The Emperor’s Angel of Death

“Living——”

Halfway through his sentence, Rozeem seemed to remember something and paused for a moment.

Then, with a nostalgic tone, he sighed:

“Oh, alas, back on my home planet, when I was still an apprentice, life was so depressing and hopeless. It seemed my entire future was destined to be spent with pots and pans, and after death, I'd be thrown into the Tomb of the Nameless, my life amounting to nothing. Once, I sneaked out to a nearby town and saw a hilarious comedy, a crude, rustic performance, but it left a deep impression on me.”

“Oh? What was it about?”

“It was too long ago; I don't quite remember. You know, my memory has never been good. I think I only remember two vagrants waiting for someone who would never return, something like that…”

As he spoke, Rozeem jumped up from his chair, performing vividly—

[He should be here by now]

After saying this, Rozeem jumped to the left again.

[He didn't say for sure he'd come]

[What if he doesn't come?]

[We'll come again tomorrow]

[And the day after tomorrow]

[Maybe]

[This can't go on]

[The problem is]

[To wait until he comes]

[You're not very encouraging]

[We were here yesterday too]

[You're mistaken]

[What did we do yesterday?]

[What did we do yesterday?]

[That's right!]

[How can anything be certain when you're around?]

[As I see it, we were here yesterday]

Then, Rozeem struck a pose, gazing into the distance. It wasn't exactly lifelike, but at least it was vivid. Soshyan was amused. No wonder the recruits loved listening to his stories; he was naturally gifted with performance and personality.

[Do you recognize this place?]

[I didn't say that]

[Huh?]

[It doesn't matter if I recognize it or not]

[Exactly the same—the tree, the swamp]

[Are you sure it's tonight?]

[What?]

[Are we waiting for him tonight?]

[He said Saturday, I think]

[You think]

[I definitely took notes]

[But which Saturday? And is today Saturday? Couldn't today be Sunday! Or Monday? Or Friday?]

[That's impossible]

[Or Thursday?]

[What do we do?]

[If he came yesterday and didn't find us here, you can be sure he won't come again today]

[But you said we were here yesterday]

[Maybe I'm mistaken. Can we not talk for a while?]

After performing, Rozeem sat back in his chair, finished the remaining half of his drink, and then picked up the glass again.

Soshyan thought for a moment and then said:

“You claim your memory is bad, yet you remember these details so clearly, like this rural farce, so absurd and without substance.”

“That's what I like about it. They come to a place, waiting for someone, and they don't even know why they're waiting. While waiting, they make trouble, create conversations, argue, hang themselves, nibble on carrots. Don't you think it's a lot like life? No one knows where it's ultimately heading, like never waiting for the person you're supposed to wait for, but treating that person as an ideal, a life belief, a vision, as if everything will be solved once they arrive? But few people consider that the nonsense, boasting, and foolishness during the waiting process might be the truly worthwhile parts of life to appreciate?”

Soshyan chuckled and clinked his glass against Rozeem's.

“I didn't realize you had a bit of life philosophy in you.”

After taking a sip, he sighed softly, muttering to himself:

“Yeah, why wait for someone you don't even know who they are?”

“Brother, I know that being in your position, you must have many more concerns than a free man like me. Besides, only someone like you can defeat an old monster like Abaddon. But I still have to say, since you're already so tired, why make yourself even more tired? Don't bother with things that aren't so important or urgent. Let the young ones do what they should be doing. Although we should dedicate our entire lives to the Emperor, it's not too much to have some life of our own, right? You don't have to care about those rumors and gossip. I'll just say what I think. Why can those hive world nobles, governors, and the useless eaters on Terra have multiple wives and concubines, with offspring aplenty? Oh, because Astartes are angels, they should die, they should drill into hellish places every day, living like machines for their entire lives. At best, it's called greatness, dedication, for the sake of all humanity, but in detail, so many Astartes died just to let those bastards lord over others? Like this expedition, so many people died, so many good warriors died, so many good young men died, but did those bastards change? Did they learn their lesson? So, if it were me, I would still diligently work for the Emperor, but I would also live a fulfilling life!”

As he spoke, Rozeem, feeling a bit parched, raised his glass and drained it.

Soshyan pointed at him with two fingers, laughing:

“You, sometimes you speak so vulgarly that it seems you haven't read any books, but then you spout so many twisted truths that it seems you have. Astartes are designed from birth to only fight, whether their lives are short or long, until death. What's there to complain about? Otherwise, why choose to be an Astartes?”

“Ah, that's just what I think. So, you really shouldn't always be so afraid of this and that. What's wrong with having a wife? Even if she's an Eldar, so what!? I was a bit surprised at first when you told me, but then I didn't think there was anything wrong with it. We're people, not machines. We have emotions, like you sitting here with me, confiding in me. That's emotion! If anyone tells us to live like a machine, no matter who it is, I'll punch them twice! I'm already tired enough working for the Emperor; I don't need your bullshit!”

Soshyan's cheeks twitched, as if he wanted to laugh but couldn't. He picked up his glass but couldn't bring himself to drink.

In the end, he could only sigh softly.

“Unfortunately, I can never be you.”

“Brother, what's really going on?”

“Nothing, just feeling a bit emotional.”

After a pause, Soshyan thought for a moment and then softly asked:

“Brother, if—if—if one day, the Primarch of the Eleventh Legion reappears and I disappear, will you, the warriors, everyone, still remember me?”

Rozeem frowned.

“What kind of nonsense is that? Brother, are you having nightmares?”

“Just saying, just consider it idle talk over drinks. You're not usually so serious.”

Rozeem picked up a piece of cooked ant-cow canned meat and chewed on it, seemingly thinking, and then replied:

“That's really beyond my imagination, but I think, how could we forget? You watched them become Astartes, you led them all the way here. What does it have to do with the Primarch?”

Soshyan shook the wine glass in his hand, looked at the liquid swirling in the glass, pursed his lips, and remained silent for a moment, then slowly said:

“Astartes should obey the Primarch from the genetic level. Their minds are naturally close to and loyal to their gene-father. This is above everything else. Like now, who still remembers the legion commanders of the original twenty legions?”

“That's what they say, and I know it, but Soshyan, tell me from your heart, isn't that a bit too much? Two completely unfamiliar people, just because of genetics, one has to kneel on the ground and be driven like a dog by the other? If you say the Primarchs are all wise and divine, insightful, perfect, like saints, then I won't say anything. But I've been to some of the Primarch archives when I was bored. I'm the kind of person who says what they think, and really, some Primarchs, I could do better myself. And Astartes may not really completely obey the Primarchs, otherwise there wouldn't have been so many loyalists during the Great Heresy.”

Rozeem paused, reached out, picked up his glass, took a gulp, and then continued:

“Besides, genetics, you say it's effective, it's effective, you say it's not effective, it's really not that effective. If you're talking about genetic relationships, then the Emperor and his sons are even closer, but we didn't see those sons all listening to him obediently. The Emperor himself couldn't make his sons behave, and there was no discipline, but he wants the Astartes to bow down to some mad dogs or psychopath-like Primarchs. Anyway, I think it's very unfair. I don't mean any disrespect to the Emperor, just stating the facts.”

Soshyan smiled.

“Ah, you've had too much to drink.”