Chapter 586: The Silent King Szarak (Combined)

Emerald light surged through the dark room, quantum entanglement transmitting information from a distant shore.

Those energies gradually took form in the darkness, coalescing into translucent shadows that manifested as holographic projections in midair.

First to appear were two towering Necron Lords, standing atop a platform of black stone suspended in midair, holding staffs glowing with emerald-green light, their eyes burning with emerald flames as they gazed down upon the room.

They were the two Arch-Lords of the Triumvirate, the only ones besides the Silent King, their massive frames dwarfing even the Astartes, yet compared to the figure standing at the center of the black stone throne, they were negligible.

That tall, slender figure stood twice as tall as the two Arch-Lords, his body forged as if from immortal electrum, draped in a strange cloak shimmering with energy, his eyes blazing like toxic stars.

But he did not reveal his face, instead wearing a finely crafted golden mask, engraved with a beautiful, elegant, divine, and faintly sorrowful visage, upon whose brow hung a ruby like sacred blood.

It was the Golden Mask of Saint Guilliman; ten thousand years ago, Saint Guilliman and the Silent King had met by chance and formed a certain degree of friendship.

The Silent King marveled that such a primitive species as humanity could produce something so beautiful and divine, and cherished this friendship deeply.

When he heard Saint Guilliman wished to speak, the Silent King took out this golden mask and placed it upon his face, as a tribute to the memory of Saint Guilliman's friendship.

For the Silent King, this was a slight lowering of his own station, yet moved by nostalgia for that brief friendship ten thousand years past, he permitted this minor deviation from his dignity.

The Silent King lowered his head from above, his burning gaze fixed upon the dark room, hoping to see that beautiful golden face—

He saw a suit of azure and gold power armor, and a face that was dull, rational, serious, worn by long years of labor, lined with wrinkles, streaked with strands of white amid golden hair.

That face resembled the portrait on ancient human coins, but it was not worthy of the Silent King's gaze.

What is this thing?

A blue monkey ruler?

Seems ambitious?

Where is my Saint Guilliman?

"Listen, humble being, I am Haphsathras the Radiant, member of the Triumvirate, one of the three supreme rulers of the Necrons, and servant and mouthpiece of the Silent King Szarak."

One of the Arch-Lords spoke in a string of High Gothic so complex even Guilliman struggled to follow.

This was the custom of the Necrons and their former Kher-ubim ancestors.

The Silent King, as his name implied, was silent, never speaking, never directly conveying his will.

Instead, his two fellow Arch-Lords of the Triumvirate spoke on his behalf.

"Szarak is the Silent King, Szarak is Lord of the Galaxy, Szarak is the slayer of gods, Szarak is eternity, Szarak is death, Szarak is the savior and rebuilder of the world."

"Szarak asks the lowly: Who are you? Where is the pure Saint Guilliman?"

"I am Roboute Guilliman, the Thirteenth Primarch, brother of Saint Guilliman, Regent of the Imperium," Guilliman replied to the Silent King in a flat tone, neither humble nor arrogant.

"Great Szarak finds your stupidity appalling. Saint Guilliman could have been your race's hope, replacing the corpse-tyrant who manipulates sorcerers to rule you. Yet your foolish human race chose… a coin bearing the head of an ambitious ruler."

Ambitious coin-head

In the shadows, Fulgrim nearly laughed aloud, but Guilliman was a mature politician, unmoved by such a mere epithet.

He turned his head slightly, gazing into the darkness.

Golden light surged forth, and Saint Guilliman emerged from the shadows, smiling at Szarak.

"Silent King, old friend, do not misunderstand."

"We Primarchs are all sons of the Emperor, all aware that only the Emperor may rule humanity. I have never sought to usurp his throne."

"Though Guilliman may seem ambitious, he has never sought to rise above us. He is equal to us—he is the voice of us, of our race."

"Just as Haphsathras the Radiant is your mouthpiece, Guilliman is mine, the mouthpiece of the other Primarchs, of the Emperor, of humanity, and of Saint Doraemon. What he says is what I wish to say to you."

The Silent King's gaze shifted slightly; he gently reached up and removed the Golden Mask of Saint Guilliman from his face, revealing his own metal-bone visage.

Szarak's eyes swept through the darkness and gave Saint Guilliman a slight nod.

This was the utmost respect the Silent King could offer under his station.

"Saint Guilliman! The Pure One! The noble born from a base race!"

"Szarak greets you, offers you boundless reverence—we shall speak with your mouthpiece to determine the fate of your race!"

Haphsathras the Radiant bowed to Saint Guilliman with the Necron ritual for Arch-Lords, then turned to Guilliman before them:

"In the name of Szarak, you must know your sins: Anrakel is a shameless traitor, Tarsis is a contemptible thief—both criminals of our Necron Empire. To consort with them is sin."

"Yet the Silent King is merciful—he understands your folly, knows you were deceived by traitors. Szarak's blade shall seize the criminals; you shall not interfere."

"The Human Empire is willing to cooperate with the Necron Empire in surrendering the criminals, but your race and ours are not allies, nor do we have an extradition treaty. According to the universal law of all galactic races, should this matter not be discussed only after the Human and Necron Empires formally ally?" Guilliman smiled, subtly shifting the topic.

Haphsathras the Radiant gave a nearly contemptuous laugh.

He flicked his arm, and countless points of light flashed before them, forming hundreds of images depicting different eras of human history.

"We know what your feeble empire is. Our astrologers, using technology beyond your comprehension, have reconstructed your species' quantum trajectory. Your territory is negligible, your technology primitive, your power utterly weak, your monarch no more than a rotting corpse who plays with sorcerers."

"You refuse to admit it, but the truth is your race has declined. Even in your prime, you were nothing to the great Necron Dynasty."

"Yet our master, the Silent King Szarak, grants you mercy—he permits your existence alongside Necron civilization."

"As allies? As friends?" Guilliman asked.

"As slaves," declared Haphsathras the Radiant. "We need no allies, no friends. But Lord Szarak, out of his personal friendship with Saint Guilliman, grants you the greatest generosity: you may beg to exist as lawful slaves of the Necron Star Empire."

"Your race shall be protected by the Necron Star Empire. You shall pay a tithe: one-tenth of your population and resources shall serve the Necron Star Empire. Should you beg, the Silent King will receive your envoys and negotiate your race's submission and surrender to the Necron Star Empire."

"And Saint Guilliman shall stand as your race's Arch-Lord, elevated beside us."

"No, Silent King—you need humanity. You need to ally with us."

Guilliman's gaze did not turn to Haphsathras the Radiant, but fixed directly upon the Silent King:

"Humanity can give you what you crave. Humanity can reverse your race's greatest sorrow. Humanity can undo your biological conversion."

"Szarak, I offer the Necron race humanity's alliance condition: Saint Doraemon shall grant your people souls, purge the cold from your iron bodies, and make you truly alive in this world."

"All you must give in return is to become allies with humanity, to share our glory and our ruin, to face together the endless crises of this galaxy."

Haphsathras the Radiant froze, as if his will had been suddenly ripped away.

The emerald flames in the Silent King's eyes flared violently; he snapped his gaze to Guilliman, then to Saint Guilliman.

At that moment, Tarsis's voice rang out: "Your Majesty, I am Tarsis, memory replica of Tarsis, Chief Archivist of the Kher-ubim, a false, hollow metal machine, a fool who once pushed his own friend into a furnace."

"Sixty million years ago, you asked me whether we should enact biological conversion. I answered: 'Nothing is more terrible than death—it is death that caused all our race's tragedies.'"

"I claimed I derived this answer from the Kher-ubim's past history, but I now realize I merely gave a wrong answer born of my own fear."

"At that time, Auran had a tumor in his brain, one that began to corrupt his brilliant mind. I feared that such a genius's mind would be destroyed by tumor and death—even though Auran himself cared nothing for it. That was my true reason for supporting biological conversion."

Tarsis stepped from the shadows and bowed deeply before the Silent King:

"Your Majesty, during the millions of years you were gone from this galaxy, I preserved, recorded, and studied the histories of countless races."

"Among them, I loved humanity most. Humanity resembles the Kher-ubim."

"In a galaxy where history spans centuries, millennia, even millions of years, humans, like the Kher-ubim, are fragile and short-lived—lifespan measured in decades."

"Yet they have twice become the galaxy's dominant race. Their culture never drowned in fear of death, but overflowed with vitality and passion. They faced death more calmly than we did, giving death meaning beyond suffering."

"Your Majesty, therefore, I offer you a new answer: the Kher-ubim's tragedies do not stem from death itself, but from the Kher-ubim's fear of death."

"But the Kher-ubim of that time never understood: what is more terrifying than death is the fear of death."

"Fear of death drove us to madly crave immortality, drove us to wage cruel wars against the Old Ones, drove us to be deceived by the Star Gods, drove us to become hollow metal shells."

"We achieved immortality—but at the cost of endless emptiness and meaninglessness. This is death more complete than death itself."

Tarsis stared at Szarak: "So, Your Majesty, I beg you—this time, accept my counsel."

"Alliance with humanity. Mend the errors you and I once made."

The air grew silent. Szarak stared fixedly at Tarsis, his eyes flickering and trembling, as if urgently pondering.

Then, the Silent King slowly turned his gaze away from Tarsis, as if unwilling to hear his words.

This attitude made Tarsis unbearable.