“Aren’t you angry, Horus?” Horus looked at him quietly, asking in return, “Why should I be angry?” “Do you think,” he paused, “that I should be furious at them for carving out their own pocket empires, or absolutely livid that Lion El’Jonson took over the Warmaster title that once belonged solely to me?” Kaelen nodded honestly.
“Uh, normally, both, right?” He muttered to himself, thinking the former Warmaster would have at least smashed a few steel plates to vent his anger after hearing this history.
But Horus only shook his head calmly.
“If I were in Roboute’s shoes, I would have done the same.
With Terra out of contact and Father’s fate unknown, establishing a secondary regime was the most rational and secure way to preserve the Imperium of Man.” At this, the Wolf God made a rare joke at his brother’s expense.
“Actually, I suspect that kid Roboute had wanted to do that for a long time.
During the Great Crusade, he treated his Five Hundred Worlds like his absolute babies.
But in all fairness, when it comes to infrastructure and administrative governance, I truly admire him.” “What about the Warmaster title, then?” Kaelen continued to probe the dangerous boundaries.
“Are you really not bothered at all that Lion El’Jonson took your title?” “Warmaster…” Hearing those words, the relaxed expression on Horus’s face vanished.
He did not get angry, only pulling his lips into a weary, bitter smile.
“Kaelen, I fought with everything I had back then simply because I didn’t want to disappoint Father’s expectations.
‘Warmaster’ was merely a byproduct of that path.” “I admit, in the early years, I did care about the position.
Even as a Primarch, it is hard to reject such ultimate glory and renown.” “But once I actually sat in that seat, I realized…” Horus looked down at his broad palms, his voice tinged with loneliness.
“My relationship with my brothers deteriorated visibly.
During the Great Crusade, maintaining what little fragile brotherhood we had was already difficult.
Once I became Warmaster, it turned into an absolute disaster.” Hearing this, as a working-class man who had been thoroughly beaten down by corporate life, Kaelen empathized instantly.
He couldn’t help but interject.
“I get it.
It’s lonely at the top.” “Once you’re in that position, you’re no longer just Horus.
You become a political symbol.
You have to balance interests, and you can never again handle things purely out of personal affection like you used to.” Horus’s frame shook slightly, a rare look of surprise appearing in his eyes.
He gave the mortal in front of him a deep look.
“Incisive, my friend.
Indeed, that is exactly how it is.” Kaelen glanced at the time on his system interface, patted his rear, and stood up.
“Alright, storytelling time is over.
Our primary objective right now is to hit the black market and get you a registered identity.” He sized up Horus’s terrifying, three-meter-tall physique and stroked his chin.
“The only legal identity that could possibly fit your build is probably a specialized Ogryn—a dim-witted but massive abhuman—my Lord Wolf God.” Kaelen struggled to suppress a laugh.
“By the Throne…” Horus’s face darkened instantly.
“I would rather pose as an Astartes!
Even some ordinary mutant would be preferable!” “An Ogryn?
That is far too degrading!
Do you expect me to drool all day like a simpleton?” The former Warmaster of the Imperium felt utterly humiliated.
“There’s no other way!” Kaelen shrugged.
“If it keeps us alive, what’s wrong with playing dumb?” Horus glared at him, his chest heaving heavily twice.
But he had to admit that in this godforsaken forty-first millennium, an undocumented Primarch really had no choice but to bite the bullet and accept it.
*** A few hours later, the two of them, draped in the hooded stealth cloak, slipped into the local Hive city’s black market.
Relying on a few forged documents provided by the system, they managed to obtain legal identity cards relatively smoothly.
Looking at the battered chip in his hand printed with “Specialized Ogryn Auxiliary,” Horus fell into contemplation.
“What are your plans next, my friend?” This “my friend” caught Kaelen slightly off guard.
He recovered himself and lowered his voice.
“Let’s talk somewhere else, in a tavern I know well.
Too many eyes here.” “Very well.” The tavern was bustling and noisy, reeking of the cheapest synthetic alcohol.
Outlaws and scavengers drank and sang boisterously, spitting crude profanities at the miserable world.
This chaotic noise, however, provided the perfect cover for a secret conversation.
Huddled in the darkest corner, the two of them ordered two portions of barely edible food and drink.
“Now that you have your ‘Ogryn’ cover, you can sign up for the Astra Militarum with me.” Kaelen took a bite of the tough, dried meat.
“In Great Crusade terms, that would be the Imperial Auxilia.” “Then we can leave this miserable planet legally and officially.” Kaelen took a sip of the cheap liquor, coughing twice from the burning sensation.
“If I’m not mistaken, the conscripts will most likely be sent to Cadia—right at the gates of the Eye of Terror, the Imperium’s most critical frontline fortress, for defense.” Long before Horus was pulled over, Kaelen had confirmed the current time node from the system.
997.M41.
There were less than two years left before the “Ever-Victorious” Chaos Warmaster, Abaddon, would launch the Thirteenth Black Crusade.
This current planet was extremely close to Cadia; it would only take a brief Warp journey to get there.
Kaelen’s original plan was to survive until Cadia, then take advantage of the chaos when the planet fell to hitch a ride with Archmagos Cawl all the way to Macragge.
He had originally been worrying about how a mere mortal could qualify to hitch a ride on such a high-end train.
But now, he had a living, breathing Primarch sitting right next to him!
He could already imagine the mind-shattering expressions on Cawl and his crew when they saw an uncorrupted Horus.
“What is on Cadia?” Horus asked.
“Nothing major,” Kaelen grinned.
“You will just meet your former favorite First Captain, Abaddon.” “Ezekyle…” Horus raised his cup, a highly complex look in his eyes.
He had seen the history Kaelen showed him.
Ten thousand years later, his proudest son had become the Chaos Warmaster of the Black Legion, and the greatest cancer afflicting the Imperium today.
“According to the course of history, he will destroy Cadia,” Kaelen lowered his voice.
“We have to go to Cadia.
If we’re lucky, we can get on the ship of an Adeptus Mechanicus Archmagos and head straight for Macragge.” “There, you will witness the awakening of Guilliman after ten thousand years of slumber.
That Archmagos just happens to have the equipment to resurrect the Lord of the Ultramarines.” Kaelen stared into Horus’s eyes.
“My idea is to take you to see the resurrected Guilliman and have him vouch for you, the prime arch-traitor.
In the end, we’ll follow him all the way back to Terra to see the Emperor, and have the Emperor clear your name.” “I know this sounds insane, completely unscientific, and directly flies in the face of any destiny or prophecy.
It’s utterly absurd…” Kaelen raised his cup.
“But I hope you can trust me, Wolf God.” He couldn’t exactly just confess that he was a transmigrator who was abusing glitches using a script, could he?
Even if he did lay it all out, Horus would probably just think he was insane.
Horus listened quietly until he was finished.
He picked up his cup of murky, cheap liquor and lightly clinked it against Kaelen’s.
“I believe you, my friend.
If it is as you say, and I can see Father once more…” The Wolf God spoke word by word, a thousand embers seemingly ignited deep within his eyes.
“I can die with no regrets.”