At ten-thirty noon, Khalil returned to Macragge's Flair. This ship, like the Night Veil, is a Queen of Glory class battleship, but its boarding deck is not as simple as the Night Veil, to the point of being almost eerie.
Stepping off the transport plane, the first thing Khalil could see was the thick tapestries woven by the various groups of Ultramarines. They are well maintained every day. Not only are they as bright as new, but their color has not changed at all.
He sighed quietly, feeling a little headache from the ubiquitous solemnity - which was certainly not a bad thing, but he couldn't help but think back to the empty Nighthorn, and those dark and dilapidated buildings. corridor.
Repairs are a piece of cake, but does anyone in the Eighth Legion know how to weave tapestries? You can't even learn from the Ultramarines about this, right?
Khalil shook his head, cutting off his thoughts. Twenty minutes later, he arrived at his destination via helicopter. After greeting the two victorious soldiers standing guard, he pushed open the door of Robert Guilliman's study and intuitively saw the scene inside.
"."
silence.
No one spoke.
One of the victorious soldiers turned around, wondering what was going on, but Khalil raised his hand unexpectedly, stopped his movement, and gestured to the victorious soldiers to stay away.
The bodyguards of the original body were puzzled by this. One of them peeked in, then turned around suddenly and led his companion towards the other side of the corridor.
As for Khalil.
He looked at the scene inside without saying a word, and the two people in the room fell into an awkward silence at the same time.
Half a minute later, Guilliman coughed lightly and took off the helmet he had taken out from nowhere - Khalil could see clearly that the thing was forged from metal and had a certain The protective ability, T-shaped opening, is surprisingly simple.
And it's original size.
As for Angron, the reborn gladiator was wearing a hospital gown, holding the dagger of two wooden daggers, standing awkwardly between the moved sofa and coffee table.
Just now, he was attentively telling Guilliman how the gladiators used double swords in the arena. The details of the two swords he held did not escape Khalil's eye, both had Guilliman's name engraved on the tail.
".Frankly, I'm surprised."
Standing in front of the door, Khalil spoke slowly, deciding to break the silence, but not in a serious way.
In fact, he was holding himself back from laughing.
"But, I must admit, it's a rare kind of brotherhood."
"If you want to laugh, just laugh, Khalil." Guilliman pursed his lips and said, holding his helmet under his arm, looking like a warrior who had just finished fighting.
However, the laurel crown on the warrior's head was alarmingly crooked, and his hair was messy, but he obviously did not realize this.
"No, I won't laugh."
"I'm serious—but I want you to close the door."
Khalil nodded and slowly closed the door.
from the outside.
After another half minute, he walked in with a serious face, but the dagger and helmet had completely disappeared, and the coffee table and sofa had returned to their original appearance, staying quietly on the carpet.
Angron was wearing a hospital gown, sitting upright on one of the chairs, staring intently at Robert Guilliman, who stood in front of him holding a heavy tome and told him something.
"."
Khalil walked into the study calmly, closed the door with his back to them, and slowly exhaled a breath.
The next second, both Angron and Guilliman were sure they heard a chuckle.
Khalil turned around expressionlessly: "Good day, Robert, Angron."
"."
The gladiator glanced at his brother silently - similar things had not never happened in the gladiatorial arena in the past. Although he could not find any specific images in his fragmented memory, he could clearly remember the emotions that surged in his chest at those moments.
That emotion was not much different from now. It is a rare joy that should be cherished.
Feeling his gaze, Robert Guilliman silently put down the book in his hand. He lowered his head, flipping through the thick tome, from front to back, and from back to front, and finally settled on a chapter that had little to do with what they had said before.
"There is a tradition of cooperation between legions." Guilliman said seriously. "I mean - maybe one day there could be a collaboration between the Warhounds and the Ultramarines."
"Yeah, yeah." Angron nodded quickly. "No problem, brother."
"Then, today's lesson ends here." Guilliman said with the calmness of a politician. Then, he turned his head and used another skill of a politician.
"Good day, Instructor Khalil." He greeted solemnly with no expression on his face.
Khalil did not answer his greetings in words. He was silent for a while, nodded, and then looked away with a smile. Laughter finally began to swirl around the room, not from Khalil, but from Robert Guilliman's brother.
Guilliman sighed deeply, and then actually laughed.
After a few minutes, the atmosphere finally returned to normal. The serious conversation finally started to continue.
——
". It may take three to five months for your legion to reach Nuceria. This depends on the premise that everything goes smoothly in the subspace navigation. We need to pass this news to them, and they also need to leave for Nuceria Ya, in short——”
Guilliman paused for a moment, sitting behind his marble table and gesturing.
"——You still have plenty of time to think about this whole thing, brother."
Angron nodded to him, his rough face covered with scars.
At this moment, a slow and serious thought was taking root on this mutilated face.
This incident made the Butcher's Nails tremble again. They did not squirm and drill downwards, but began to punish Angron's behavior with pain, but the Gladiator himself did not care about it.
Khalil, who was sitting aside, glanced at them and said nothing.
After a few minutes, Angron spoke again: "No matter what orders I give, will they obey them?"
"Yes."
"Even if I ask them to massacre defenseless people?"
"." Guilliman pursed his lips and nodded seriously. "Similar things are not without precedent. Sometimes, sacrifice is necessary."
"Even if I ask them to attack each other?"
"It is common for the Primarch to consider the fighting skills of his Legionnaires."
"No, I mean killing each other." The gladiator said lowly, breathing heavily like a beast. "The criterion is one party's persistence."
Robert Guilliman lowered his head, then raised it again. He had realized what his brother was saying, what he was implying, but he didn't know how to refute it.
So he just nodded dully.
"I understand." Angron said calmly. "So, my biological father arranged a group of slaves for me when I was born?"
"They are not slaves!" Guilliman retorted instinctively. "They are your descendants, and there is a connection between them and you, Angron. You can understand it if you see it with your own eyes!"
"But I can't see it now," Angron said. "I can only guess what they look like based on your description. If it is really what you said, Robert, I would rather they all stay away from me and not listen to any of my words, not even half a word."
"But the Legion cannot live without its Primarch."
"Really? So, what were your Ultramarines doing before you met them?"
"."
"What are they doing, man?"
".It seems that I can't defeat you in a simple verbal confrontation."
Guilliman smiled wryly and glanced at Khalil, who calmly shook his head and rejected his offer, so he had no choice but to continue.
"But, Angron, I hope you understand that although they will obey all your orders, that really does not mean that they are your slaves."
"Do they enjoy freedom?" the gladiator frowned. "Do they have the right to disobey me? Or do they have the right not to accept me?"
"No Legion will reject their Primarch."
"Then this is a form of slavery," Angron said seriously. "I still don't know the details of the relationship between the Legion and the Primarch, brother, but I do know something else, something else of which you know very little."
"What's up?"
"Slavery."
Angron spoke slowly.
"I have been in the Daishea Arena for more than ten years. During these ten years, I have witnessed countless ways to enslave others. The simplest one is brainwashing. It only takes hunger, darkness and fear to enslave others. A person becomes a senseless and numb accomplice in a few days. Now, you say, there is such a large group of people who will unconditionally obey any of my orders. Including but not limited to dying for me, or massacring unarmed people. Innocent people - even if I want them to kill each other, what does that mean, brother?"
Robert Guilliman was speechless - his brother had provided him with a new way of seeing the world, a way that was completely foreign to him.
It's like a person who knows about the existence of monsters but has never seen it with his own eyes. On the way home one day, he bumps into the monster, which is as terrifying as the bloody victim underneath it.
"If you don't mind, Angron -" a voice sounded in the silent room. Khalil stood up slowly and smiled at the two originals who looked over: "——I can tell you on Robert's behalf the special relationship between the originals and the Legion."
".Okay, but before that, I have something to say to you, Khalil."
Angron stood up equally slowly, like a stretched mountain range.
(End of chapter)
