Chapter 190: Narrative and Feedback |
Those words caused Gareth to fall into a sudden, momentary daze.
Arthur's voice carried a certain tolerance that he had not experienced in a very long time.
The feeling was incredibly real, so real that Gareth subconsciously opened his eyes, half-expecting to seek out his mother's figure so he could tell her everything he had encountered out in the world and pour out all his grievances.
"I feel as though you are like my mother."
His voice was very soft, yet it seemed to freeze the air in the corridor for a brief moment.
Arthur looked slightly surprised.
"When I was young, only my mother treated me this way. She would talk to me heart-to-heart. She would not lecture me on the hollow tenets of chivalry, nor did she care about the Imperial Truth. She simply encouraged me. I do not know if you understand, it is just..."
The more he spoke, the more incoherent Gareth became. At the same time, he sank into deep chagrin, feeling as though he had misspoken.
It suddenly occurred to him that a Primarch might not be like them; they were all sons of a god.
Arthur's gaze suddenly turned distant, revealing a trace of profound nostalgia. The blazing white light danced across his face, as if he were traversing back to a peaceful and warm childhood.
"I am very lucky. Not just my mother, but my father was like that too," he said.
He spoke with a touch of pride, leaving Gareth momentarily speechless, though the panic in his heart instantly dissipated.
"I had a complete childhood and youth, so I know exactly what that feels like. Of course, I have never experienced old age. I arrived in this universe before I even had to take on the burdens of a family, and the fires of war I have endured are far fewer than yours. I still have much to learn."
He then added.
To be completely honest, many of the Primarchs had never lived like normal humans. Expecting them to dutifully fight this Great Crusade for humanity was a testament to the sheer, overwhelming power of the Emperor's charisma.
It was as if wherever they went, all living beings would kneel and bow in absolute submission, like some invincible protagonist.
"I understand, Your Highness,"
Gareth swallowed hard and replied rather dryly.
"Tell me more. Tell me about your past, and let me understand more of your doubts."
Arthur abandoned his initial intention to leave right away and found a place to sit down.
"I know that the vast majority of warriors among you thirst for honor, but it goes no deeper than that."
The bridge of communication was truly crucial. The tragic misunderstanding between Lang Wang and Magnus, and the loyalists and traitors under the Great Khan taking it upon themselves to make decisions for their father, were all harsh lessons.
Of course, the vast majority of the Dark Angels knew exactly what they were doing. The clear-headed ones made up the overwhelming majority; even Luther's rebellion failed to garner much support.
Perhaps these men were simply too clear-headed. They knew the Lion's temperament all too well—speaking up would be utterly pointless.
But Arthur was truly different. He genuinely wanted to sit down, have a proper talk with these Dark Angels, and lay everything out on the table.
He did not want to build high walls out of silence and majesty, treating the Legion merely as a tool to execute orders. In his bones, he still believed in collaboration, trusting that honest communication could forge a far more unbreakable loyalty than blind obedience.
Even tools required maintenance and lubricating oil, let alone human beings.
After all, not everyone enjoyed gaslighting themselves like the Iron Warriors, who, despite being tortured so deeply by Perturabo, still maintained a desperate posture of "I love my father, please let my father love me."
The Dark Angels were closer to a modern professional army. Compared to other Legions, they lacked some of that deep-seated brotherhood and father-son bonding, so there was genuinely room for discussion.
Arthur could sense that these warriors were not entirely devoid of their own thoughts. They had endured the destruction of Caliban, wandered for thousands of years, and bore the weight of a heavy past.
But he truly had no idea what the Dark Angels intended to say.
"...I do not have any lofty ideals, Your Highness."
Gareth remained silent for a moment. Ultimately, braving the pressure of countless unseen gazes, he sat down opposite Arthur.
"At first, I wanted to study medicine because my mother was gradually falling severely ill from environmental pollution. I only wanted to cure her. Later, when I became an Adeptus Astartes, my mindset remained the same. Being able to serve as an Apothecary now is more than enough to satisfy me."
"I do not quite understand the honor and chivalric codes that our father always emphasizes."
He pondered slightly, sifting through the memories in his mind.
"I have never seen the great beasts of Caliban that our father described, and my instructors usually scoffed at the knightly codes. At the same time, they did not have much faith in the Imperial Truth either."
"Mhm."
Arthur nodded to show his understanding.
The Lion promoted the way of the knight, demanding humility, courtesy, and using strength to aid the weak.
Yet the Lion himself never accepted being questioned. And when those Imperial officials ruthlessly oppressed the people of Caliban, they, as knights of Caliban, could do absolutely nothing.
In their era, there were no longer any great beasts of Caliban threatening the subjects for them to slay, because the Lion had already led the knights of Caliban to wipe them out completely before the Legion arrived.
Therefore, the convictions bestowed upon them by the Lion felt incredibly hollow. The Terran-born Uncrowned Princes hailed from the Nobles of the ancient Frankish and English regions; they understood knights all too well, so it was perfectly normal for them to look down on such concepts.
As for the Imperial Truth, while other Legions might have been ignorant, the Terran-born among the Dark Angels who fought in the Unification Wars of Terra knew exactly how the Imperial Truth was forged. It was only natural that they did not believe in it, though that did not stop them from throwing themselves into the battles to save all of humanity.
"But we do not lack the courage to sacrifice our lives for an ideal."
Perhaps feeling that his words were somewhat treacherous, Gareth quickly spoke up to defend his brothers-in-arms.
"My Terran-born instructors, though they yearned for honor, did not become Adeptus Astartes solely for the sake of it. They could endure those grueling, arduous campaigns, and they could accept hiding their achievements for security reasons."
The knight carefully organized his understanding of his comrades, no longer caring about those so-called secrets as he tried his best to explain their thoughts in simple terms.
"For them, it stems more from a sense of confusion. No one ever explained to them why things had to be done a certain way, nor did anyone explain what would happen after the deed was completed. So, they could only try to dig for answers themselves, and then weave a truth based on the information they unearthed."
At the end, he paused, seemingly calculating just how severe of a beating he was about to receive.
Then, meeting the Master of Knights' gaze, he mustered his courage and declared.
"I believe this is the reason why a rift appeared in the Legion. No one, including the Primarch and the Emperor, was willing to explain anything. Just like my father, they lived in their own isolated worlds."
Arthur understood. To put it bluntly, neither the Primarchs nor the Emperor had a clear plan for the future, or if they did, they never bothered to share it with the Adeptus Astartes, leaving them entirely bereft of any sense of security.
Furthermore, the Dark Angels were a Legion with immense initiative. They had the required clearance and they possessed the necessary Combat Power, giving them the full capability to seek out answers on their own.
However, due to individual differences and varying channels of information, their perceptions diverged. Suspicions bred among them; some believed they truly understood the Primarch's intentions, while others began to view everyone around them as a potential traitor.
As a result, their mutual doubts multiplied, and the rift between them widened ever further.
Doubt truly breeds heresy.
Sometimes, Arthur genuinely could not fathom what the Emperor and the Primarchs were thinking.
If they had just been like Guilliman—drafting a spreadsheet to slap in front of the Ultramarines, telling them exactly what to do now and what to expect in the future—the number of traitors would have been cut in half at the very least.
"Your Highness, ever since you initiated these open exchanges, we have become much more honest with one another. It has also made me realize that our Legion is not nearly as extreme or neurotic as I had imagined."
"I heard from Lohr that back on Macragge, there were those who suspected the Lion of treason, those who suspected the Legion of rebelling, and those who suspected Lord Guilliman of turning traitor. They suspected each other and remained on guard against one another, yet in the end, they were all loyal."
Seeing Arthur listening so intently, Gareth offered his final conclusion.
"I think they do not purely crave honor—and that includes the warriors from Caliban. What they need far more is a response, an answer from the Primarch, an answer from the Emperor."
"Even if this so-called response is not as glorious as imagined, even if it is a lie, or even something terrible, it would still be infinitely better than nothing at all."
Having finished his piece, Gareth touched his face, already imagining the sensation of a ceramite fist smashing into it.
"Of course, this is solely my personal perspective. Your Highness, you could also seek out more Dark Angels for a chat. I highly doubt they would refuse."
'If we die, we die together,' he thought.
"Thank you for sharing your thoughts,"
Arthur smiled and nodded.
It was not the typical, majestic smirk of a superior.
Rather, it was a genuine, almost relieved smile from the bottom of his heart.
"My conversation with you has benefited me immensely."
Having taken the first step, the rest would not be so difficult.
He then stood up and walked out of the infirmary under the watchful eyes of countless individuals.
He finally knew exactly what these warriors wanted.
It was not elusive, intangible honor, nor was it hollow praise.
It was an answer.
Yes, what they desired had always been remarkably simple.
Not the medals pinned to their chests, nor the flowery rhetoric padding out battle reports, but a reason that could grant them peaceful sleep during the endless, long nights. An answer that could justify every ounce of their sacrifice and perseverance.
——
"To the First Legion:
"Greetings, warriors of the First Legion.
"I understand you, and I understand this Imperium.
"You have been unswervingly loyal, yet your devotion has been met with unequal returns.
"You were burdened with arduous missions, only to discover that even after completing them in the best possible manner, you received nothing in return.
"You are filled with uncertainty regarding the future, yet no one has stepped forward to guide your path.
"You are human, but nearly everyone who knows of your existence has failed to value this fundamental truth etched deeply into your Souls.
"I will not say that your past actions were wrong, nor will I condemn those who once made faulty decisions. That is all in the past. Now, we possess the opportunity to begin anew.
"Do not swear an Oath to me, and do not make me any promises.
"Do not offer me your loyalty merely because of the identity those speculations have forced upon me.
"Unless you truly believe that I am worthy.
"Instead, allow me to offer my loyalty to you.
"I swear an Oath to you, here and now.
"I am Arthur Pendragon.
"I am not a son of the Emperor, nor am I your Primarch.
"Our paths have fortuitously crossed. I am delightfully surprised that you glimpsed a familiar aura within me and were willing to accept me. I consider myself exceptionally fortunate to have had the chance to meet such a remarkable group of men.
"My first order is to unite you once again. We shall fight for the same ideal. From this moment forth, we are no longer a shattered Legion.
"I promise you that I will step into the dark, unending night by your side.
"And together, we shall march side by side into the light."
Every single Dark Angel received a gift.
A gift from Arthur.
A meticulously detailed Operation Plan outlining the Wings of Dawn's vision for future human society and all the objectives they aimed to accomplish in the times ahead.
It included comprehensive handling proposals for the Dark Angels Space Marine Chapters and their successors, as well as resettlement regulations for the Adeptus Astartes as a whole.
Some of the descriptions within were rather naive, even drawing subconscious smiles from the more experienced veterans.
However, when their eyes fell upon a letter and an exquisitely carved longsword, their expressions universally shifted into masks of solemnity.
That was their story.
The wars they had fought, the agonies they had endured, the honor they rightfully deserved.
All of it was chronicled within the forged Blade, inscribed using a public cipher. As long as the legacy of the Dark Angels endured, there would always be someone left to remember them.
Engraved upon it was an identical Inscription.
"This is history, the pure essence extracted from your glorious lives.
"Even if our flesh perishes one day, we shall continue to exist within the spirits of those who follow, living on forever within the First Legion.
"Everything can be repaired, reforged with iron and blood, achieving a form of immortality—so long as we continue to remember.
"And I will remember you."
——
The next day, a heavy solemnity hung over the Round Table council chamber.
The Master of Knights surveyed the gathered assembly.
Clad in armor and bearing swords, not a single seat was left empty.
Even the oldest among the knights tightly clenched their fists, their metal gauntlets emitting faint screeching sounds.
Bright light cascaded from the vaulted ceiling, falling directly upon yellowed parchment scrolls covered in densely packed annotations penned in dark brown ink.
Together, they would weave the future.
A future that belonged to them all.
——
Slam!
A Horn Cup was slammed onto the tabletop, the highly corrosive liquor inside sloshing out and eating away at a thin layer of the wood.
"Oath-father!"
Red Mane wiped away a splash of the spilled alcohol and glared at Arum.
"Let us go to war."
A month. A full month.
The Dark Angels had simply been serving them fine food and excellent drink, treating them with smiling faces no matter what they did.
As a result, they had been doing nothing but drinking aboard the "Silent Oath" for nearly a whole month.
They had done absolutely nothing else!