The Eighth Legion.
At the wide and luxurious table, Kariel with a serious li
He scanned the paper documents. He sat in a chair that looked extremely comfortable, but his back was tense and straight.
After speaking with Neot, the one who called himself the Emperor, had, by his authority, granted Kariel almost complete freedom in this palace.
Now he could freely enter any secret room and study any forbidden parchment scroll. Even his sons did not have this freedom.
But Kariel was not tempted by it, nor did he use it.
He merely, ignoring the cold stares of the warriors in golden armor, took a few necessary documents from the Emperor's study, and nothing more.
Now he was glad they were paper documents and not ancient parchments. Touching the latter would have brought back unpleasant memories.
"Descendants of prisoners..."
Kariel squinted, and a complex expression flickered across his grim, pale face.
"Are you displeased with them?" a voice asked.
"No," Kariel shook his head. "The sins of the fathers should not pass to the children, unless they have followed the same path."
"But you are frowning, Kariel," Konrad Curze said.
He was still in the same black robe, only his hair had come loose again. Now he stood behind Kariel, reading these documents with him.
He didn't need to be able to read; he understood everything intuitively.
"Yes."
Kariel admitted his feelings, not hiding them. He had never lied to the Ghost: not before, not now, and perhaps never would in the future.
"Then why?"
"Because they are from the underground prisons of Terra."
Kariel answered briefly: "Judging by the descriptions, this prison should be called an underground city..."
Terra.
Earth.
Something complex flickered across his face. The room was bright, and he left no room for dark shadows on his face. But it happened anyway.
Konrad Curze nodded: "Quintus?"
"No."
Kariel leaned back slightly in his chair, looking a little relaxed for the first time.
"The situation is better than in Quintus."
The pale giant paused for a moment and said quietly, "Then that is good."
"Yes, Konrad... that is good. Perhaps you will make the decision on these matters yourself?"
Kariel turned and smiled slowly: "This is your legion."
"...I don't think I am capable of that," Konrad Curze replied after some hesitation.
He had clearly matured. In just a day and a half, he had changed so much.
"Truly inhuman," Kariel thought with admiration and sadness. But he did not interfere with this process, nor did he intend to.
Some things... were necessary.
"Why?" Kariel asked, looking the giant directly in the eyes. It was both a conversational tactic and a sign of politeness.
Then he waited patiently.
After half a minute, Konrad Curze looked away and replied quietly, "Because I don't understand any of this, Kariel. An hour ago, I didn't even know I had a legion... a legion bearing my genes."
A familiar expression of confusion finally appeared on his face.
"...Does that mean they are... my sons?"
Kariel couldn't help but laugh: "Yes, from a blood relation standpoint, yes. But considering you are only a year and a half old..."
He shook his head with a laugh, not finishing.
Curze lowered his head dejectedly and muttered something. His voice hissed – he had obviously switched back to Nostraman. Kariel sighed in annoyance.
"According to the calculations, they will arrive in about two weeks. So you have two weeks for moral and psychological preparation, Konrad."
"Could you call me the Ghost now?" the pale giant hissed.
"We are discussing business, Konrad," Kariel replied calmly. "And please, in High Gothic..."
"I have an accent," he hissed.
"What accent could make you pronounce these four words in High Gothic the same way as in Nostraman?"
"Nostraman accent," he said in flawless, noble High Gothic.
Kariel raised an eyebrow.
"Are you joking?"
"Don't you like it?"
"We are discussing business now, Konrad... Let's get back to the topic. Two weeks, during which time you can learn a lot on this ship."
"And you?" Konrad Curze asked shrewdly. "What will you do?"
"None of your business, Lord of the Eighth Legion."
Kariel laughed.
"I have many things to do, but they do not concern you."
"...Is this a joke?"
"Don't you like it?" Kariel winked at him. "After all, I hate a sense of humor."
"..."
The pale giant shook his head in annoyance.
"He... he suffers greatly, Kariel."
This abrupt transition did not surprise Kariel. He would have been surprised if Konrad Curze had not spoken to him about it.
"Why do you think so?" he asked.
And he waited – patiently, as always.
"...Duality."
Frowning, Konrad Curze said, "He is a ruthless monarch, an ambitious commander, but... it doesn't seem to be entirely so."
"It's so strange."
He nodded, summarizing with that word.
"Why can someone be like that?"
"A person's actions are determined by their goals," Kariel replied calmly. "And a person's goals are determined by their character. If he seems strange to you, dual, think about his goals."
He raised his head and looked at the exquisite ceiling of the room.
"To reclaim lost lands, to unite the galaxy, to restore unity to humanity... All this requires him to be a ruthless monarch, an ambitious commander. And you found his manner of speaking to you strange, right?"
Konrad Curze nodded again with a complex expression.
He didn't understand. One day he would understand, but not now.
Kariel smiled slightly and unexpectedly switched to Nostraman: "Ghost."
"Huh?" he turned around in confusion.
"Nothing."
Kariel stood up with a smile and switched back to High Gothic: "Rest, Lord of the Eighth Legion. Starting tomorrow, you will learn from Fulgrim himself."
"From him?!"
"And from whom else?"
"Why not from you?"
"I don't know anything about the current state of this empire created by the Emperor yet."
Kariel walked to the door, turned around, leaned against it, and replied with a smile:
"Therefore, even if I wanted to teach you, I couldn't. Besides..."
Seeing Konrad Curze's expression, Kariel fell silent, not continuing.
He raised his hand, turned off the light, plunging the room into darkness familiar to Konrad Curze and the Night Ghost, then pushed the door and left.
"Are there ever any real barriers between brothers?"
He sighed.
"Pride is natural."
"How can a demigod not be arrogant?"
...
Kariel did not stay on the ship called "Emperor Sovnium." He left, returning to Nostramo.
But he did not use those imposing aircraft; he chose another method.
In a blue glow, he slowly stepped forward.
Frost crunched underfoot, formed from frozen mist. In the day and a half of his absence, the Sanctuary had changed little, except for the disappearance of the door he had made.
And also...
Kariel turned around in surprise. He really hadn't expected this.
"Lord Rogal Dorn?"
"Rogal or Dorn. I noticed that in your conversation with Konrad, the word 'Lord' carries a nuance of alienation. I don't want to be called that."
Kariel laughed.
And again, he was glad for the directness of this giant. After all these mysterious conversations and hints, it was always pleasant to meet someone who spoke directly.
Rogal Dorn, however, frowned.
"Why are you laughing?" he asked calmly.
"Because there are few people who speak as directly as you do. I am pleasantly surprised."
Hearing the explanation, Dorn frowned even more.
"I just don't like inefficiency."
He shook his head frankly.
"What is right is right, what is wrong is wrong. There may be shades of gray, but there are few of them. Instead of hiding your true intentions behind a series of hints, it's better to speak directly from the beginning."
"Therefore," the giant with gray hair made a stern gesture, "I consider your surprise unnecessary. I have always been this way."
"Yes... inefficiency is indeed annoying, whether in conversation or anything else."
Kariel nodded thoughtfully and asked a new question.
"But, Dorn, where is my door?"
"It's not a door – by my definition."
Rogal Dorn frowned again.
"It's rusty, just a shoddy piece of work made of rotten boards and metal. It protects neither from wind nor rain, nor from thieves, nor the owner. Therefore, on my own initiative, I brought some metal to reinforce this door and give it new life."
He paused, looked at Kariel's expression, and continued:
"...If you consider this inappropriate, I can stop."
"There's no need to stop... It was indeed made out of desperation. But you didn't fly to Nostramo alone again just to fix a door?"
"I also fixed a chair."
Dorn replied calmly: "It had an incorrect design; I redesigned it using metal from an old water purifier. But, yes, I didn't come just for that."
"You want to ask me something, right?"
"Yes. I assumed you would return."
Rogal Dorn nodded.
"I want to know why your psychic power is so great, why it allows you to change your appearance, why we couldn't move... And – regarding Lorgar, I am very sorry."
"Sorry?"
"I didn't expect him to accept these terrible speculations and assumptions as truth. He is usually a passionate and wise man."
"Usually?"
Dorn paused, then continued:
"...At certain moments, due to his faith, he truly becomes unreasonable."
Kariel couldn't help but laugh.
"Indeed. I agree with you."
"So, can you answer my questions? If it concerns something personal, just say so, and I won't ask anymore."
"I cannot answer your questions, Rogal Dorn."
Kariel replied in a relatively soft tone.
"But not because I don't want to, but because I can't. I am still looking for the answer to this question myself. I only understand it partially myself, so how can I explain it to you?"
Dorn thought for a long time.
A foul, cold wind hit his face, and chaotic shouts could be heard from the street below.
From the perspective of the surroundings, Nostramo was incomparable to even the most inconspicuous corner on the "Emperor Sovnium," but Rogal Dorn stood there calmly, a noble demigod with a rare heart.
"What irony," Kariel thought.
"One skillfully wields words as a weapon, bringing this art to instinct, but his soul is fragile, and he can be refuted by a few unconvincing phrases."
"The other discards useless embellishments of speech, speaks and acts to the point, his spirit is incredibly strong, he can remain calm even in the face of the unimaginable."
"A rare quality."
"I understand."
Rogal Dorn spoke slowly: "If so, I will not question further. It is indeed difficult to get to the truth in this matter. But Father believes in you, so I will believe you too, Kariel Lohars."
"And if he didn't believe?"
"Then I would seek the truth myself to decide if you are worthy of trust."
Dorn replied calmly: "Provided that Father does not stop me or order us to become your enemies."
Kariel nodded with approval.
"He can judge for himself, but does not blindly follow rules, does not adhere to outdated norms."
"What a rarity."
"It was a pleasure talking to you," Kariel smiled slightly. "But since you've asked me so many questions..."
He made a questioning gesture.
"Of course," Dorn nodded calmly. "I can answer any of your questions that I can answer."
"Then, what do you think of Nostramo?"
"A hopeless place," Dorn immediately frowned.
He did not hide his true thoughts, not one bit.
"Konrad led us through this hive city, and judging by it, Nostramo is beyond repair."
He shook his head in disgust.
"Cannibalism, murder, inhumanity, the highest level of crime, terrible ecology... The only value is adamantium, and for its extraction, Nostramans are not needed."
"Indeed... Anything else?" Kariel asked calmly.
He did not deny Rogal Dorn's opinion. Why deny facts?
His words, though unpleasant, were the pure truth.
Truth is often bitter.
"Why are you asking this question?" Dorn frowned.
"Because I want to know your opinion."
"My opinion doesn't matter to you."
The giant shook his head. His clothes now looked more like a uniform, and his expression made him look like a ruler – or a stern king.
"You have already decided to save it. I can see that."
"And our brother Konrad Curze too. I find it hard to believe he is not under your influence."
"But, in the long run, this influence is a good thing. A merciful hero striving for salvation is better than a destroyer who destroys all darkness by force."
"Besides... even if he really decides to destroy everything, what use is my opinion?"
"You can share it with him."
"He is not yet capable of fully distinguishing good from evil," Dorn said seriously.
His short hair was ruffled by the cold wind, and his face beneath it was incredibly stern.
"Therefore, if I express my opinion, in my style, it will confuse him."
"Do you think it will confuse him?"
"And why not?"
Dorn asked a counter-question.
"A year-and-a-half-old child, his attitude towards the world changes every day, but you laid the foundation. I am glad he met you, otherwise the darkness of this dirty world would have completely consumed him."
"Do you not consider it shameful that I am imposing my views on him?"
Dorn shook his head calmly.
"I know who you are, Kariel Lohars."
Rogal Dorn, son of the Emperor of Mankind, demigod, venerable Primarch – this is how he spoke in the foul cold wind and darkness, his voice low but sounding like a proclamation.
"A truly shameless person will not worry about imposing their views on others. A truly shameless person will not teach our brother what mercy and salvation are."
"He said that you suffer from the suffering of this world. I admire those who are capable of this. I have lived a long life, seen many people, and those who could do this are few. Each of them can be called a hero."
"Do you consider me a hero?"
Kariel chuckled.
"Rogal Dorn... is this a joke?"
"I never joke."
Dorn replied calmly.
"The empty conversation has dragged on. If you have no more questions, I will go and fix that door."
He raised his hand and pointed to the back of the Sanctuary.
Kariel couldn't help but laugh.
How interesting, how interesting.
"Then, thank you," he said quietly.
Dorn did not answer.
The reason was simple – he didn't know if Kariel was thanking him for fixing the door or for calling him a hero.
But, in any case, he felt it was not worthy of gratitude.
...
Fulgrim clenched his right fist and felt a pang of pain.
He pursed his lips.
Then he opened his palm, on which lay a pendant. Looking at it, the Khemosite looked dejected. And this dejection was only the result of his desperate attempts to hide his feelings.
After all, not far from him, Ferrus Manus was forging something with a clang with his right hand.
Closing his eyes, Fulgrim clenched his fist again. Pain pierced him, but he exhaled with relief.
"At your place, I would go to sleep."
Ferrus said without looking up.
"You are exhausting your emotions; it won't help you tomorrow."
"...But how can I sleep, Gorgon?"
"Figure something out."
Ferrus Manus replied ruthlessly.
"Watching me forge weapons is not the best choice."
Fulgrim couldn't help but give a sad smile: "But I want to watch."
"Then watch."
The giant, nicknamed Gorgon, raised his head and glanced at his brother.
"You won't stop until you get hurt. I know you too well."
"Oh... and what does that mean?"
"It means you won't understand what hurts until you hit your beautiful forehead against something."
"Where is my forehead beautiful? It's just part of my beautiful appearance!"
"Mmm-hmm..."
"Mmm-hmm? What does 'mmm-hmm' mean?"
"Now you're not sleepy anymore."
Ferrus shook his head.
"But I still advise you to go to bed early, otherwise tomorrow you will appear before Konrad Curze exhausted and without any dignity."
"I lost any dignity for him long ago."
The Khemosite sadly turned over and, burying his face in the sofa, sighed.
"He probably hates me right now."
"Mmm-hmm."
"What are you mumbling about again?!"
"I don't know what to answer you, but it's not good to leave you unattended, as you are not yourself right now."
The blacksmith with a pair of metal hands stopped working, turned around, and began to search for something on the workbench behind him, while still answering Fulgrim.
"But, since you've started talking about hatred – do you want to hear my opinion on it?"
"Of course," Fulgrim replied without much enthusiasm. "Gorgon's hatred is the strongest."
"Konrad Curze doesn't hate you at all."
Ferrus Manus seriously stopped and gave him a look.
"If he hated you, he would despise you, he would scorn you. But today, when he was leaving through that door, there was disappointment in his eyes, not those two feelings."
"How do you see it so well?"
"I am an outside observer," Ferrus replied calmly. "So, of course, I see everything clearly."
"But..."
"...no 'buts,' Fulgrim. If you don't want me to call you Fulgrim, get out of here, go to your room and rest, and tomorrow, with renewed vigor, start your lessons with our brother."
"But..."
Ferrus gave him a threatening look.
"If you say one more word, I'll say it right now."
"Is that a threat?"
"It's a statement of fact," Ferrus said seriously. "Get out, quickly."
The Khemosite reluctantly approached his brother's room door and slowly went out. The Gorgon sighed with a stern face as the door closed.
"Just a simple question that can get the right answer with a simple action. Why don't you see this, Fulgrim?"
"Konrad Curze doesn't hate you at all. If he hated you, he wouldn't be so disappointed in you."
He sighed and continued his work, forging this weapon as a gift.
***
Read the story months before public release — early chapters are on my Patreon: https://www.patreon.com/Granulan