“Aren’t you angry?
Horus?” Horus looked at him quietly and asked back, “Why should I be angry?” “Do you think,” he paused, “I should be furious that they set up their own separate factions, or enraged that Lion El’Jonson took over the title of Warmaster that once belonged only to me?” Karen nodded honestly, “Uh, normally, both?” He was muttering to himself, thinking that after hearing this history, the former Warmaster would surely smash a few steel plates to vent his frustration.
As it turned out, Horus just shook his head calmly.
“If I were in Roboute’s place, I would have done the same.
With Terra cut off and Father’s fate unknown, establishing a new government was the most rational and secure way to preserve the Imperium of Man.” At this, the Wolf Shepherd God made a rare joke about his brother.
“Actually, I suspect that boy Roboute had probably wanted to do this for a long time.
During the Great Crusade, he was incredibly protective of his precious Five Hundred Worlds.
But in all fairness, I truly admire him when it comes to infrastructure and administrative governance.” “And what about the Warmaster?” Karen continued to test the waters.
“Lion El’Jonson took your title; does that really not bother you at all?” “Warmaster…” Hearing those words, the relaxed expression on Horus’s face faded.
He didn’t get angry, but instead let out a bitter smile tinged with exhaustion.
“Karen, I gave it my all back then simply because I didn’t want to fail Father’s expectations.
Warmaster was merely a byproduct of that path.” “I admit, in the early years, I did care about that position.
Even a Primarch finds it hard to refuse that ultimate glory and fame.” “But when I actually sat in that seat, I realized…” Horus looked down at his large palms, his tone filled with loneliness, “my relationship with my brothers deteriorated visibly.
During the Great Crusade, maintaining that fragile brotherhood was already difficult; after becoming Warmaster, it became a complete mess.” Hearing this, as a member of society who had been battered by the workplace, Karen instantly empathized.
He couldn’t help but interject.
“I get it.
It’s lonely at the top.” “When you sit in that position, you’re no longer just Horus; you become a political symbol.
You have to balance interests and can no longer act purely based on personal feelings as you once did.” Horus’s frame shook slightly, and a rare look of surprise appeared in his eyes.
He took a deep look at the mortal before him.
“Right on the mark, my friend.
Indeed.” Karen checked the time on the system panel and patted his butt as he stood up.
“Alright, storytime is over.
Our primary task now is to get you a legal identity at the black market.” He looked Horus’s terrifying three-meter-plus frame up and down, stroking his chin.
“The only legal identity that fits your physique is likely a Special Ogryn—sub-humans with low intelligence but massive physiques—my Lord Wolf God.” Karen couldn’t help but stifle a laugh.
“By the Throne…” Horus’s face instantly darkened, “I’d rather pretend to be an Astartes!
Even some other ordinary mutant would do!” “Ogryn?
That’s too degrading!
Do you want me to drool all day like an idiot?” The former Warmaster of the Imperium felt deeply insulted.
“There’s no other way!” Karen spread his hands.
“As long as we can survive, what’s wrong with acting like a simpleton?” Horus glared at him, his chest heaving a few times.
But he had to admit that in this hellish 41st Millennium, an unregistered Primarch without an identity really just had to suck it up.
— A few hours later, the two of them, draped in the hooded stealth cloak, slipped into the local Hive City black market.
Relying on several forged certificates from the system, they managed to obtain legal identity cards relatively smoothly.
Looking at the worn chip in his hand stamped with “Special Ogryn Auxilia,” Horus pondered for a moment.
“What are your plans next, my friend?” That “my friend” made Karen daze for a moment.
He snapped back and lowered his voice.
“Let’s change locations.
We’ll talk at the little tavern I’m familiar with; there are too many eyes here.” “Fine.” The tavern was bustling with people, smelling of the lowest-quality synthetic alcohol.
Desperadoes and scavengers drank heavily and sang loudly, cursing the miserable world with the crudest profanities.
This chaotic noise actually provided the best cover for a secret conversation.
The two huddled in the darkest corner and ordered two servings of food and drink that were barely edible.
“Now that you have the ‘Ogryn’ shell, you can sign up for the Astra Militarum with me.” Karen took a bite of the tough jerky.
“In Great Crusade terms, that would be the Imperial Army.” “Then we can leave this gods-forsaken planet legitimately.” Karen took a sip of the cheap liquor, coughing twice from the burn.
“If I’m not mistaken, the recruits will likely be sent to Cadia, at the doorstep of the Eye of Terror, to garrison the Imperium’s most important frontline fortress.” Long before Horus was pulled over, Karen had confirmed the current timeline from the system.
M41, 997.
Less than two years before the “Ever-Victorious” Warmaster of Chaos, Abaddon, would launch the 13th Black Crusade.
This planet was currently very close to Cadia; it could be reached with a short Warp jump.
Karen’s original plan was to lie low until Cadia, then take advantage of the chaos during the planet’s fall to cling to Archmagos Cawl’s coattails and hitch a ride all the way to Macragge.
He had been worried about how a mere mortal could qualify for such a high-stakes ride.
Now, he had a living Primarch sitting right next to him!
He could already imagine the world-shattering expressions on Cawl and his group when they saw an uncorrupted Horus.
“What’s at Cadia?” Horus asked.
“Nothing much,” Karen grinned.
“You’ll just meet your once-beloved First Captain, Abaddon.” “Ezekyle…” Horus raised his glass, his eyes filled with complex emotions.
He had seen the history Karen showed him.
Ten thousand years later, his proudest son had become the Warmaster of Chaos for the Black Legion and the Imperium’s greatest cancer.
“According to history, he will destroy Cadia.” Karen lowered his voice.
“We have to go to Cadia.
If we’re lucky, we can catch a ship belonging to an Archmagos of the Adeptus Mechanicus and head straight for Macragge.” “There, you will witness the awakening of Guilliman, who has slept for ten thousand years.
That Archmagos happens to have the equipment to resurrect the Lord of Ultramar.” Karen stared into Horus’s eyes: “My plan is to take you to see the revived Guilliman and have him vouch for you, the number one Arch-traitor.
Finally, we’ll follow him all the way back to Terra to see the Emperor and have him clear your name.” “I know this sounds crazy, unscientific, and goes against some destiny or prophecy—it’s just beyond ridiculous…” Karen raised his glass, “But I hope you can trust me, Wolf God.” He couldn’t just come out and say he was a Transmigrator using a script to exploit bugs, could he?
Even if he told the whole truth, Horus would probably think he was insane.
Horus listened quietly until the end.
He picked up the glass of murky, cheap liquor and lightly clinked it against Karen’s cup.
“I believe you, my friend.
If it is as you say, and I can see Father one more time…” The Wolf Shepherd God spoke each word deliberately, a myriad of sparks seemingly ignited in the depths of his eyes.
“I would die with no regrets.”