Chapter 276 Dinner on April 1st
The night is gentle.
The calm waves on the sparkling silver sea of Lakeham Bay are like herds on the azure sea plains, gracefully passing by the stone piles on the shore.
The sea breeze carried the salty moisture under the moonlight of Macragge and blew through the harbor, alleys and the towering white walls of Hera Fortress.
The guards of the war group took turns patrolling on the city wall, and the pilgrims slept soundly in the inn at the foot of the mountain.
Chief Thinker Diglis silently and unexpectedly indulged in his meditation on this quiet night as usual.
He frowned in discomfort. The crystals and metal threads on the psychic hood in the cobalt blue armor kept flickering and flickering, like a rapid whisper.
However, the threads of nightmares outside the system hindered his ability to wake up.
The whisper that came riding on the Qinglan in the night penetrated the place of eternal stillness that solidified the last breath that the Primarch took thousands of years ago - the coffin - it was Guilliman's courage and courage. What the heirs of glory do not want to admit is that they only wish to decorate the coffin lavishly, use the glorious hall originally used for debates, meetings and receptions to bury the bones, and add layer after layer to the coffin of their father who is still alive. Ornate carving.
Attributing divinity to human beings, and inspiring human beings in the name of God.
——————
Come, prince of the Utopia.
Everything you want can come true today.
What I saw today is not true.
O Thirteenth Prince, open your eyes.
Tonight.
The dream dinner is about to begin.
——————
The power of ether turned into raindrops and struck ethereally on the shell of nothingness.
Suddenly far and suddenly near.
Illusive yet real.
Tuk.
Tuk.
Tuk.
A complex mixed fragrance penetrated from the tip of the nose, stimulating Robert Guilliman's olfactory bulbs and taste nerves.
Incense, rose, pink pepper, um... this should be saffron? ...Cistus, ebony, sandalwood and leather reminded him of the rolling cliffs and deep forests of Hera's Crown, hiking, bonfires, and the torches on the city walls.
And... the night and the smell of metal, the snow and the ocean, the mountains and the desert, parchment, ink, engine oil, promethium and... wine?
It's really wine, and it's a rare kind of real wine, made from the oldest and purest grapes without any bitterness. It's a beautiful, delicious, pleasant liquid of the Belle Epoque.
The smell of fruity wood wine was getting closer and closer, as if someone had brought a glass to his lips.
With his eyes closed, he could almost imagine a layer of condensed water droplets hanging halfway on the wall of the golden cup containing the ice wine.
How is it possible?
He remembered everything before he fell in the desecrated halls of the Emperor's Pride, his descendants dying just to keep him alive for a second longer.
The poison Fulgrim sent into his blood burned his last life force in that moment of frozen eternity.
Why am I not dead yet?
I...
——Wait a minute——What is this strange memory that is suddenly inserted——
——Who is that——
——me? ——
——How could I——
——This is a betrayal of the truth of the empire——
——I will never...I will never give in...! I... - the colors, sounds, and touches all retracted into my body.
——————
For a moment, the aroma of food and wine, the gentle footsteps of people walking on the floor, the noise of chatting and a person that made him The voice with which he had been involved in a life-and-death struggle just a moment ago burst into all his senses vividly and abruptly.
"What's wrong with you? Guilliman, if you don't like drinking, just say it and don't keep my hand raised."
The melodious voice of the Phoenician Phoenix was as beautiful as ever, but it was completely opposite to the uncontrolled sound of the crazy and blasphemous creature that Guilliman last remembered - impatient, but still maintaining the appropriate restraint. , although he is hypocritical, he fully fulfills his duty, sees through everything but is still full of care.
This caused the original movement of the Ultramarines to launch a violent attack to hesitate for a moment and turned into a stiff and weird posture.
Robert Guilliman found himself unarmed, wearing comfortable sandals and a dress-like blue and white gold embroidered toga, standing in a hall that he seemed to have met once before, here It wasn't just him—it wasn't just the two of them.
"Okay, okay, if you don't drink it, I'll take it back." The person opposite was almost as tall as him - maybe taller but a little slender, with purple eyes unhappy Blinking, her silver-white hair was smooth and shiny. It was braided and pulled into a bun at the back of her head. Only a few strands hung naturally from the side. Moon silver, fine gold and black diamonds were hand-made into a towering horn crown. The hair comb is stuck on top.
Guilliman suddenly realized that the extremely delicate, but tough jeweled hair comb was incompatible with Fulgrim wrapped in silk and wool, the craftsmanship and atmosphere that created it——
A huge mechanical arm stretched out from the side and took away the glass of white-gold wine that Fulgrim held in his hand. He seemed to see a shadow of metal reflection in the corner of his eye.
What?
"Maybe you shouldn't give him wine first. You should eat something to cushion your stomach before drinking." A seemingly familiar voice sounded from below him, and Guilliman turned his head slightly stiffly. Lower your gaze——
Silver cloak and robe of Casillas, jewels of scarab, sun and lotus, blue-green eyes, long black hair and ebony skin.
Who is this?
This kind of feeling between brothers can't lie, but he can't remember that he has ever had any brother who was as petite as a mortal and as beautiful as a small purple-breasted Buddha, Dharma and Monk... He was a brother, right?
Who is this?
"Magnus." The "mortal" whose name was called turned his head slightly, ignoring Guilliman's pupils that were dilated due to excessive surprise.
"What's the matter, Dorne." The man who strode over from the other end of the room was the brother with short white hair that Guilliman was familiar with. He was wearing a form-fitting dress, but he looked different. He was as filled with anguish, hatred and the pain of persistence as when Guilliman last saw him. The Terran Guard looked very young. He nodded to Guilliman as a greeting and took Magnus away, but left behind the melon, ham and cheese snack he brought to Guilliman.
Guilliman watched as they walked to join several figures on the sofa behind the curtain at one end of the room. There was a black and white long-haired canine lazily entrenched in the center of the sofa. Yawning, his white mane partially outlined himself in the darkness.
The red lightning emblem of the prairie eagle is looming in his white cloak. The wings behind the interlocutor whose face is obscured by the flowers and candlelight on the table are folded and drooping peacefully, while the figures of several other people are completely in the thick black shadow. It was blurry under the cover of the silk curtain, and only the black feathers that reached to the ground could be seen draped on the floor with a green or blue-purple luster.
On the other side of the long dining table filled with dazzling delicacies in the center of the room, the Fire Dragon Lord's ruby eyes were reflecting the color of the candlelight in pleasure. One of the three people he faced was facing away from Kiri. Man, holding a pipe made of briar root nodules and the hardened shell of some creature in his slender fingers, the tobacco still smoldering in it.
"Oh, poor - and venerable Robert Guilliman! A ghost who is still lost in his duties," there is a sinful world that has died softly The voice with a poetic accent brushed past him, but there was no smell of carrion and blood as expected, but the smell of decayed rose petals, cistus, fresh metal, fragrant wood and leather, as well as Reca coffee and Ink, "He can't drink our wine, he seems to be busy."
A creepy feeling rolled across the skin of the Lord Macragge's back, and he lacked motivation when he heard this voice The feeling of protection from armor and weapons made his kidneys feel twitching.
He carefully turned sideways and was surprised to see Conrad Coates, with an elation that was infinitely close to victory, holding a particularly huge and gorgeous orange-gold cat in his arms. The animal was passing him across the hall. Midnight Ghost's skin is still as white and bloodless as he remembered, but his long, gorgeous black hair like billowing silk robes is brushing against his ankles on his sandals - the hair quality is very good, smooth, soft and slender. .
Guilliman watched him follow, and saw the golden feline lying on Curze's shoulder, staring at him with its emerald eyes.
A thought jumped into the mind of the Ultramarines Primarch: This big golden cat seemed to have lost to someone and was very unhappy.
"You really shouldn't have come here, Guilliman."
The Fenris Wolf King's voice had a calm, solemn and clear tone that Guilliman had never heard before. The articulation rang in his ears, and whatever language he was speaking, the grammar and pronunciation were impeccable.
He turned around and saw a clean-shaven man with blond hair that was not only neatly trimmed but also carefully combed back with hairspray - Leman Russ. The Wolf King's clothes were ironed. He was meticulous, his collar was buttoned to the top button, his blue eyes were almost transparent, and the light of great reason shone in them.
"You are..."
"I am ordered to maintain order." The other person replied coldly but politely, seeming to raise something in his hand.
"Be kind to him, Russ." said a voice that Guilliman liked immediately but could not remember where he had heard it. He turned around and saw a picture that he had never imagined. He had such a calm and noble face in the past, with molten golden eyes under his coppery hair.
"Perhaps I can help?" Is this... the brother he knew... who was possessed and destroyed by mechanical implants...? Is it his original appearance?
"No need." Russ raised his hand. He seemed to have used no force. Something poked Guilliman, and the wound on the Thirteenth Primarch's neck felt a stinging pain.
The pain pulled at him.
The pain called to him.
The first ray of early morning lumen poured in outside the window of the hall, stinging Guilliman and closing his eyes when he raised his head to look at the hall for the last time.
Before falling back into eternity, he seemed to see that the main seat on the main table was indeed not empty.
It’s dawn.
(End of this chapter)