Sevatar took a step back. In the shadow of the cell, the archangel walked towards him expressionlessly, with blood on the corner of his mouth.
Sanguinius turned around and left without hesitation. The archangel looked... not in good condition, but he still looked like he could fight.
Sevitar stood there in a daze for a second, then decisively rushed into the darkness inside the cell.
Sanguinius's footsteps paused for a moment.
[Take care of your... warriors, legion commander.]
The Archangel said this, leaving Sevatar, who was crouching beside Konrad Curze, behind.
The candlelight in the corridor flickered on the Archangel's bright red shoulder armor. The Primarch strode out of the dim prison corridor. The white light of Baal sprinkled at the door, causing the Primarch to squint slightly.
Sanguinius did not turn his head. Beside the door, the hooded lion, leaning against the wall with his arms folded, was waiting for him.
Sanguinius did not smile, he remained stern, the smell of blood making him intimidating without even being angry.
[Have you thought about it?]
the Archangel asked.
Hidden under the forest green hood, Leon nodded, but the lion seemed to sense something. He hesitated for a moment, and one hand leaned against the wall casually placed on the sword at his waist.
[…You are not in the right state, angel.]
Sanguinius's face was expressionless, like a sculpture, and the sunset of Baal slowly fell on his face with its magnificent light.
The sun sets and night is approaching.
The angel's mouth moved slightly, but he didn't say anything.
Finally, the archangel left, he drew out the spear behind him, spread his wings, and the message from his offspring in the channel told him that he needed to continue fighting.
[Leon, you are too sentimental.]
These words fell lightly to the ground along with the falling white feathers. The lion stood up from the wall in surprise. The words that had not yet been said were stuck in his throat and he could not make a sound.
The lion made a puzzled sound, frowning tightly as he stared at the rapidly receding figure.
A long time later... he will finally understand that the Archangel has already stepped into the dark era of continuous war.
Best friends, myself... At this moment, the only archangel in the world who is praised by everyone is Sanguinius.
The sound of staggering footsteps was heard, and Leon quickly grasped the sword. As the night fell, a limping Conrad Curze appeared, supported by Sevatar.
The eternal night is reflected in the eyes of the Lord of Night.
The Lion uttered a sneer of contempt, and with a bold thrust he drew his sword and pointed the tip at Conrad.
To his surprise, Conrad did not pay attention to his provocation. After the madness of the night, his eyes were rarely clear.
[…]
Conrad stared at Lion Jonson, and a soft hoarse voice sounded, with a bloody smell.
[…He killed Horus.]
Leon was surprised, [Conrad, do you know what you are talking about? ! ]
Conrad finally stopped going crazy this time. He let out a faint sigh of disbelief.
[… He… He chose the more secure future—even if the price was blood.]
The Archangel knew it was true, the Archangel thought it was false, Conrad muttered to himself, it didn't matter, because the Angel made his choice without hesitation, pushing the possibility of the future to the minimum.
But he chose a path that was... the most painful for him.
A path that only the strongest souls can embark on.
He pushed his best friend into the abyss, while he himself was elevated to the altar of deity by the world and sealed by layers of power of faith.
Curze murmured that Mortarion showed him a future free from fate, while Sanguinius showed him a future in which he chose his own destiny.
Conrad panted, shook his head subconsciously, and fell into a state of confusion again.
[Atonement...]
[… That’s crazy… Sinners in hell also need to work…]
As he spoke, he limped away, ignoring the lion and was carefully carried away by Sevatar.
Lion Johnson paused. As a person who was not a prophet, he might never be able to understand the pain of the two primarchs of the prophecy.
He looked at the two Primarchs in a daze as they walked away, one disappearing into the sunset, the other disappearing into the night. They seemed to have reached some kind of truce agreement - some kind of temporary rest.
The lion cursed in a low voice in Caliban. He raised his hand, and from the shadow of the building, a group of angels wearing winged helmets emerged.
[go back.]
The Lion King said, and he and his dark angels also disappeared into the darkness.
————
[The weather is nice today.]
Angron said with a smile. He leaned his head out of Guilliman's office. Bright sunshine was shining from the blue sky. The Lord of Red Sand was in a good mood today. He stared at the birds flying in the sky with a smile.
In other words, Angron was in a good mood most of the time.
Even though the current situation was not very optimistic, Guilliman sighed lightly and put down the document in his hand for approval.
The Astronomican has not yet been rekindled, and wars of all sizes are ongoing within Ultraman. The Ultramarines are working with the Death Guard to clean up the plagued planets.
With the lessons learned from the previous incident, the Lord of Macragge could no longer relax in the slightest. For a time, four new hospital planets were built in the Ultramar star field. At the same time, in order to prevent the agricultural planets from being attacked again, Guilliman approved the construction of five backup agricultural planets.
At the same time, he lowered the passing rate of the academy by ten percentage points. In the future, the Extreme Legion will expand again.
Robert Guilliman, who was backed by the Five Hundred Kingdoms of Ultramar, was not like other legions, and needed the resources of the Empire - especially the equipment from Mars.
As a result, Guilliman can now expand his military as he pleases without worrying about supplies or Terra's approval.
For some political considerations, Guilliman tried to discuss the matter with Malcador, to which Malcador responded with a roll of his eyes.
After Guilliman returned, he immediately began to recruit soldiers.
With the expansion of the Ultramarines and the passage of the relatively chaotic situation in the early stages, the scope of the five hundred kingdoms of Ultramar began to expand further on the map.
With the Pale Lord guarding the area, the Ultramar star region is relatively stable.
The Death Guard also went very smoothly in clearing out those plague planets. Although according to the observations of the Ultramarines, there were certain casualties within the Death Guard, the Fourteenth Legion did not have many complaints about this matter.
Guilliman sighed softly, and took a sip of the steaming tea - this was a tribute from a hive planet they had just rescued.
Shrouded in white fog, the Ultramarines and the Death Guard fought those crazy cultists and psykers. They were acting crazy and seemed to be wondering why they could not communicate with their gods.
Mortarion commented on this:
[Those who believe in God are fools—(silenced).]
The Pale Lord's weak assessment was heard in the white fog. The accompanying Ultramarines looked at the Death Guards who had to carry seven spare daggers beside them, and the Pale Lord who could appear at any time and disappear in the fog...
They tacitly maintained a high level of political literacy and kept their own views on the matter.
Guilliman sighed again. New battlefield, new enemy, the Ultramarines will quickly adapt to this.
Angron's voice rang out,
[You've been depressed lately, Guilliman?]
Guilliman frowned, and took another sip of his tea.
[I am still worried that what happened last time will happen again.]
Angron raised an eyebrow. He knew that Guilliman was referring to the illusion.
You are a little too nervous.
Angron smiled and said,
[Two of the top five psychics in this empire are here. If we can't handle this, I can't imagine how bad other battlefields will be.]
Guilliman sighed.
[I hope our brothers are safe and the glory of mankind will last forever.]
Angron's expression suddenly turned serious.
[The glory of mankind will last forever,] he said, [We should believe in our brothers, they are primarchs like us.]
Angron relaxed.
[Be optimistic, Guilliman.]
The Lord of Red Sand said, "You have become a pessimist during this period - no one will blame you. Mortarion and I are confident that we can trust you."
With the amount of documents in an entire star field, there is only one person in this galaxy who can approve them all within the time limit and ensure that they can run smoothly.
This was a sea of documents that Angron had never dared to imagine. Guilliman spent a whole day without sleeping to review them all. In a trance, Angron seemed to see Hades, who was reviewing the documents in the maelstrom and roaring.
The only difference is that the emotion Hades displayed was grief and anger, while Guilliman displayed a laid-back confidence.
They could not leave Guilliman, Angron was acutely aware of this, or they would have to rely on slow, corrupt, and often depraved mortal officials to run the country.
There can't be any problems with logistics; not all wars can be turned around by just boarding a ship.
Guilliman smiled, and took another sip of his tea, as if taking a break.
[Malcador approved the interim government.]
Angron leaned forward and yawned.
[Not surprisingly, we are doing this, we just lack a name. ]
Guilliman paused.
What do you think
Angron opened his hand.
[I don't have outstanding political literacy, so I probably can't give you a satisfactory reply - but I sincerely hope you can change my name. In terms of appearance, I think you are more suitable to be a mascot than me. ]
[Are you here to approve the documents?]
[It's all right.]
Angron laughed it off and decisively skipped the self-humiliation part.
[But you still have to persuade Mortarion to come. Wouldn't Mortarion's appearance scare mortals? ]
Guilliman crossed his hands and propped up his chin.
[Malcador has promised that Mortarion will appear... As for how he will appear, I think this is a problem between Malcador and him.]
Angron narrowed his eyes and looked at Guilliman in disbelief.
[You really—]
The Lord of Red Sand stretched out his voice,
[Do you think Mortarion cares about his personal image?]
[Malcador will take care of it for him.]
Guilliman answered nonchalantly, the break was over and he began to review the documents again.
Angron sighed, this is what a politician is like.
He casually wrote the number "seven" on the windowsill. A small wisp of white mist floated up from the fingertips of the Lord of Red Sand. Angron poked at the mist out of boredom, which began to dissipate as soon as it appeared.
Yay!
(End of this chapter)