The Emperor’s Angel of Death

Putting aside the distracting thoughts in his mind, Soshjan continued to press:

“And what did you do next?”

“We tried to pack the thing up, chopped up the others, and used Dogo's equipment to teleport back to the ship and run. Oh, and that female Inquisitor, I contacted Sysna to rescue her, but it seems she was already infected, I don't know how long she was tortured by the alien whelp, uh, how long she was tormented.

Soshjan narrowed his eyes.

“You didn't do anything weird to that alien female or the female Inquisitor, did you?”

Rozim turned his head, chuckled dryly, and waved his hand.

“What are you talking about, Chapter Master? That's an Inquisitor, and we're good citizens of the Imperium, praying to the Emperor every day, how could we possibly screw ali—”

Then he immediately realized he had said the wrong thing, quickly covered his mouth, and shook his head.

Soshjan's face immediately turned cold, and he looked at Loken.

“Loken, you tell me, honestly, or you know the consequences.”

Loken quickly shook his head.

“Really, Chapter Master, really, we didn't touch the Inquisitor or that alien. Although we had our pants off at the time, Dogo got drunk and chopped that alien bitch with an axe, Rozim almost blew his brains out.”

Seeing Loken like this, Soshjan more or less believed him, so he made a judgment.

“Send this thing to Ditrian, and tell him to store it with the highest security level. A living Tyrant is a very valuable research material. As for you Rozim, Loken, Isvin, and that Dogo, from today on, all of you go to the bottom deck of the Eternal Fidelity to be cleaners until the fleet returns to the monastery fortress!”

“But, Chapter Master, we made such great contributions—”

“Rozim, I've tolerated your usual excessive words and misbehavior, but you still have no faith in your thoughts, no progress in your work, a free and undisciplined style, and a life of pursuing pleasure—I can no longer bear it, and I'm really embarrassed to be soft on you anymore!”

Soshjan's words blocked everything Rozim was about to say.

“And!”

Soshjan pointed his finger at the other party's nose.

“That animal friend of yours better stay on that broken ship. If you run around and get caught and beaten to death, I won't be responsible!”

Rozim's shoulders slumped like a deflated ball.

But just as he turned around, Soshjan stopped him again.

“Hey, make two dishes first, it's been a long time since I've had the Chapter cafeteria food. Prime Minister Tyrion sent some wine, in cabinet number 12 in food storage number 3, take a few bottles out too.”

Hearing this, Rozim was happy and nodded.

“Okay!”

Isvin and Loken wanted to follow, but were immediately blocked by Soshjan's eyes.

Astartes do not pursue the desire for food, but dietary culture is still part of the Astartes Chapter culture. This is precisely why Rozim, as the master of the restaurant, is a high-level servant, and it also proves that his skills are undoubtedly extraordinary.

Even from Soshjan's point of view, the dishes he made were far better than those of Tyrion's gold medal chefs.

Of course, this time, in addition to nostalgia, he just wanted to have a good chat with him, especially after receiving so much information after coming to Terra, and even now he would feel confused and helpless from time to time.

“Alas, it seems like it's been a long time since the two of us had a drink like this.”

In Soshjan's private room, Rozim took a hearty sip of the priceless wine in his glass, smacked his lips. On the round table in front of him, there were only some simple-looking dishes. Soshjan, sitting opposite him, leaned back in his chair, looking relaxed, but also as if he was thinking about something.

“Yes, it's been a long time.”

Soshjan raised his head slightly, wondering what he was thinking. Then he picked up his glass, clinked it with Rozim, and drank it all in one gulp.

“Brother, what kind of person do you think I am?”

Hearing this, Rozim put down his glass.

“What's wrong?”

“Nothing, just asking.”

Rozim blinked.

“Good at both literary and martial arts, and very handsome—”

“Oh, just tell me what's on your mind.”

“Hey, that's what's on my mind, what's wrong with that? You're great. The Chapter only had thirty or so people left after the World Engine disaster, but now it's recovered. From a literary point of view, you've saved so much wealth, trained so many recruits, Robin Bachram and the others are all good lads, and you've even organized an Astartes alliance. From a martial point of view, look at how many opponents you've defeated along the way, how many victories you've won, and how many worlds you've recovered. Just this Great Vortex Expedition, I dare say that no Astartes has more achievements than you now. Isn't that enough? To be even more powerful, you'd have to be a Primarch. Besides, you are indeed handsome, those women want nothing more than to原地—嗝 [burst out in place]!”

Hearing the word Primarch, Soshjan forced a smile, then picked up the wine bottle and filled both Rozim's and his glasses.

“Rozim should also know about the Eleventh Legion.”

Rozim responded vaguely, picked up his glass, and then Soshjan's next sentence made him stop his movement.

“Brother, if I said, if one day someone discovered that the Primarch was not dead, or that he appeared again, would you completely obey his orders?”

“Ah? Uh—”

Rozim pondered for a while, put down his glass.

“That can't happen, if he wasn't dead, we wouldn't be like this now—”

“I'm saying if, when our Primarch appears, will he do better, better than me.”

“What are you talking about, he hasn't done anything, who knows if he's good or not? Is a Primarch necessarily good? If that were the case, the Emperor wouldn't have to sit on that throne for ten thousand years.”

Soshjan blinked and smiled:

“That's a Primarch, although you haven't implanted the gene-seed, you've still undergone modification surgery, so you're considered part of the legion, it wouldn't be too much to call him father.”

“What are you talking about.”

Rozim waved his hand.

“Did he teach me? Did he raise me? Call him dad? How cheap would you have to be to do that? At most, at most, he's just a boss.”

“You, if you said that ten thousand years ago in the legion, you would have been beaten to death.”

“I'm telling the truth, brother, I feel like your emotions are a bit off, did something happen, uh, what happened?”

Soshjan shook his head with a smile, and filled his glass again.

“Nothing happened.”

“Oh.”

Rozim drank half a glass in one gulp, hesitated for a moment, and then said cautiously:

“Brother, you're good at everything, but you like to keep things to yourself too much, and you take responsibility too seriously, as if you want to carry the entire galaxy on your shoulders. We're mortals, and we're vulgar people, so we may not understand any particularly grand ambitions or responsibilities, but I think that if everything in life is just for a certain goal set by others, or a certain goal that everyone thinks you should do, then isn't it too boring? It's really despairing. Having a goal is a good thing, but sometimes we can try living without a goal—”