Chapter 236: Dante: Is This Something I

Dante seemed to sense the doubt in Zhou Yun's gaze,

the veteran, who had ruled the Blood Angels Legion and the three moons of Baal for a thousand years—longer than Saint Guilliman had served as Legion Commander—smiled faintly.

"Lord Zhou Yun, Saint Guilliman has now assumed full rule over Baal and the Blood Angels; other Legion Commanders still lead their own legions, but the Blood Angels are now directly governed by the Primarch—I am the only one left with no duties."

"If we follow mortal terms, I should be retired—perhaps the only Space Marine in ten thousand years who can claim to have retired."

"Then what are you doing now?" Zhou Yun raised an eyebrow, glancing at Dante's standard Blood Guard power armor.

"The Primarch told me I could do anything I wanted—enjoy myself."

A hint of embarrassment crossed Dante's face:

"But over a thousand years, I never developed any real interests. I thought of retiring to my homeworld on Baal II, but it was destroyed by the Tyranids."

"I wanted to try growing grapes, but I couldn't keep a single vine alive. I tried learning painting, but my portraits looked so ugly they seemed corrupted."

"In the end, I had no choice—I joined the Blood Guard to serve as the Primarch's bodyguard."

As he spoke, Dante's face gradually lit up with a radiant smile:

"I realized this is truly the best job—I'm one of three who take turns guarding the Primarch, each working only eight hours."

"Actually, I don't even need to guard him—the Primarch's power far exceeds our comprehension, and he has immense precognitive abilities—I'm just standing at the door, serving as decoration."

"During this time, I reflect on my life, organize my thoughts, and write them down in my rest periods—perhaps I'll write an autobiography after all?"

Zhou Yun's expression went slightly slack.

Damn, Old Man Dante has finally, after a thousand years of detours, found his true calling: security guard.

He's absolutely right—Saint Guilliman, one of the strongest Primarchs, has few equals in the material universe, and few could harm him.

And he possesses powerful precognition, allowing him to avoid almost all dangers.

When there's no battle, Dante is merely a living statue at the door, serving ceremonial and decorative purposes.

Thus, this long-lived Space Marine warrior began contemplating his autobiography.

"But I haven't decided on a title yet, Lord Zhou Yun—any suggestions?" Dante asked with a smile.

Then his smile turned slightly bitter:

"Saint Guilliman suggested: 'Dante—The Longest-Ruling Lord of the Blood Angels.'"

"But that title is too boastful and arrogant—I think the Primarch is just teasing me."

No doubt—he's teasing you, Zhou Yun thought silently.

"The autobiography's title…"

He rubbed his chin, thinking briefly:

"'How the Son of a Salt Merchant Came Under Saint Guilliman's Guidance and Eventually Became Commander of the Blood Angels for a Thousand Years!'"

"Huh?" Dante's face froze.

"Hahahaha!" A clear, faint laugh echoed from within the Crimson Grand Hall.

Instantly, Dante's face flushed with embarrassment.

Seeing this, Zhou Yun's lips curled into a smile; he gave Dante a slight nod before pushing open the door and stepping into the Crimson Grand Hall.

The Crimson Grand Hall had been carved and built by Dante with the aid of blood slaves and Blood Angels, filled with exquisite carvings and murals,

yet these artworks—each worth a planetary Viceroy's entire fortune—paled in comparison,

for at the center of the empty chamber, beside a marble table, sat the embodiment of perfection:

Saint Guilliman's golden hair fell freely, unbound by a silver-threaded headcloth; he wore no armor forged from adamantium, but a long robe like flowing linen-colored riverwater, and behind him hung two wings, white tinged with blue.

"My friend," Saint Guilliman nodded to Zhou Yun, pushing aside the mountain of documents beside him.

Zhou Yun glanced—they were already completed, the ink long dried.

For a Primarch's superhuman intellect, the affairs of Baal's three sparsely populated worlds were no burden at all,

likely Saint Guilliman had finished them long before Zhou Yun even returned.

Outside, Dante was slacking off guarding the door; inside, Saint Guilliman was slacking off too.

"Fine, Xiao He—you're slacking here while Uncle goes out to do your work!" Zhou Yun called out loudly.

"Huh?" Both Zhou Yun and Saint Guilliman clearly heard a startled, confused grunt from outside.

"... alling me your uncle isn't a problem—I was born long before Macaroth."

Saint Guilliman said, somewhat helplessly:

"But now that you've returned from the Chrysalis Fortress and consumed the part of my Warp essence belonging to the Dark Angels, you must surely understand what I truly am."

Zhou Yun nodded slightly: "Saint Guilliman's death is Saint Guilliman's Warp essence."

"... y father, ten thousand years ago, drew the materials to forge us from the Warp."

Saint Guilliman sighed softly:

"Twenty surging forces from the Warp were poured into twenty-one newborn bodies, twenty-one newly born souls."

"It was these twenty Warp forces that shaped us—and we, in turn, shaped those formless forces into ordered forms."

"The interaction between matter and the Warp gave rise to the twenty-one Gene-Primarchs."

"I don't know how my other twenty brothers are, but my essence is my own death."

"I was slain aboard the Vengeful Spirit by Horus—and the Warp echo of that death gave birth to my Warp essence, which then pierced time to shape the Primarch named Saint Guilliman in the past."

Saint Guilliman looked at Zhou Yun:

"And also in the future—when you used the Time-Wrapping Cloth to repair Saint Guilliman's body and soul, mixing the shattered soul fragments of Saint Guilliman within the Blood Angels, ten thousand years of human faith, and the corruption you caused—you resurrected this Gene-Primarch before you."

Zhou Yun nodded gently: "That's why you must die aboard the Vengeful Spirit—and why you will inevitably die there."

"If you hadn't died then, your Warp essence would never have formed, and Saint Guilliman would never have been born."

The winged figure in white light is not the Saint Guilliman of ten thousand years ago—this is why:

because the winged figure in white light and Saint Guilliman cannot coexist; when one lives, the other dies—the living one is Saint Guilliman, the dead one is the winged figure in white light.

At that moment, a frantic clatter of metal echoed from outside the door,

Dante, drenched in sweat, nearly lost his balance,

The Emperor drew power from the Warp to forge the Primarchs??

My dad isn't pure??

Is this something I'm supposed to hear???

(End of Chapter)