At this moment, Macragge was crowded with people.
People came and went, men, women, old people, and children, they bustled through the wide streets, heading towards their own destinations, whether it was a tavern or the port of Macragge.
This scene was reflected in Mortarion's eyes. He seemed to be thinking, but also seemed to be thinking nothing at all. He silently wrote down what he saw and observed.
…
Maybe staying here is not the right choice.
Mortarion's eyes darkened, but he didn't say anything. He leaned against the wall naturally, holding the pancake snacks he "bought" in his hands. The mortal-sized fruit pancakes were like a biscuit in his hands.
Mortarion,
Guilliman's voice came from the communication channel, with a hint of anger. Mortarion consciously turned off the communication and waited for this brother who was always angry over trivial matters to arrive.
He watched indifferently as the crowd watching them on the street dispersed after an exclamation, and next came the blue armor that he had already grown tired of seeing. Mortarion raised an eyebrow and saw his brothers walking towards him.
Guilliman, not surprisingly, kept his standard smile, but Mortarion could see the murderous intent in that smile, but the other...
…Angron
An unexpected guy, but Mortarion didn't care.
———
Guilliman took a deep breath, turned his head silently, glanced at the two people beside him, then took another deep breath, and covered his eyes with his hands in self-abandonment.
At this moment, the entire street was closed, and the Extreme Warriors patrolled the intersection solemnly, patiently persuading pedestrians to change routes.
And all this is for...
Guilliman took another deep breath.
Beside him, there were two Primarchs squatting. Mortarion and Angron were half-crouching on the side of the street, eating and chatting.
He has no awareness or image of himself as the original body.
If Guilliman had learned some ancient Terran proverb, he would now be thinking,
Hard, the fist is hard.
Guilliman took a deep breath. Of course he would like his brother to visit the realms he ruled - but not now.
There was no dignity in this way, and Guilliman felt ashamed to be seen on the same street as Mortarion.
His brothers were noble and honorable people, like Sanguinius, or Fulgrim, they were all good Primarchs who paid attention to their personal image and the image of the Legion, even Russ -
No, not Russ, Guilliman thought, that wolf might as well have rushed into the streets of Macragge and teased his people.
Now Motari arranged for Russ to be behind.
Guilliman thought angrily, but because of the first impression Angron gave him, Guilliman automatically believed that Mortarion had led Angron astray.
Instead of taking the pancake from Mortarion's hand skillfully as he did just now, and after looking around, he found that there was no chair the size of the Primarch, so Angron squatted down naturally.
After Angron crouched, Mortarion also crouched silently.
The two Primarchs turned their heads and looked at Guilliman who was still standing beside them.
Guilliman maintained a perfect smile at this moment, like a sculpture.
So the two of them no longer paid attention to Guilliman, and began to concentrate on dealing with the Macragge specialties in their hands.
[What do you think of this place, bro?]
Angron said, as he looked at the street pancake that the Lord of Death had chosen himself and the Lord of Macragge had been forced to pay for.
This was a simple pancake made of white flour, covered with cloud-like whipped cream, and mixed with red and purple fresh berries. This reminded Angron of Nuseria. In the mountains of Nuseria, similar berries also grew, right? Because he had seen such fruit-colored embellishments on the tables of those nobles.
Angron smiled. That was all in the past. He looked at the smiling dog that was branded on the pancake due to the different heat levels. He took a bite.
Mortarion slowly looked at the pancake he had just chosen. He looked at the food as if he had anorexia, and his eyes were not as eager as his eyes on the grenade launcher bullets.
But a long time ago, when he had not waited in his office for food to be delivered for three consecutive days, the look in his eyes when he kicked the door of Hades' office was not like today.
[… not good.]
Mortarion said, carefully picking up a piece of mint-like green leaf on the outside of the pancake and eating it. The stimulating and slightly sweet taste bloomed in his mouth. The expression on Mortarion's face proved that he did not like sweets.
Guilliman tilted his head and smiled, brighter than the August sun, and so was the anger in his eyes.
I implore you to repeat your words, Mortarion.
No, Mortarion thought, the fight has already been fought, there is no point in fighting again.
[very good,]
Mortarion said,
[Just speaking of appreciation.]
He added, then turned his head away in boredom, deciding not to argue with this guy who was always startled by inexplicable things.
Mortarion did not understand Guilliman's emphasis on personal image, honor, and other things, just as Guilliman did not understand that sometimes, for the sake of safety, he needed to give up some freedom and prosperity.
Mortarion thought that at least Guilliman would have to suffer a little, and he would remind Guilliman, but the decision was in the hands of the Lord of Macragge. After all, this was his Macragge.
He stared at some canine creature smiling at him on the pancake. This wasn't supposed to be happening. Mortarion should be on the battlefield, not sitting here doing nothing. He was wasting his life in an extremely extravagant way.
He should be on the battlefield fighting aliens, he should be at the command table, he should be on the front line, he could even be in the medical room, instead of squatting on the streets of Macragge in confusion, wasting his life with two idiots who had no idea what was going on.
… Even someone as lazy as Hades would not choose to relax at this moment.
Angron blinked. The Lord of Red Sand sensed something. He stared at his empty hands, savoring the taste of Macragge.
Sweet and sour, with just the right amount of mellow fragrance, Macragge is synonymous with freshness and vitality. Everything here is full of vitality, hope and vigor, but for some people, it may be a little too irritating.
[Are you nervous? ]
Angron asked abruptly, without looking at Mortarion, even though the wind blew into Angron's face when Mortarion turned his head sharply.
[It seems that you are fully aware of everything that is happening now, and have it all under control, Angron?]
Mortarion's sarcastic voice sounded, and Angron raised his hand to indicate that he meant no harm.
I am also very nervous.
He said,
[We don't know what happened, but we are sure something bad happened.]
Mortarion sneered, mocking Angron's nonsense.
Angron slowed his words, feeling each word linger in his mouth, then caught the wind of Macragge.
Mortarion,
Angron's tone turned serious.
[Now, I have a bad feeling, so I want to confirm one thing with you.]
He listened to Mortarion's breathing stop for a long time, and then the Lord of Death said quickly in a low voice,
[I am willing to answer.]
It seemed that he might have realized what the Lord of Red Sand wanted to ask.
Angron paused for a moment, as if in mourning.
Is he still alive
Angron asked,
But the answer to him was not a statement,
[What did you feel too?]
Angron turned his head and saw Mortarion staring at him, the pancake trembling in his hands, the sunlight sparkling on the whipped cream.
Angron nodded, and Mortarion made a wheezing sound as he breathed. Now Angron began to wonder if Mortarion really had some kind of respiratory disease.
He saw the pancake corpse in Mortarion's hand let out a silent scream. Even though the Lord of Death didn't move, and there was no expression on his face, the pancake had been crushed and the paste inside had overflowed.
[Are you still eating?]
Angron suddenly asked, looking at Mortarion who was lost in some emotion and suddenly came to his senses, and subconsciously handed the pancake in his hand to him.
This proves that Mortarion has not recovered yet.
Angron simply thanked him and finished it in one bite. Desserts always put him in a good mood, and he grinned.
Angron stood up and patted Mortarion.
[I feel that he has successfully eliminated another enemy of the empire.]
Angron said,
[I was planning to attend the award ceremony given to him by the Empire, but this incident happened on the way.]
Mortarion slowly stood up, now looking more like a tall, thin straw.
[You don’t have to be so hypocritical...]
The Lord of Death said, his voice hoarse,
[The Death Guard never shirk their own death, nor do we mourn our own death.]
Mortarion took a deep breath.
[… I just hope that we can get to the battlefield as soon as possible. ]
Here,
Mortarion looked out into the distance, the pure blue of Macragge overlapping his eyes, blending with the green of Barbarus.
[Staying here and resting here is disrespectful to the deceased.]
Mortarion said.
On the other side, Guilliman was wondering whether the third-person pronoun mentioned by the two Primarchs was Hades, and what "feeling" was.
Oops, I have an exam tonight, so it's a little late.
I tried to write more quickly because the Great Rebellion does not involve the main storyline of the protagonist, so I couldn't jump too fast. After a few words, I felt that it was not too slow, but if I didn't jump, it would be a bit difficult for me to do it.
The protagonist's rebellion still has a major plot, so he won't just be offline in 40k.
(End of this chapter)