Chapter 531: Red Tear: Saint Guilliman and the Silent King

Upon the crimson soil of Baer, the vast and ancient starship had been repaired, hanging high in orbit above Angel's Keep like a magnificent monument carved from red gold.

At the prow of this colossal vessel, a pair of golden wings spread along the ram, which was not forged of heavy metal but a single enormous, crystal-clear crimson bloodstone shaped like a tear.

Red Tear, once the glory-class battleship of Saint Guilliman, a ship nearly perfect, a culmination of human artistic beauty.

This vessel had been lost for ten thousand years.

But now it had been restored, standing alongside Dante's flagship, Absolution's Wrath, and the Space Marine battle-raft Vengeance's Blade in orbit.

Leina walked in wonder through the ship, admiring its breathtaking artworks and carvings, many of which had been crafted by Saint Guilliman himself.

"Many of my creations and those of my sons were destroyed during the Great Crusade; the rest were largely lost in the Horus Heresy and the ten millennia since."

"Fortunately, the most precious among them were stored in independently powered stasis fields, preserved in relatively intact condition."

Saint Guilliman smiled as he introduced Leina to the ship's treasured collections:

"Take this painting, for instance—I love it. I believe it captures, in ink, a fleeting brightness from the past."

Saint Guilliman paused before a painting.

The painting had no distinct form, composed entirely of flowing colors.

Vibrant meadows of flowers swayed like ocean waves amid the ink, while light and clouds spiraled and turned as if flowing across water.

An invisible wind, mingling with the clouds, sketched the figure of a woman in a white gown, who turned suddenly to look back, holding an umbrella; her face, her body, her very presence seemed unreal, as if dissolving into wind and light, turning to mist and smoke.

Leina did not understand art, yet in this painting she sensed something absent from this age—something she could not name.

"This painting was created close to Zhou Yun's era, by a master skilled in capturing light and color."

Zhou Yun recognized the painting at once; he was slightly surprised it had survived into the fortieth millennium of humanity, for in these tens of thousands of years, the wars humanity had created and endured had nearly overturned the entire galaxy.

"The darker and more despairing the times, the more people cherish the brightness captured in this painting—and so it was naturally passed down."

A faint smile touched Saint Guilliman's lips; he seemed to sense Zhou Yun's astonishment and answered with a poetic tone:

"In your age, such brightness was commonplace—you could not understand why people in the Age of Darkness treasured this painting."

"In our time, this painting was priceless," Zhou Yun shrugged, continuing to walk beside Saint Guilliman down the corridor of Red Tear, leaving Leina behind: "But more than this painting, I'm curious when you recovered Red Tear."

"With my prophetic abilities, finding Red Tear was not difficult," Saint Guilliman said, yet Zhou Yun clearly sensed a melancholy woven into his words.

Clearly, something sorrowful had occurred during the recovery of Red Tear.

Especially since arriving on Baer, Zhou Yun had sensed something off about the atmosphere here.

The number of ships gathered was not large, but all were elite of the Blood Angels—even the true Dark Angel Regent Dante himself had temporarily left Angel's Keep and boarded his flagship, Absolution's Wrath.

Saint Guilliman was clearly preparing for an expedition—a small but critical one.

"Not long ago, while you hunted Erebus, one of my sub-teams, piloting Red Tear, attacked me," Saint Guilliman's voice betrayed no emotion.

But his lowered eyes brimmed with sorrow and melancholy.

Zhou Yun frowned—Blood Angels had attacked Saint Guilliman? This sounded utterly implausible!

"It was the corruption of the Blood God. You know the Red Angel, don't you?" Saint Guilliman asked in a lowered voice.

The Red Angel?

Zhou Yun's first thought was Angron.

But he quickly realized Saint Guilliman meant the Chaos Daemon born ten thousand years ago from the wrath of the Blood Angels—the demon known as the Red Angel, which had once hidden within the Chaos artifact called "The Fire of Fury," attempting to corrupt Saint Guilliman.

The Blood Angels' apothecary Melos had volunteered to replace Saint Guilliman, entering "The Fire of Fury" and fusing with the Red Angel, becoming a terrifying demon of swirling fury.

This demon seemed linked to the Blood Angels, capable of awakening the Crimson Hunger, which still ravages the galaxy.

"I once swore I would one day free the soul of Melos, bound by the Red Angel. Now is the time to fulfill that vow."

"The Red Angel is spreading corruption among the scattered sub-teams who did not answer Dante's call during the Battle of Baer. But I will purge him."

"Do you need my help?" Zhou Yun raised an eyebrow.

"This will not be a task resolved quickly. You have more important matters."

Saint Guilliman's eyes glowed like clear light as he spoke softly:

"I cannot see your fate after your brief slumber—it is too blurred."

"If you could see it, I wouldn't need to sleep at all—I'd just copy the answer you foresaw," Zhou Yun joked.

Of course, it was only a joke—prophecy is inherently unreliable.

Saint Guilliman smiled faintly, standing beside Zhou Yun as they gazed together at Baer's crimson soil.

"I can only offer you a trivial piece of advice based on my experience."

"Often, fate presents us with many choices, yet all paths ultimately lead to the same outcome."

"The answer merely tells us what choice to make—but it is the choice itself that truly determines the future."

"No matter what answer you receive, no matter whether you accept it, my friend, you may make your decision with greater peace."

"What did you see?" Zhou Yun raised an eyebrow, looking at Saint Guilliman.

"I don't know. I only saw hesitation and uncertainty on your face when you awoke," Saint Guilliman shook his head.

Zhou Yun nodded slightly, saying nothing more.

He still did not know what answer he would receive; fixating on what Saint Guilliman had seen was meaningless.

Besides, he remembered why he had come to Saint Guilliman in the first place—he had another question to ask.

"By the way, what do you think of the Silent King?" Zhou Yun raised an eyebrow.

(The author is in terrible condition, eyes bloodshot, barely holding on—posting early in case I fall asleep and can't revise.)

(End of Chapter)