348: Chapter 350 The Archangel's Sword! The Lord of Lamentations' Gift of Support

Night fell.

The night sky of Parmenio was eternally polluted by the violet-red band of light torn by the Great Rift.

That band of light stretched across the firmament.

Like a wound that could never heal.

Zhang Yuan did not return to the Command Center.

He walked through the passage in the northwest corner of the port area.

Heading towards the temporary camp of the Lamenters Chapter.

The footsteps of his archon power armor made dull echoes on the metal walkway.

Ty Adronetus and Callista followed silently behind him.

One gold, one black.

Two shadows.

The Lamenters' camp was very quiet.

There were no sounds of training.

No metallic scraping sounds of weapon maintenance.

When Zhang Yuan walked into the encampment, he saw that most of the yellow-armored warriors were resting.

But one person was not.

Foros stood on an open-air platform at the very edge of the camp.

His tartaros pattern terminator armor shimmered with a cold light in the night.

He had his back to Zhang Yuan.

Facing the direction of the Hekaton Plains.

The wind blowing from that direction carried a stench.

But Foros did not move.

Like a statue cast on the edge of a cliff.

Zhang Yuan signaled Ty and Callista to stay behind.

He walked over alone.

"Chapter Master."

Foros did not turn around.

"Commander."

His voice was as flat as a windless lake.

Zhang Yuan walked to his side.

And stood still.

The two of them looked into the distance together.

The outline of the Hekaton Plains could not be clearly seen in the night.

Only sporadic flashes of artillery fire occasionally illuminated the horizon.

That was the siege tank conducting night suppression fire.

"Cyrus told me about your experience," Zhang Yuan said.

"Most of it."

Foros did not respond.

Zhang Yuan waited for a while.

Then changed his approach.

"In the Warp," he said.

"How long were you inside?"

Foros finally moved slightly.

He lowered his head.

Looking at the knuckles of his terminator armor gauntlets.

"I don't know."

"There is no time inside."

"Sometimes I feel like a day has passed."

"Sometimes I feel like a thousand years have passed."

His voice remained calm.

Unnaturally calm.

Zhang Yuan remembered the warning from Roboute Guilliman.

The Warp storm of the Black Rage.

What flowed in there was the anger and despair of Sanguinius before his death.

A person soaked in that kind of thing—

"What did you see inside?" Zhang Yuan asked.

Foros remained silent for a long time.

Long enough that Zhang Yuan thought he wouldn't answer.

"I saw a palace,"

Foros finally spoke.

"Golden."

"Very large."

"So large that no matter how I walked, I couldn't reach the end."

"The palace was full of corpses."

"Corpses wearing armor of various colors."

"Blue. Green. White. Red."

"And golden."

Zhang Yuan's breathing paused for a half-beat.

Golden—Custodes.

That was the scene of the Siege of Terra.

The final act of the Horus Heresy.

The place where Sanguinius died.

"I walked among those corpses for a very, very long time."

Foros's voice had no fluctuations.

No fear.

No sadness.

Only a statement.

"Then I heard crying."

"Not the crying of a mortal."

"It was—"

He paused.

"My father's."

A faint warmth suddenly came from Zhang Yuan's left wrist.

He looked down.

The icon of Sanguinius.

The consumption value of high-energy gas jumped from one point per second to three points per second.

Then jumped back to one.

The remnant soul was fluctuating.

Responding.

Zhang Yuan looked up and looked at Foros again.

"You heard his crying."

"And then?"

"Then I woke up."

Foros turned around.

Facing Zhang Yuan.

The volume of the terminator armor made him nearly half a meter taller than Zhang Yuan.

His gaze fell from above.

"I don't know if that was real or an illusion."

"But after that."

"The storm of the Black Rage no longer eroded me."

"Those anger and despair—they are still there."

"But they are no longer directed at me."

"They—"

He hesitated.

"It's like they are protecting me."

Zhang Yuan did not speak.

He was digesting this information.

The essence of the Black Rage Warp storm was the psychic imprint of Sanguinius before his death.

If Foros heard the crying of Sanguinius in the storm—

If the storm turned from erosion to protection—

What did that mean?

It meant that even ten thousand years after death.

Even if the soul had shattered into fragments.

Sanguinius was still trying to protect his child.

A wave of emotion that did not belong to him surged in Zhang Yuan's chest.

Warm.

Heavy.

Carrying something indescribable that only a father would have when looking at his child.

That was the echo of the remnant soul.

He took a deep breath.

And suppressed that emotion.

"Foros."

"Present."

"You saved yourself in the Warp."

"But your brothers were outside—using three hundred lives to hold on through every day you were gone."

Foros's body tensed slightly.

That was the first time he showed an emotional reaction in this entire conversation.

Extremely subtle.

But Zhang Yuan caught it.

"You think it was your decision that led them to this point today."

Zhang Yuan's voice was not heavy.

"Badab. The Penitence Crusade. The Tyranid meat grinder."

"You think it's your fault."

Foros did not deny it.

His silence was an admission.

"I'm not going to lie to you and say it wasn't your fault."

Zhang Yuan looked straight into his eyes.

"You made a choice, and choices have a price."

"But what the Imperium owes the Lamenters—is far more than what the Lamenters owe the Imperium."

"These words are not mine."

"They are the Regent's."

Foros's terminator gauntlet clenched into a fist.

The servo-motors in the knuckles made a slight sound.

"Roboute Guilliman?"

"I spoke with him," Zhang Yuan said.

"The decisive battle of the Hekaton Plains—the Lamenters will participate."

"After you finish this battle."

"The merits of the Parmenio campaign are enough to offset all old accounts."

"Not an absolution."

"It's what you earned back yourselves."

"The Regent's exact words were—'Let him fight, we'll talk after it's over.'"

Foros's fist slowly relaxed.

He lowered his head.

Looking at the blank emblem spot on his chest armor.

"The glory of the Lamenters—"

His voice finally had a crack in it.

Extremely thin.

Like the first crack appearing on an ice surface.

"I thought I would never find it again."

"You found it back," Zhang Yuan said.

"Along with yourself."

He extended his right hand.

Not a pat on the shoulder from above.

Not a salute from below.

But holding it out horizontally.

Forearm horizontal.

Palm inward.

This was the unique rite of side-by-side among Space Marines.

Two warriors.

Standing as equals.

Clasping forearms.

It did not represent submission.

It meant "I am by your side."

Foros stared at that arm for three seconds.

The deep tungsten color of the archon power armor shone with a dark glint under the violet-red night light.

Then he extended his own right arm.

The forearm of the tartaros pattern terminator and the forearm of the archon power armor clasped together.

Metal colliding with metal.

Making a crisp sound.

"The soul of the Great Angel is within you."

Foros's voice no longer had cracks.

It became stable again.

"The Lamenters are your sword."

"Use us."

"In the places where we should be used."

Zhang Yuan nodded.

Clasped for three seconds.

Let go.

He turned and walked back.

He paused when he reached the edge of the platform.

Without turning back.

"Foros."

"Present."

"That crying in the Warp palace—"

Zhang Yuan raised his left wrist.

The icon of Sanguinius was glowing quietly.

"Was not an illusion."

He left after saying that.

Foros stood alone in place.

The night wind of Parmenio blew over from the Hekaton Plains.

Stinking.

Cold.

But inside his terminator chest armor.

A warmth that lasted for several seconds came.

That was not the residual heat of the armor.

That was something else.

He was not sure what it was.

But he closed his eyes.

For the first time.

For the first time since returning from the Warp.

The corners of his mouth moved slightly.

The movement was so small that if someone were standing in front of him, they might not see it.

But it was indeed a smile.

—

The lights in the temporary prayer room were dim.

Only three candles were burning on the iron rack.

The flames flickered in the airflow seeping in from the sea breeze.

Mathieu sat in front of a simple wooden table.

The old data slate was spread out on the table.

The text on the screen had already filled several pages.

"Parmenio Gospel—Record of the Redeemer, Volume I"

His stylus swiped across the last line on the screen.

"...When the first batch of Astra Militarum soldiers wearing the new armor entered the defensive line shrouded in Nurgle's toxic fog, not a single one showed symptoms of poisoning. The filtration system completely isolated the physical carriers of the Warp plague. For the first time, when facing Nurgle's walking corpses, the soldiers did not need to wrap wet cloths around their mouths and noses. For the first time, they could stand straight and fire their guns. For the first time—everyone walked back alive after the battle."

He stopped writing.

He looked up.

The candlelight reflected on his young, thin face.

He was hesitating whether to write the next paragraph.

That paragraph about himself.

About the backs of those soldiers he saw on the roof of the abandoned warehouse.

About the thing called 'confidence' he saw in those backs.

About the conclusion he dared not speak out loud.

A knock on the door interrupted his thoughts.

"Father Mathieu."

The voice of an attendant came from outside the door.

"The people you wanted to see have arrived."

Mathieu quickly closed the data slate.

And tucked it into the inside of his robe.

"Please come in."

The door opened.

Two figures walked in one after another.

The first was wearing a full set of Battle Sisters armor.

There were more scars on the armor than paint.

The emblem of the Order of the Blade Guardian was engraved on the shoulder armor.

That was Seraphina Voss.

Following her was a nun with a more solemn demeanor.

The silver armor had a soft luster.

Canoness Irena of the Order of the Silver Mouse.

The two nuns walked into the prayer room.

Their gazes fell on Mathieu at the same time.

Mathieu stood up.

Twiddling the prayer beads at his waist.

"Thank you both Canonesses for coming in your busy schedule."

His voice was steady.

But his fingers holding the prayer beads—tightened slightly.

"I asked you here."

"Because there is a very important matter to discuss."

He looked at them.

The candle flames flickered between the three of them.

Mathieu did not continue.

The door of the prayer room closed again.

The sea breeze let out a whimper in the crack of the door.

Isolated outside by the thick walls.