40k: Midnight Blade.

Chapter 824 Extra: Round Table Movie Viewing (Part 7)
“You are very dissatisfied with me,” the emperor said.

He looked directly into Robert Guilliman’s eyes as he spoke. The latter did not want to be drawn into this confrontational situation, but for some reason a fire was burning within him, which compelled him to look the Emperor in the eye as well.

“Yes,” Guilliman readily admitted. “There are some.”

"Some?"

The emperor repeated the emphasis he had deliberately softened, then turned his head thoughtfully to gaze at the majestic, undulating Himalayas.

He wasn't wearing his signature golden armor today; instead, he was simply dressed in a plain robe, the edges of which were still dusty.
And those hands, covered in grime, with black ash even under their fingernails.

In those few seconds of silence, Guilliman quickly analyzed the situation and came to a conclusion that he was not too willing to admit.

To verify this, he changed the subject.

"You were just—"

The Emperor turned his head so quickly that Guilliman was caught off guard.

"—Work," he replied immediately.

Guilliman paused for a moment, then asked, "What kind of work?"

"I am building a road."

The emperor said, and casually removed the laurel crown from his head, his black hair fluttering in the wind.

“You can’t understand its nature yet, none of you can, except Magnus, though he needs more time to learn. Now let’s get down to business, Robert, you’re very unhappy with me. My helper has told me everything, and even offered some suggestions that will cost money.”

Guilliman was in a state of turmoil. On one hand, he understood the matter of the path; after all, a project that could get the Lord of Humanity to personally oversee it must be incredibly magnificent. But on the other hand, he was extremely dissatisfied with the statement that "only Magnus could do it."
And that damn narrator, it actually recorded video.

"I'm going to tear it down!" he roared in his heart.

All these complex thoughts crowded together, making him truly realize the downsides of multitasking for so long. But he was used to doing it, so his mouth spoke faster than his mind.

"Charge?" The moment the words left his mouth, the Makula man regretted it—what was I thinking? I could have asked a more constructive question.

“Yes, he warned me about it a long time ago,” the Emperor said. “His job doesn’t include taking extra care of your mental health and offering me advice. I paid extra to get him to change his mind. You don’t need to think about what currency was used in this deal; you wouldn’t understand.”

Guilliman opened his mouth, then closed it again. After repeating this process twice, his face flushed red once more.

Then he spoke in a low voice—almost a complaint: "If I can't understand anything, why are you saying so much?"

As soon as the words left his mouth, he realized his mistake. Having received diplomatic training at Connor Guilliman's court, he knew the best course of action in such situations was to immediately change the subject, and the obvious choice now was to steer the conversation toward his brothers.
Moreover, this doesn't count as betrayal, since Horus and Forgrim did indeed develop a rift.

However, when Guilliman turned around and tried to steer the conversation toward one of the two, he found that they were gone, vanished without a trace as if they had never been there.

"I don't have much time, so I have to deal with each of your problems at the same time." The Emperor's voice came from behind me, finally carrying that familiar coldness once again.

Guilliman gritted his teeth.
Okay, an explanation. It's better than nothing, isn't it? At least he's willing to say a few words.

He turned around and looked directly into those eyes again.

"So you cast a spell? To talk to each of us at the same time?"

"It's just a rudimentary application of psionic energy, fundamentally different from magic. If you've taken a psionic course, you'll understand what I'm talking about."

Enraged, Guilliman clenched his teeth again, and then forced out a sentence through his teeth.

"I'm sorry, I only have 24 hours in a day, so I can't attend too many classes."

“I know,” the Emperor said casually. “So, how have you been studying lately?”

"do not you know?"

“I haven’t been following your progress in the course for a while. I only know that Riemann Russ had a fight with Peturabo recently, and you’re not quite fitting in because you’re new here.”

“Maybe that’s not why they don’t like me,” Guilliman said.

He couldn't help himself and uttered a chilling remark. He uttered this immature behavior with extreme hatred, yet he was utterly unable to control himself.
He couldn't remain calm in front of the Emperor, because all the troubles he was in were actually caused by this person—who suddenly appeared, suddenly announced his identity and instilled some so-called background that sounded almost like a myth, and suddenly took him, Connor Guilliman, and Tarasha Eudon away from Macurag.
Robert Guilliman is only seventeen years old at the time.

He knew that by Primarch standards, reaching adulthood at three years old wasn't difficult to understand, but he had genuinely spent seventeen years in Macragge, during which time there were no strange events of accelerated growth; at most, he had simply grown much older than the average person.
He didn't know about the others, but they didn't seem very mature, especially in terms of their mental age. Those two always liked to make silly jokes; what was the difference between them and naughty children?
However, even knowing all this, Guilliman still couldn't convince himself to stay calm.

"They don't like you?" The Emperor's tone seemed to turn serious. "Did they ostracize you?"

"No."

"Are you kidding me?"

"often."

"It's most likely Ruth, isn't it?"

"Yes."

Guilliman pursed his lips, trying to make his tone sound less like he was tattling—he had an instinctive aversion to the matter, even a fear that it might come true, because if he really did, wouldn't it be like...
The emperor pondered for a moment, then slowly spoke.

"Ruth comes from a cruel world, an undeveloped, icy wasteland with an extremely harsh natural environment. In such an environment, people with repressed natures cannot survive. Faced with the boundless, vast snowscape, one must learn to find something to do for oneself."

"He's been molded into the person he is today by that world, just as you've become a bright and promising student in Macurag. His jokes weren't malicious; they were just a way to build rapport. I believe you understand that, Robert."

The emperor paused, then smiled slightly: "Otherwise you would have beaten him up long ago."

A strong, cold wind swept around the mountains, whipping his black hair and obscuring his smile. When the wind subsided, his face had returned to its usual calm.

The emperor raised his hand to put on the laurel wreath, said nothing more, and left.

Macardo followed behind him, complaining vehemently in an ancient language, while the emperor remained silent.
Guilliman stared at their receding figures until they disappeared completely before turning around.

He saw Forgrim wiping away his tears, and Horus, who had already regained his composure.

The latter grasped Forgrim's hand, and the Chemos didn't refuse; he even whispered an apology.

Horus nodded, then came over and took his hand. For some reason, the Macurag man did not refuse.

He led them inside, his eyes hardening with unwavering determination. "Let's go, brothers. No matter how many challenges that narrator throws at us, it can't defeat us."
-
"Ah, the three students who went to meet their parents are finally back," the voice in the blue light said cheerfully. "How was it? How did it go with your fathers? Have you changed your opinion of them at all?"

None of the three students paid him any attention; they simply returned to their seats.

"Aren't you going to say anything? What about the others? Don't you think that great emperor is a bit biased? Why did he specifically choose to speak with them privately?"

“You’d better get back to your job,” Felus Manus said calmly. “I don’t care who you are, but you should be doing your job, not standing here mocking us.”

"This is also part of the job."

"So when will you move on to the next step?" Lehman Russ asked, rather bored.

As he spoke, he reverted to his previous carefree and uninhibited manner. He exaggeratedly placed his feet on the edge of the round table, swinging them back and forth, while his hands hung limply at his sides, his fingers tapping the side of the chair. He sat sprawled out, making a constant racket.

Blue Light chuckled softly and surprisingly didn't say anything more. The surrounding world was quickly swallowed by darkness, and at this moment, they all seemed to be sitting in a void.

Immediately afterwards, many points of light rose rapidly from directly below and stopped above their heads.

Magnus was so shocked by the scene that he scratched his red hair into a mess, and finally couldn't help but shout.

"What, what is this?! This isn't magic at all!"

The narrator seemed to sigh.

"This is the orthodox way... well, never mind, I can't argue with someone as uncultured as you. Anyway, let's move on to the next step."

Regardless of how angry Magnus was by his words, the points of light began to grow larger and thinner, forming many undulating light curtains in an instant.

However, before the Primarchs could see their specific appearance, most of them sank back below them and merged into the darkness. In the end, only five light curtains remained floating on the round table.

"Alright, choose one, and then you can all go in and experience it together," the narrator said. "However, only one person can choose. Remember, only one person."

"Why?" Dorn asked, frowning. "Didn't you previously assign us different stories in batches? Why have you changed your mind now?"

"Your tone makes me sound like a bad person."

Dorn shook his head: "Whether it's good or bad probably doesn't mean much to someone like you. I just want to know, why did you do this?"

The narrator chuckled coldly, deliberately drawing out his voice.

"Because your fathers do not approve of my efforts to improve efficiency, and considering the less-than-ideal mental state of your Primarchs, he wants me to take a gentler approach—there's no other way, so I have to switch to child mode."

In the past, such a provocation would have drawn much anger and rebuttal, but at this moment, no one at the round table intended to say anything about it. Even Peturabo, whose expression remained gloomy, simply sat calmly in his chair, without uttering a word.

This scene bore the narrator to no end, so it simply snorted and stopped speaking, leaving the scene to the Primarchs.

After a moment, Magnus stood up hesitantly.

"Ahem, guys," he cleared his throat. "I think I—"

“—Sit down,” Lehmann Russ said expressionlessly. “I know which one you want to choose, but I’m afraid you’re the only one among us who wants to see that one.”

He pointed to one of the screens, which was playing a loop: Magnus, tall and much more mature-looking, but who had inexplicably lost an eye, was speaking confidently and eloquently to a large group of people, including the Emperor.

"but."

“Sit down, or I’ll tear up all your books and homework right now,” Ruth said, baring her two sharp teeth in a blatant threat.

Magnus took a deep breath. He knew Riemann Russ was capable of it, but he was not prepared to back down at this moment.

“Fine, then tear it.” He said without hesitation. “I have to finish what I have to say.”

The Fenris raised an eyebrow, then suddenly grinned: "Very well, then you speak."

So Magnus then spent a full three minutes giving a passionate speech, trying to persuade everyone.
No one paid him any attention, and Ruth even started grinding his teeth again. After a moment of stunned silence, he suddenly realized something and immediately made a promise.

“Pick me! I can do Makado’s psionic homework for you!” he shouted. “For the next three months, everyone who votes for me won’t have to worry about being scolded by that gruff old man!”

Guilliman seemed somewhat tempted, and Ruth glanced at Alpharis with a sly smile, who, without a word, raised his right hand along with him.
But apart from that, no third person voted.

Magnus sat down in frustration.

“Those who do not vote are automatically considered to have abstained,” the narrator said lazily. “You either agree or disagree; there is no option to remain silent—raise your left hand if you disagree.”

Ferrus Manus, Roger Dorn, Perturabo, and Mortarian immediately raised their left hands, while the others were either absent-minded or simply didn't want to hurt Magnus's feelings.
In an attempt to reverse this situation, Saint Gilles and Horus, who had returned to normal, exchanged a glance.

“Excuse me, Mr. Narrator,” the archangel rose and bowed impeccably to the blue light in the center of the round table. “May we nominate someone other than ourselves?”

"Sure—for the sake of your smile."

"."

The angel sighed, seemingly wanting to say something but then turning around to look at Conrad Coates, who had become unusually quiet ever since the 'scene of Khalil Lohals's death' had been mentioned to his face, and then spoke softly.

“I recommend you, Coz.”

The Nostradamus slowly raised their heads.

“Because… this whole thing, all these stories, seems to be connected to someone in another world who is extremely close to you,” the angel said gently. “So I think it would be most appropriate for you to make the decision.”

He looked at the others.

"What do you think?"

Horus was the first to raise his right hand, followed by Colius Corax.
After them, others raised their right hands in turn, even Magnus, who was still dejected.

Conrad Coates sneered.

“Don’t expect me to thank you.” He gave a stiff smile. “Okay, narrator, I want to see that.”

He raised his hand and pointed to another light screen, on which a skeleton was floating in the universe, looking extremely eerie.

(End of this chapter)