The white candles, as thick as three fingers, had burned down to their ends.
With a soft sigh, the flickering flames guttered out amid thick pools of melted wax, dimming the light in the room another degree.
“So you’re saying my brother Angron and his Legion are not glorious?” In the gloom, the Primarch rose from his comfortable armchair.
He walked to the candlestick and took another candle from a hidden drawer in the adamantine base.
Carved into this candle was his brother Guilliman and the Ultramarines, a scene celebrating yet another victory.
Warriors in pristine armor followed closely beside the master of Ultramar.
Snap.
The Primarch did not use a match.
The top of the white candle in his hand ignited on its own, the flame illuminating his hand.
Zelo inserted the new candle back into the candlestick.
This kind of task was usually performed by servitors, but the Primarch had refused them, believing he could manage his own domestic affairs.
Behind him, the Custodian seated on the sofa remained tense, his muscles rigid.
The Primarch’s question hung in the room, unanswered for a long moment.
The Emperor did not welcome Angron, and the Adeptus Custodes under his command represented the Emperor’s own will.
More critically, when Angron returned to the Imperium, he had once lost control and killed several Custodes.
The Adeptus Custodes did not welcome Angron.
Their attitude toward this Primarch could even be called “disgust.” Even so, Xynis had kept most of his personal judgment out of his account just now.
He had simply described the XII Legion, the World Eaters, and Angron himself, along with their reputation within the Imperium.
“Regarding the XII Legion, the World Eaters, there is indeed a similar evaluation within the Imperium,” Xynis said in a calm voice.
“Under Lord Angron, the World Eaters’ combat style is rather aggressive, and several Imperial bodies that have worked with them have expressed dissatisfaction with this.” “Dissatisfaction?” Zelo took out another candle.
On its shaft was carved the image of Horus, the Lupercal, walking beside the Emperor.
“Are they a Legion that keeps to itself?
Why?
Was it the Emperor who placed them in this position?” Of course not.
The implicit accusation in Zelo’s words displeased the Custodian.
Angron and his Legion alone were responsible for their situation.
He had failed to rule his own homeworld, failed even in rebellion.
Among the many Primarchs, Angron was undoubtedly flawed, a failure.
But the Custodian had not just explained why Angron was like this.
He had only objectively stated the Imperium’s assessment of the Primarch and his Legion.
“My master did not intentionally arrange this.
This was Lord Angron’s own choice.” “Why?” The candle was now burning brightly in the candlestick.
Zelo turned his head to look at the Custodian, the firelight casting a hazy glow over his face and eyes.
“During his time on his homeworld, the locals implanted Lord Angron with a torture device called the ‘Butcher’s Nails.’ This kept the Primarch in a state of constant rage, left him unable to think clearly, and could not be removed.
That prevented the Primarch from properly managing his Legion.” “…” The Custodian suddenly froze.
The Primarch, who had just been at the edge of the room, had suddenly appeared before him at a speed Xynis had not even registered.
Impossible.
He had not even caught a single afterimage of the Primarch.
The Primarch’s figure blotted out the light, casting a massive shadow across the Custodian’s golden armor.
The side of the Primarch facing the Custodian lay in shadow.
It was peculiar.
The room blazed with clusters of candles, yet the Custodian could not make out Zelo’s face.
It was shrouded in indistinct darkness.
The Custodian could only see those pale blue eyes glittering in the gloom.
“The Master of Mankind cannot remove the Butcher’s Nails?” “My lord attempted it, but the Butcher’s Nails had already replaced part of Lord Angron’s brain.
Forcibly removing them or halting the torture device would both result in the Primarch’s death.” “…” Zelo narrowed his eyes at the Custodian before him.
“According to what you’ve said,” he spoke slowly, “when the glorious Great Angel returned, the Emperor sent his most favored son, Horus, to personally instruct Sanguinius; and when the merciful Vulkan returned, the Emperor sent his rigorous and efficient Ferrus to guide him.” “In the account you just gave, for any Primarch newly returned to the Imperium, the Master of Mankind typically chooses a more celebrated brother within the Imperium as their mentor, to help them better integrate into the Imperium and establish glory for their Legion.” “But in your words, I heard not a single note of praise for the World Eaters.” Zelo suddenly bent down, lowering his head to gaze imperiously at the Custodian seated on the sofa.
He drew close, too close.
So close that the Custodian finally perceived the extremely faint psychic energy seeping from the Primarch’s form.
The Primarch squinted, as if trying to look directly into the Custodian’s eyes through the helmet’s visor.
Xynis felt a bead of sweat trickle down his temple.
He wanted to rise, but the Primarch had already used his stature to trap him in the chair.
In that moment, the comfortable sofa became an execution chair in an interrogation room.
“Why?” Zelo asked sincerely, while the Primarch pressed closer, reaching his hand toward the Custodian’s helmet.
Xynis thought he should dodge immediately, but in that instant, he seemed to become prey pinned by a predator’s stare, utterly unable to move.
He could feel the Primarch trying to take off his helmet, but fortunately, all equipment of the Adeptus Custodes required the Custodian’s own bio-signature key to operate.
“You could try taking off that helmet, Xynis.” Zelo’s voice sounded muffled from outside the helmet.
“I can feel your emotions.
You’re very tense.
But I want to perceive something else.
I admit, the Master of Mankind designed you carefully; I can’t sense anything deeper.
Perhaps this helmet is blocking me.” People on Stoll Star had never refused to let Zelo read them.
Perhaps they never even realized he was doing it.
Or perhaps placing oneself under Zelo’s protection inherently meant granting permission in that regard.
But when they felt they had wronged Zelo, they would subconsciously avoid eye contact.
Maybe the Stollians subconsciously knew that Zelo was examining their souls.
Zelo provided them with safety, a future, and an end to their unease, not so they could spend their safety and spare strength keeping secrets from him.
Most Stollian souls were also simple enough.
Zelo did not need to stare into their eyes to perceive the information he required.
“You need to take off your helmet.
That way, our communication will go more smoothly.” Zelo said this as he attempted to remove the Custodian’s helmet.
His fingers had already found the release that locked it in place, but the lock refused his touch.
If he applied direct force, Zelo was worried he might pull the Custodian’s head off along with the helmet.
That was rather dangerous.
Alternatively, he might peel away a layer of skin and flesh, which would be agonizing, and therefore inadvisable and unnecessary.
“My psychic talent is quite mediocre.
I’m very sorry for that,” Zelo explained patiently.
“Only when I look directly into a person’s eyes, one-on-one, can I channel my psychic power inward and see more clearly.
What you’ve said confuses me, so it’s best you take off the helmet.
I want to see clearly exactly how you intend to describe the XII Legion.” “…” The Primarch’s words made Xynis’s heart pound wildly.
More beads of sweat slid down from his temples.
His head was already clamped in the Primarch’s grip.
If Zelo wished, the Custodian’s skull would burst in his hand.
“I must decline,” Xynis forced down his anxiety, his voice steady and commanding, as if there were no giant currently cradling his head in his palm.
“My lord, please maintain your distance from me.” “You really won’t allow it?” “My lord!” “Very well.” Zelo suddenly released his grip.
He spread his hands and took a few steps back, but his eyes still locked tightly onto the Custodian, his gaze so scorching it seemed it would burn a hole straight through him.
“The Master of Mankind has consented to let me empathize with his soul,” Zelo said.
But in truth, when he had tried to gaze into the Emperor’s eyes, he had perceived nothing.
It was like reaching out a hand and touching only empty air.
Only when the Emperor permitted him to empathize did Zelo succeed.
“Has the Master of Mankind forbidden me from observing your soul?” No.
The Master of Mankind had said nothing about this matter.
Yet this very thing was so unnerving it took the Custodian’s breath away.
He did not think allowing this newly reunited Primarch, who had been dispatched to study with the XII Legion, to pry into his soul was a good idea.
“Please understand my duty, my lord.
My duty is to supervise you.
Allowing you to use your psychic power on me recklessly might result in my dereliction of duty.” Seeing that the Primarch had backed off, opening up some space, the Custodian rose to his feet at nearly the fastest speed of his life.
“You’re afraid I’ll use witchcraft on you, cloud your senses, distort your perception, and then your mission to supervise me will fail?” Zelo spread his hands.
“No, I wouldn’t do that, unless you ask me to.” Not true.
Zelo thought he would do it eventually, but he was truly unskilled with psychic power.
He would not risk it until he was fully confident.
He had not sworn an oath on this, so it held no binding force whatsoever.
Nor had the Emperor forbidden him from doing it; he had only told him not to reveal information about Daemons or the Warp.
Xynis’s heart pounded.
The Custodian dashed to the door, filled with terror and tension, as if at any moment he might raise his weapon and fire at Zelo.
It seemed nothing more could be pried out of him, Zelo thought.
Next time he faced a Custodian, he should continue trying persuasion.
He shouldn’t have been so aggressive.
Zelo was used to people being frank with him, and he felt uncomfortable with humans who resisted him in mind and soul.
On Stoll Star, people submitted to him the moment they laid eyes on him.
Those who screamed and resisted Zelo were all psychic xenos and Daemons.
Of course, some who had been tortured into madness, people deemed beyond all hope of recovery, sometimes also resisted Zelo.
They resisted all outsiders.
The Stollians would usually grant such people release.
Zelo had been too confused just now, too eager to find answers.
What in the world had happened to his brother, Angron?
Regarding the First Legion and the Second Legion, Zelo could tell this was a decree of the Emperor, so he tactfully refrained from asking further.
But the XII Legion was the Legion he was about to join.
Logically, Zelo had the right to know about the situation of the XII Legion.
Yet the Custodian still refused to say more, only vaguely suggesting to Zelo that this Legion was not glorious.
Zelo could hear the disgust beneath the Custodian’s words.
A Legion that disgusted a Custodian.
He wanted to press further for details, but Xynis already looked like he wanted to leave.
Sure enough, the Custodian bowed to him.
“I will perform my duties outside your room.
Please understand, and do not interfere with my work.” “Thank you for telling me these things.
I appreciate it.” As soon as these words left the Primarch’s mouth, the Custodian could not wait to open the door and flee the room, as if it contained some monstrous beast.
In that final moment before leaving the room, driven by some instinct, Custodian Xynis looked back through the closing crack of the door.
Inside the room, the Primarch’s gaze met his, and he smiled at him again.
But all the blazing candles had gone out, plunging the room into dead, silent darkness.
In that darkness, the Primarch simply stood there.
His final words slipped out through the crack in the door.
“Please understand, I’m used to not lighting candles or turning on lights.
Resources are scarce on Stoll Star; I can read in the dark just as well.” “But a few days ago, I noticed you were observing me.
To make your observation easier, I kept the candles lit.” “Now that I’ve spoken with you, I’ll refrain from lighting them for now.
Thank you for your understanding.
Or do you require me to keep the room lit?” Inside Xynis’s chest, his heart still pounded violently.
He had briefly wondered before why the Primarch never turned off the lights when he napped at the desk.
Now he knew why.
“No, please do as you wish.” Through his helm’s autosenses, Custodian Xynis watched in horror as the Primarch, as if nothing had just happened, took a book and sat down at the desk to study, just like usual.
His work ahead did not seem likely to go smoothly.
The Custodian stared at the Primarch through his autosenses.
He noticed the Primarch’s sitting posture was not normal.
It was more like he was suspended above the chair.
At first glance, the Primarch appeared to be sitting in the chair, but the soft cushion showed not the slightest indentation.
Zelo was putting no weight on the chair at all.
He was not truly sitting down.
What kind of freak was he…?