Ryan stayed at Teresa's mage tower for a day. The sorceress, taking advantage of the winter season perfect for magic research, shared a night of intimacy with Ryan before promptly asking him to leave. On the other hand, Veronica had plenty of free time and chose to accompany Ryan, basking in his attention, which left her with a radiant glow.
A few days before the Winterveil Festival, Ryan launched the "Earl's Grassroots Tour." As the champion chosen by the Lady of the Lake, Ryan Macado personally visited Redfish Village, meeting with the village elders, walking through the streets and alleys, and learning about the income and living conditions of the serfs. Since Ryan's arrival, the lives of the serfs had transformed drastically; hunger and poverty were gradually being driven out. Seeing the surplus in every household made the earl continuously praise the improvements.
Ryan then visited the home of the village elder in Redfish Village, offering holiday greetings and gifting two fish. He inquired kindly about the elder's family situation: "Is it convenient to go to the city? How's the public security? Are medical costs high?"
The elder responded with a smile, "It's all thanks to your excellent leadership, my lord. The roads are smooth now, security is assured, and medical care is accessible. Life is getting better and better."
After visiting the elder, Ryan and his entourage went to see the elderly Yves, a disabled veteran suffering from rheumatism and other ailments with no one to care for him. When the earl extended his greetings, the old soldier was moved to tears. "I'm 58 years old now, and I've witnessed the village's transformation. The environment is getting better, and life is becoming more beautiful, all thanks to your generosity, my lord."
"Are you eating well? Staying warm?" Ryan opened the old soldier's iron pot to find it simmering with a meaty porridge. The earl felt a surge of happiness and warmly encouraged Yves to report any difficulties to the knights. He stressed that retired soldiers who had fought against evil for Brittany's stability, unity, and harmony had made significant contributions. The kingdom's knights in each village should pay attention to the needs of these veterans and active soldiers, ensuring they feel the Lady of the Lake's and chivalry's care. Moreover, they must intensify the training of soldiers so they would bleed less during times of war.
Following the visits, the Winterveil Festival arrived. Sulia, formally assuming her role as the lady of the manor, gathered Ryan's entire household for a grand turkey feast. During the banquet, discussions delved deeply into how to develop Ryan's potential, manage his public time, and who would get priority in various matters, reaching numerous consensuses.
Ryan was barred from attending this feast, leaving him unaware of the topics discussed. However, he later learned from the more talkative Olica that after many rounds of competition, the women seemed to have signed some sort of "agreement," with even the Lady of the Lake putting her signature on it.
But Ryan had no time to worry about the feast.
The Emperor had arrived, bringing with him the Word Bearer Primarch, Rogal.
On the day of the Winterveil Festival, deep within the Shalong Forest, in an underground cavern.
Four Custodian Guards watched the surroundings warily, ready to respond to any disturbance with swift precision. Angron sat to the side, his expression complex as he watched the Emperor channel his immense power to purify his former brother. Muttering, he said, "Father, I thought you'd bring in Perturabo first. That way, I could use my axe to chop off his annoying face."
The Emperor briefly glanced at the straw hat on Angron's head before refocusing on converting Rogal. "Capturing Perturabo, even if I personally took action, would require us to be prepared to lose at least three thousand Custodian Guards, and we'd only have a fifty percent chance of success."
"That's Perturabo for you. He's been fortifying his stronghold for ten thousand years, just waiting for someone to attack. Too bad no one will." Angron grumbled, "Even at my craziest, I knew not to mess with Perturabo and his fortress."
"There's no such thing as an unbreakable fortress or a judgment that won't come. Rogal will pay for his actions." Clarkson, the Raven Guard Primarch, stood nearby. His skin was pale as snow, his hair black as graphite. Though usually taciturn, he spoke a few more words than usual, hinting at a deeper sentiment—if there was one to be had.
"If judgment is always delayed, it's as if it never comes." Ryan said, channeling energy to purify Rogal. This Daemon Primarch's strength wasn't as formidable as before, making the process easier. "Judgment has been delayed for ten thousand years, and for many traitors, it will be delayed even longer."
"To eradicate evil thoroughly, all enemies must be destroyed. Their breath must be erased, their souls and bodies purged from existence, their history and records obliterated. Only when the names and tales of our enemies are forgotten by time will true victory be ours." Clarkson quoted from the Astartes Canon, written by Guilliman, to Ryan.
"That's exactly what Rogal did." The Emperor spoke coldly, looking at the Word Bearer Primarch lying on the stone slab, his face devoid of emotion. "He grew up on a planet that worshipped the Dark Gods. Faith was all he learned. Before I reached his world, he worshipped the Chaos Gods. After I arrived, he shifted his faith to me. When I eventually stopped him, Rogal felt lost. He realized his mistake, but his soul still needed an object of worship. Without one, he wandered like a desert traveler, desperately searching for any source of water. Rogal's essence was filled with faith. When he could no longer worship me, he sought a new deity."
"He started exploring countless scriptures and scrolls, searching for the true gods, the universe's ultimate truth, and the nature of me, the so-called Emperor. Eventually, he reached the Eye of Terror and encountered the Chaos Gods, embracing his new faith with ecstatic fervor. Previously, he had lost his purpose, but the Chaos Gods provided him one. Rogal, like a dog seeing a frisbee, didn't care about the target; he just needed one. Chaos gave him one, and he led the Word Bearers in total devotion."
"The more devout he was before, the more he hates now. Isn't that right, Rogal, my son?"
The purification ended, leaving the bald-headed Word Bearer Primarch, whose body was covered in ancient runes, seeming utterly devoid of spirit. He spoke with a dead tone, "You've used your supreme power to strip away everything from me, Father, Great Emperor. I painstakingly found my place, and you've ruthlessly taken my faith from me again. Even now, you refuse to acknowledge you are a god, don't you?"
"How long will you cling to that lie?" Rogal's words elicited a slight change in the Emperor's expression. The Lord of Mankind's displeasure was evident in his tone. "I won't argue with you about this anymore; it's pointless. A thousand years have passed, and the great mistake was made. Humanity was almost lost forever."
"That's exactly why humanity needs faith. We exist to believe in something. Father, look at your Empire. What has it become? The only thing keeping it together is the faith I brought to it." Rogal pressed on, staring at his creator with a fanatical intensity. "The Age of Apostasy proved everything. Two points: Humanity needs faith, and you are a god."
"…I will change this." The Emperor paused in silence before continuing. "In my own way."
"In your way? Yes, your way. Because no one can oppose you. No one can stand against you. Who could? The Inquisition? The High Lords of Terra? The Ecclesiarchy? No, none of them can stop you. They rule your Empire in your name, but now that you've returned, they're hoist by their own petard. And you, you have become what you once despised the most." Rogal's tone, though gentle like a benevolent priest, was as sharp as a blade. "Look at this grand feast: Chaos, the Necrons, the Orks, the Tyranids—they're feasting on your Empire's rotting corpse. If not for the hope ignited by your return, the Empire would have perished long ago. Even so, you still insist you aren't a god?"
"I am not a god, Rogal. This is the last time I'll say it." The Emperor remained icy and calm. "Stop your pretentious judgment and delusions. The path to isolate Chaos and pursue enlightenment and evolution is humanity's final course. I am not, and never will be, a god."
Ryan, Angron, and Clarkson sat in a row, each on a bench, sipping on dwarven Bugman's ale while listening to the exchange between the Emperor and Rogal.
"Brother, want some sausages?" Ryan offered a plate.
"Sure, I like the black pepper flavor." Angron nodded.
"Clarkson, brother?"
"Honey-flavored."
"Here, this is top-quality honey."
The three Primarchs enjoyed their feast. Unlike Guilliman, who constantly pondered over everything, Angron and Clarkson were not ones to dwell on such matters. For Ryan, the Emperor was simply his father, nothing more. Whether or not the Emperor was a god was irrelevant to him. As the Grey Knights' Primarch, his duty was to fight evil in the
Emperor's name.
Meanwhile, Rogal and the Emperor's debate continued.
"So you think your Imperial Truth can defeat Chaos? You think Chaos is that simple? Chaos comes from the Warp, which is the sum of all emotions from all life forms in the universe. The more you fight it, the more you realize you are fighting yourself. Do you know why I embraced Chaos? Because Chaos is indestructible. It always has been and always will be. Do you know your Imperial Truth almost led to the birth of a fifth Chaos God?" Rogal's face reflected complex emotions—a mix of clarity and hopelessness. "What is the essence of a god? It's the collective consciousness of all living beings forming a self-aware entity. And you, Father, your projection in the Warp is an avatar strengthened by the faith of the masses. You may deny it, but something has changed over the ten thousand years you've been on the Golden Throne. I fell because I accepted you weren't a god, but everything I found out contradicted what you taught me."
"You are a god, my Father. When my deity tells me he isn't a god, but I discover he is, it creates such conflict, such division. You tore me apart. You drove me mad! You overturned everything I believed in with a single word!"
"Do you have any idea how painful it is to force someone to repeatedly deny their faith? But you did it to me twice! You forced a person who worshipped gods from childhood to worship you! Then you forced your most devout follower to renounce his faith again! I was forced to kneel before you and admit I was wrong." Rogal's voice reached a desperate crescendo. "After I was made to accept you weren't a god, I found countless signs that you were. But I had already accepted you weren't, and it nearly drove me insane! I wasn't your toy. Rather than endure your lies, I embraced Chaos, for they were happy to accept faith!"
"So I admit, during the Great Crusade, some of my methods were flawed. I believed the spread of the Imperial Truth would protect humanity from corruption. But I didn't realize that imposing it forcefully had the opposite effect, because it couldn't offer spiritual solace. Compared to using reason and science to enlighten humanity, religious fervor can more easily unite the masses." The Emperor nodded, acknowledging Rogal's perspective. "We need some changes. Some subtle changes."
"I'm glad we agree, Father. If only you had realized this sooner, I would never have betrayed you." Rogal remained angry, feeling empty both physically and spiritually. He instinctively reached for a final lifeline. "You wouldn't have gone to such lengths to capture and convert me without needing me for something. Tell me, Father, what do you want me to do? You need me, right? Right?"
"I need a new Lexicon. A revised text, with more elegant illustrations and more enlightening stories. I need someone to help manage and reform the Ecclesiarchy." The Emperor spoke to Rogal. "You are a crucial piece in my plan."
"Ah…" Rogal let out a sigh of relief. This was what he needed—to be needed by his god. Faith and a sense of purpose were what defined Rogal.
"Give me some time to think, Father. I don't even know whether I want the Book of Lorgar or the Imperial Creed. You want a Daemon Prince, a Dark Apostle, to become the Primarch overseeing your Ecclesiarchy? You want to shatter my faith a third time. I know, after being converted back, I can't return to Chaos, but I need some time." Rogal clutched his head in agony. "You always make it seem so easy."
"Take your time. While I travel to Lucitania and back, stay here with Ryan. Then we'll return to Terra together." The Emperor closed his eyes, falling into a brief silence as if reminiscing. No one knew what thoughts ran through the mind of the Lord of Mankind.
"Ryan." The silence ended as the Emperor turned to Ryan. "Bring your wife to Angron's forest cabin."
"Sulia-Cumani-Antrel-De-Winfurt, whom I have bestowed the title of Imperial Princess, I wish to meet her."
"Yes!"
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