are accompanied by a tone of mystery and seriousness, but even so, the gems and gold threads that should be the details of their “clothing” still satisfy their vanity.
But the Lord of Death wore no ornaments that might indicate wealth or status; no gems, no pearls, no delicate decorations.
The only accessory was a brass skull tied to the cape, with six spikes of light surrounding it and the Roman numeral fourteen carved on it, and there seemed to be traces of blood splattered on it.
Such a presence, even if it appeared at the funeral of a dignitary, would be considered too simple, and would be seen as a lack of etiquette and deliberate fault-finding for the host.
But he was the Primarch, a demigod, and held the military lifeline of an entire empire in his hands, so people automatically found reasonable explanations for his behavior.
He is the Primarch after all.
The Lord of Death sat quietly at his seat, looking dissatisfied and indifferent to everything around him. The dishes had been served, but he didn't even take off his breathing mask.
A low pressure of death automatically spread around Mortarion, and even the boldest administrators did not dare to approach him to talk.
But the maids and waiters had to go through the low pressure, for no other reason than that at the table behind the Lord of Death, there was a Space Marine who kept asking for more food.
What's strange is that most Space Marines have the same temperament as their Primarch, but obviously that Death Guard doesn't fit this rule.
Garro had a blank expression on his face, he should have realized that the commander of the Death Guard was not a normal person, but unfortunately he did not realize this when he chose this guy.
The rest of the legions hadn't arrived yet, and only the Death Guard made it into the main hall first, since they didn't come in "normally".
Faced with the mortals' long and cumbersome guard of honor, Mortarion did only one thing: ignore them.
Mortarion did the same thing when he faced the Emperor's Guards. The Primarch despised all flashy actions, obviously including complicated etiquette.
So Garro watched helplessly as Mortarion led them to rush through the guard of honor. The Primarch ignored the guard of honor who came up to apologize and moved forward along the shortest route between the two points.
Garo felt that the ceremonial officer who was rejected by the legion commander was about to commit suicide with his sword, but fortunately Hades stopped this poor and confused man.
Garo breathed a sigh of relief in his heart. With Hades's intervention, at least he didn't need to do this anymore.
But this did not make the whole thing any better. Jialuo had participated in similar events before, and their behavior was not polite or honorable at all. Instead, they seemed like intruders.
Jialuo felt a little uneasy, and this uneasiness reached its peak when they entered the hall. Their attire did not suit the place and they looked out of place, like someone in mourning.
Garro wore the same attire he had worn on previous diplomatic missions, but he had been forced to remove the elaborately patterned pieces to match Mortarion's style.
Hades' clothes were even more unusual. The Mechanicus of Graeae had previously given Hades a dress, so Hades put it on.
Although Hades also removed those overly gorgeous parts, Galaro believed that Hades simply thought they were ugly, rather than for other more obscure reasons.
On the dark background, dull dark red and hoarse moss green interweave to outline the symbols of the Mechanicus and the Death Guard. The buttons are made of black stone and are dull.
Hades's outfit would obviously be inappropriate if the Iron Hands were not present here - in most cases, the Mechanicus is not a welcome sight.
But it doesn't matter, they are already here. Garro looked at Mortarion who was staring at the plate in a daze, and Hades who was asking the maid to add more food.
Mortarion stared at the beans bobbing in the soup as if they were toads in a swamp, not even removing his breathing mask.
For the first time, Garo felt that Vox might be more suitable for this occasion than him.
He could only pray that the other participants in this banquet were not stronger beings—
Garo suddenly stood up and saluted, and pulled Hades up at the same time. Hades, who was just destroying everything, instantly became serious.
The trumpets sounded, the crowds gathered, wonderful hymns were sung, the lights shone, and the guests in gold and red stepped onto the stage.
It was Rogal Dorn and Sanguinius.
Rogal Dorn was like a moving wall, wearing a bright saffron cloak and a well-cut suit that highlighted his powerful shoulders.
A halo made of gold surrounded his resolute and tough face, making the Primarch's short hair, as white as marble, shine even brighter.
He was a true king, magnificent and indestructible.
Rogal Dorn deserves to attract all attention, but only if—
The angel Sanguinius was not at his side.
This is a real angel.
The huge white wings hung down, each one was of incomparable perfection, fluffy and soft, and thin chains of gold and red flowed from the coverts under the straight feathers, and the jewels on them were trembling slightly with the movements of the primarch.
A soft halo burned around him, burning out a dazzling holiness. His slightly curly golden hair hung down, and his face seemed a little thin, but it made his scarlet eyes stand out even more.
The angel, Sanguinius, seemed to be glowing, and a long river of light flowed quietly beside him.
Everything pales in comparison to him, those blazing candles, those jeweled chandeliers, everything becomes dim and unbearable.
In the face of true perfection, the flaws of all things are exposed.
No one could resist Sanguinius, and people involuntarily stopped what they were doing and stared at the angel—
Except Mortarion, of course.
Instead of standing up to welcome him, the Lord of Death remained seated on his throne, his movements unchanged from before, except that he shifted his gaze from the Bean Toad to the wings of the Birdman with a hint of confusion.
When the two glittering primarchs came in, they seemed to be talking about something. Perhaps it was not a pleasant topic, because Garro saw Rogal Dorn's slightly frowned brow.
But compared to Dorn who was staring at Mortarion, Sanguinius's gaze moved to the seat behind Mortarion for a moment. No one noticed that the angel's expression changed for a moment, as if the angel had always had that holy expression.
The Blood Angels who followed Sanguinius received secret messages from the angels asking them to be cautious.
Rogal Dorn strode straight towards Mortarion, and the angel smiled and motioned the people who were dazed by his appearance to return to their work.
Hades and Garro also took this opportunity to sit down, and the Imperial Fists and Blood Angels moved towards their location. Garro was busy trying to identify if there was anyone familiar among them, while Hades drank a mouthful of soup with relish.
With the angels around, there was no need to worry about what might happen, although Rogal Dorn might have some arguments with Mortarion.
Rogal Dorn, a true strong man, the simplest foul mouth, the most extreme enjoyment, this Primarch who compares himself to a rock likes to be straightforward and advocates the truth that "if everyone speaks out, there will be no misunderstanding."
Ron Dorn stood across from Mortarion's dining table, his shadow cast down, and the sense of oppression suddenly increased.
"You just caused a commotion among the mortal honor guard outside."
Rogal Dorn's serious and earnest voice sounded,
"For a party of this size, this behavior would lead to chaos."
"If you're not upset with some of them, then you should respect their work."
Mortarion's eyes rose and stared straight at Dorn. There seemed to be a fire burning in his amber eyes, glaring at Dorn.
Respect? When they wasted his life with all that futile ritual
He was about to spit out some sarcastic venom, but a hand suddenly reached out, interrupting his thoughts.
It was that mutant, his presence was so strong that Mortarion subconsciously shifted his gaze towards the angel.
"Perhaps we should start by introducing ourselves."
With a gentle and restrained smile, Sanguinius opened his arms, blocking the two from visually exchanging fire.
Rogal Dorn glanced at the angel, but Sanguinius was right, they should introduce themselves.
"The commander of the Seventh Legion, the Imperial Fists, Rogal Dorn."
"I am the father of the Ninth Legion Blood Angels, and I am pleased to meet you—"
The angel looked at Mortarion politely, but Mortarion only saw coldness and alienation in his eyes.
"The Fourteenth Legion Death Guard, Mortarion."
"You prefer a brief welcome, my brother? Is this the custom on your home planet?"
The angel continued to maintain his flawless smile, gentle and with just the right amount of curiosity, as he pulled Rogal Dorn to a seat.
The Angel chose to sit between the two Primarchs, which was obviously the right decision.
Mortarion merely hummed in agreement.
Rogal Dorn spoke again.
"You should adapt to the Empire, Mortarion. Perhaps your vision should not be limited to one home planet."
It happens again.
Mortarion realized that no matter what, his "brothers", who shone like dance floor lights, would mock his home world and his origins.
Is it because he was not brought up among gold and thrones? Is it because he struggled in the mire of the wilderness
Stupid, short-sighted, arrogant, vain.
Mortarion cursed his "brothers" loudly, but it did not matter. He had no common ground with these people who did not know the cruel truth. Only these people who did not know what was happening were still wasting their time and throwing their lives away among jewels and silks.
Mortarion slowly, resolutely gave Rogal Dorn a look of contempt, then turned his gaze away and continued to stare at his bean soup.
A strange enough brother, with a unique sharpness.
Sanguinius thought that Mortarion looked very haggard, as if he was ill, and he was very worried, but Rogal Dorn's words obviously blocked the possibility of continuing the conversation. Mortarion had already refused to talk.
The angel could sense that if he didn't say something, Rogal Dorn would speak, and although he didn't want to be that person, he also didn't want this banquet to turn into a disaster.
After all, he had promised Horus.
Even though the Empire blocked almost all information, some Primarchs were aware of the blood splattered on the battlefield of Randan.
The thing that the angel least wanted to see happened.
If the Wolf and the Lion could take up the knife once in the Emperor's name, then they had every right to do it a second time.
The incompleteness should be eliminated, but Sanguinius and his legion are in the corner closest to the incompleteness.
Beneath the perfect and calm appearance lies an uneasy and fearful soul.
But the smile on his lips did not change at all.
The angel smiled and started chatting with Dorn. It was easy to talk to someone who was willing to be serious about anything. In fact, Sanguinius appreciated Dorn's straightforwardness.
Don came here to give a place for the ashes after the flames, but he didn't understand it all yet and was still communicating with the angel with a little worry.
Mortarion was still present, and Sanguinius could only offer vague consolations.
Horus went to see the Emperor and Malcador, and in order to allow the Primarchs to communicate with each other, Horus arranged this meeting.
The executioner was naturally not invited.
But what comforted Sanguinius a little was that Mortarion was not curious. The Death Guard was an aftermath of this battle, and this new brother should not know too much.
The angel could sense Horus's kindness and concern for Mortarion, so Mortarion was also here. Horus hoped that his dull brother would understand more about the rules of the empire.
But Sanguinius' attention was slightly tilted towards the Primarch's back for a moment.
What is that
Normal updates will resume tomorrow! Prepare to update more! Make up for the overdue updates!
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Recommend a book! It's about medieval times, the writing is very good, and it's also very good! The author is writing, and I won't comment on it because I don't know much about medieval times. If you are interested, you can go and take a look.
Warhammer: Make the Tomb Kings Great Again
(End of this chapter)