Axe clashed with axe, the sound reverberating so loudly it made Khârn's blood boil.
The bloodfather swung at Khârn with extreme wildness and lethality, striking heavily at him.
Khârn raised bloodson to block, the impact numbing his arm.
It wasn't the first time he had faced the fierce and wild axe-blade of the man before him.
Ten thousand years ago, on the Conqueror, he often, in a fit of rage and out of control, swung his chainaxe at his bloodsons, slaughtering them. Khârn was one of the few who survived.
But... the feeling was completely different.
The man wielding the axe was the same, and the way he wielded it was also the same.
But Khârn could clearly feel that the man was teaching him.
Just like a father teaching his child.
This was an experience Khârn had never had before.
"Khârn!" The man's battle cry broke Khârn's thoughts. His axe was so fast, so fast that Khârn felt dizzy.
The axe-blade gently rested on Khârn's throat. If he wanted, Khârn would have been dead by now.
"Again." The man pulled back from Khârn, raised bloodfather, and said to Khârn.
Khârn didn't know why the man was doing this, but Khârn liked that the man was doing it.
He felt a warmth, a care, a wonderful feeling he had never experienced before.
"Father."
Khârn murmured softly.
bloodson and bloodfather clashed again.
Khârn still lost. In just three moves, bloodfather "cut off" Khârn's head again.
"Again, Khârn."
The man smiled, swung his axe, clashed, fought.
"Do you still remember Kolarng?" In the pauses between axe clashes, the man softly asked Khârn.
Khârn swung his axe, barely parrying the man's strike, then nodded at the man: "I remember."
"He betrayed us."
Kolarng was a loyalist World Eater, a Centurion, who died on Istvaan III, at the hands of Angron.
"We betrayed him!" The man's voice carried anger, and the axe-blade suddenly became heavier: "We oppressed him."
Khârn was "killed" again. The man's axe was as lethal as ever.
"And he resisted us." The man said softly, then slightly raised his head, exposing his neck to Khârn.
It was a wound, an inconspicuous wound, still fresh.
"Kolarng made this cut. He fought very well. They all fought very well, like free men."
"I've always been reluctant to heal this wound, always."
"You—" Khârn was stunned by the man's words, his heart pounding.
"I've always longed, longed for you to swing your axe at me, Khârn." The man said softly: "I've always prayed, prayed that you could kill me, prayed that you would resist me, but I couldn't say it out loud. Anger controlled me."
"Horus wanted to orbital bombard Istvaan III, to kill those warriors who dared to resist their fathers."
"But I charged into Istvaan III, which forced Horus to abandon orbital bombardment and use blood, knives, and swords to kill those brave men."
"Horus thought it was anger that drove me to charge into Istvaan III, but it wasn't, Khârn. That was one of my rare moments of clarity."
"They fought very well, those rebels. I wouldn't let them be humiliated in their final moments."
"I gave them a chance to resist us. This is the tribute of a pathetic slave to great rebels."
Khârn's mind was captivated by the man's narrative.
He felt his soul resonating with the man, clearly sensing the man's emotions, knowing what the man was thinking.
He, he vaguely saw the trajectory of the man's axe swings.
"Do you see it, Khârn!"
"Cut here! Cut the wound Kolarng left me!"
The man roared at Khârn, his axe pressing down on Khârn like a mountain of corpses and a sea of blood.
But Khârn sensed it, Khârn felt it, there was a flaw in the man's attack.
The man learned how to fight in the gladiatorial arena. The arena was a fight of blood for blood, so when the man launched his fiercest, most terrifying attack, he would expose a momentary flaw.
Ten thousand years ago, the loyalist World Eater Kolarng discovered this in a life-or-death situation, which was why he left him a wound.
bloodfather rested on Khârn's neck.
But Khârn's bloodson also fiercely chopped into the man's neck, into the wound Kolarng had left on the man ten thousand years ago.
The man winced in pain, slightly parted his lips, then smiled.
"Good cut, my son."
Khârn was momentarily stunned, then couldn't help but show a slight smile.
"Father, it's not good enough." Khârn's tone was a little hopeful, a little longing.
He still wanted to receive the man's guidance like this again.
"No, there's not much time left." The man slowly shook his head.
Khârn's heart gave a sudden lurch: "No, Father, don't—"
"I am merely lingering here for a short time, briefly tarrying in this world. Everything that belongs to me has ended."
"It is only because the Warp's currents have no time that I can meet you here."
The man slowly said:
"Khârn, after you leave here, after you wake up, you should forget that we ever met."
Khârn's body trembled uncontrollably. "Is this punishment, Father!" Khârn asked sadly.
"I have no right to punish you. This is resistance, Khârn." The man crouched down and placed his hand on Khârn's shoulder.
"You are still the Blood God's chosen. If you remember all this when you wake up, he will find out."
"Don't worry, your body will remember everything I taught you. The power of resistance will not disappear."
"Perhaps this is the mercy of Saint Doraemon. He gave me this opportunity to teach you to resist myself."
"Take me with you, Father! Take me along!" Khârn pleaded sadly.
"Khârn, you still have your own slaughter, your own revenge, your own resistance to complete."
The man slowly shook his head, then stood up and said:
"I cannot treat you as the Emperor treated me."
Khârn calmed down slightly, understanding that the man was right.
He still had a grudge to settle.
The moment this thought crossed his mind, Khârn felt everything before his eyes become hazy, indistinct, and unreal.
"Time is up."
The man spoke softly.
Boundless crimson sand swirled up around him, blurring his figure.
"Khârn, my child."
The man's voice seemed to become very distant, very distant, so distant that Khârn could barely hear it.
"I am very sorry for everything I have done."
"I can no longer do more to atone for my mistakes."
"I can only bless you, wishing your path ahead is all warm and free red sand."
His voice and figure finally disappeared.
"Father!"
Khârn gasped, suddenly startled awake from his bed.
He clutched his head, his thoughts a chaotic mess.
He could feel his body had become stronger, the cable-like tendons enhancing his muscle strength, the Omophagea making his thoughts swift and multi-threaded, and the Belisarian Furnace continuously repairing his organs, bones, and muscles.
He had successfully crossed the Primaris Rubicon, but...
But Khârn covered his face, and for some reason, tears streamed down uncontrollably.
This was the first time in ten thousand years.
It was his first time setting foot on Terra, on humanity's homeworld, coming beneath the Emperor's throne.
As an Ultramarine, he had seen many magnificent cities in Ultramar, so he actually had some expectations for the scenery of Terra.
But after leaving the Deathwatch voidship and entering the atmosphere in a land raider gunship, he felt some disappointment.
This was a hive city world shrouded in a toxic atmosphere, with chaotic, monstrous buildings spread across the entire land.
It felt even inferior to Macragge.
But he quickly adjusted his mindset.
He wasn't here for sightseeing; his duty was solely to serve the Emperor, to serve humanity—and, of course, to serve his gene-father, Roboute Guilliman.
Thinking of this, he felt a little nervous.
He had always been described as having a will as strong as steel, but the summons he received was simply too unusual.
Someone like him, who had been suspected, potentially involved in corruption, and heavily steeped in Warp energy, was actually directly summoned by the Ultramarines Primarch.
He was ordered to leave the Deathwatch, proceed immediately to Terra, and meet with Lord Roboute Guilliman.
The land raider slowly landed on the Eternal Wall, bringing him into the Terra Imperial Palace. Following the guidance of an Adeptus Administratum staff member, he began to traverse the Palace.
Gradually, his impression of Terra began to change.
Although it was a hive city world, the people he saw along the way did not exhibit the common malnutrition of hive city residents, nor did anyone show signs of hunger.
The Adeptus Administratum staff member leading him explained that this was all due to the glorious blessings of Saint Doraemon upon Terra.
Not the Emperor?
He had indeed heard of the existence of Saint Doraemon.
It was said that he was a friend of the Emperor, an ancient being from humanity's past, and like the Emperor of old, he walked among humanity, and like the Emperor, he claimed not to be a god.
Many in the Deathwatch expressed some concern about this; they found it hard to accept such a new entity.
But he didn't have much of an opinion on it.
He was a pragmatist, often criticized for not adhering to the Codex Astartes.
As long as Saint Doraemon was truly like the Emperor of old, protecting humanity, he could accept it.
"Hmm?" He slightly raised his head, looking at the several "farmers" who had just passed him.
Those farmers were even taller than him, with perfectly muscular builds, steady and powerful strides, and an aura that made him feel a little dangerous.
Yet their clothing was that of common peasants, carrying hoes on their shoulders, their hair tied up with cloth strips.
Were such powerful people really just farmers? Was this perhaps also a manifestation of Saint Doraemon's great power?
He felt a little strange but didn't think much more of it; he still had to meet the Primarch.
In an office filled with documents, he met his gene-father.
Roboute Guilliman, the man who was like the concept of a monarch made manifest in the material universe, sat before him, continuously attending to state affairs.
He knelt on one knee before his gene-father.
"Calgar speaks highly of you. He says your will is as unyielding as steel, yet not without flexibility and adaptability."
Roboute Guilliman looked up and said with a smile:
"Tell me, is Calgar right?"
"Captain Demetrian Titus."