Lady Euten stood atop the towering walls of Macragge, the gentle breeze softly rustling her long hair.
Caelan asked, "Are you truly not going to see him off?"
"A child must eventually set sail on his own; we should not become his shackles." Euten watched the fading silhouette of the expeditionary force, then suddenly turned her head. "Caelan, did I spoil him too much in the past?"
"What defines spoiling? And who gets to define it?"
Euten rolled her eyes at him. "I don't need a lecture from you. I am not your child!"
Caelan shook his head helplessly. "Personally, I don't think so. A Primarch requires parental affection. Spoiling is unconditional pampering."
"But you're clearly not that kind of person. You've never been soft on him when strictness was needed."
Euten asked, "Then what exactly counts as spoiling?"
"For example, if Guilliman killed someone, and you said to him: 'Son, it's alright, you can kill whoever you want, because you're the Consul's son.'"
Euten glared at him. "Are you trying to raise Guilliman to be a tyrant?"
Caelan burst into laughter. "A tyrant? I think that would at best cultivate a human garbage."
"So you see, the love you give him is far from spoiling."
"You're just fulfilling a mother's proper duty, giving him the maternal love he needs in just the right measure."
"When Konnor took him from the gestation pod, when you held him in your arms, Guilliman engraved that warmth in his heart."
Euten asked, "Then what about you?"
Caelan replied, "I am his godfather. I can kill whoever I want."
"Avitus?" Euten inquired softly. "Has he been thoroughly investigated?"
Caelan shook his head. "Not yet, but I think he's very problematic."
.....
Illyrium was nestled within the continuous, rolling mountain ranges of northern Macragge.
This vast northern mountainous region constituted Macragge's unique topographical features, similar to Olympia yet with its own distinct characteristics.
Olympia was a world dominated by plateaus, and similarly, three-quarters of Macragge's landmass was blanketed by bleak and perilous mountain ranges.
While the Olympians built their cities nestled directly between the mountains, the people of Macragge chose to construct their city-states upon the limited plains.
The northern mountains were no mere barren wasteland; they spanned an immense, labyrinthine territory. The region was a crisscrossing network of ridges and deep canyons, offering a natural sanctuary for the mountain tribes.
The barbarians could not only conceal themselves by exploiting the complex terrain, but they frequently used the mountain passes to launch raids against Macragge's frontier towns. It was precisely due to these geographical advantages that the barbarian tribes had managed to endure for over a millennium in their defiance against Macragge.
To guard against these incursions, the Macraggeans had no choice but to amass heavy military forces along the border. The faction permanently tasked with combatting the barbarians was none other than the First Legion of Macragge.
"Father!" Orfeo dismounted swiftly from his horse, offering a salute to the man clad in full battle armor.
The man kept his face stern, his deep voice resonating with absolute authority: "There are no fathers and sons in a military encampment. Address me as Legion Commander!"
"Understood, Legion Commander!" Orfeo corrected himself instantly.
Guilliman raised his fist flat against his chest. "Legion Commander Cassandros, my father asked me to convey his warmest greetings to you."
Gaius Cassandros's harsh, cold expression softened slightly. "I have not returned to Macragge in quite some time. How is Consul Konor faring lately?"
Guilliman replied, "Thank you for your concern. My father is in excellent health."
"He often speaks of the days when he fought alongside you in the north in his youth, saying they are the most precious memories of his life."
"Many years ago, Konnor greeted my father in the same way. You truly act like biological father and son!"
A trace of reminiscence also appeared in Gaius's eyes. Military service was an essential rite of passage for Macraggians.
In Macragge's traditional view, only through the tempering of battle could they grow into true men.
He and Konnor were like that in their youth, and now it was their children's turn.
This, too, was a form of legacy.
Guilliman stated, "We are father and son."
Not bound by blood, yet closer than blood.
"You speak the truth. I was presumptuous." Gaius did not wallow in sentimentality for long, his expression returned to seriousness. "Come with me. Your father wants me to take good care of you. Let me see if you actually need my care."
Gaius understood his closest friend's character intimately. Konor was by no means the type of person who would seek special treatment for his adoptive son, and Konor knew full well that Gaius would never show favoritism regardless.
Even if it were Orfeo, if he were simply incompetent, Gaius would never indulge him.
The unworthy would not inherit his legacy. He wasn't too old yet; he had plenty of time to start over with another child.
Fortunately, Orfeo was exceptionally outstanding.
His swordsmanship was unparalleled among Macragge's younger generation.
Even as a battle-hardened Commander, Gaius found himself losing more often than winning during their sparring sessions. Despite being incredibly harsh on Orfeo, he frequently boasted about his son to outsiders.
Konor was undoubtedly cut from the same cloth. By explicitly requesting Gaius to take care of Guilliman, he was actually prompting Gaius to test Guilliman. It wasn't meant to demoralize his adoptive son, but rather to show off. Konor held absolute faith that his son could effortlessly best Gaius.
Though Gaius saw right through Konor's little calculation, he genuinely wished to test just how much true capability Guilliman possessed. Otherwise, he could never comfortably hand over control of the Legion to the boy. Konor's directive was for Guilliman to assume absolute command over this northern campaign, leaving zero margin for error.
While Konor was the Consul, he was no absolute dictator, and Gaius wouldn't blindly follow orders without validation.
Gaius led the group to the training grounds and commanded in a deep voice, "Orfeo, spar with him. Let me see how much you have grown during this period."
"As you command, Legion Commander!" Orfeo drew his sword with crisp precision, his eyes shimmering with the natural pride and confidence of youth. "Roboute, when it comes to intellect, I am indeed inferior to you. But when it comes to martial prowess, you are no match for me!"
Guilliman's achievements in political strategy and cultural cultivation were unparalleled, but he had never displayed any extraordinary power.
Although Guilliman's growth rate far exceeded ordinary people, he was still mortal, and Orfeo was confident he could defeat him!
Guilliman stood opposite Orfeo, his expression unusually calm. "Come on, Orfeo. This is your only chance to defeat me."
This wasn't arrogance; it was fact.
He was still growing, while Orfeo had already reached his peak.
Even if Orfeo were to become his son later, the gap between an Astartes and a Primarch would still be despairingly vast.
This was Orfeo's final opportunity.
Orfeo merely considered Guilliman's words provocation, but he didn't lose his cool. He wouldn't lose his composure over such a cheap taunt.
The two faced each other with swords, slowly circling the training ground.
They scrutinized each other's movements, seeking openings.
Although Orfeo was confident in his swordsmanship, he would not become complacent in battle. This was what his father taught him.
Never underestimate your enemy, even if he seems harmless.
Guilliman had nothing to do with being harmless. Orfeo even suspected a trick.
Because Guilliman's stance was very relaxed. Orfeo didn't need to find an opening; his entire body was an opening!
Guilliman was certainly not a fool. 'Why would he adopt such a stance?'
'Was he luring an attack?'
Orfeo's thoughts raced like lightning. Thousands of threads eventually condensed into a single, sharp blade!
Let him scheme and calculate; I will cut through it all with one sword!
Clang!
Orfeo's blade suddenly thrust out, swift as a storm, but was stopped by a precise parry just as it was about to touch Guilliman.
The crisp sound of metal clashing made Orfeo's pupils constrict. He immediately concluded that Guilliman's swordsmanship was certainly no inferior to his!
If so, then he needed a swift victory even more!
Orfeo dared not slacken at all. He flicked his wrist and launched an even fiercer offensive.
Sword-light poured down like a torrential rain. Each strike carried the sound of tearing air, yet he was still unable to break through Guilliman's seemingly casual parrying defense.
Guilliman seemed able to predict his sword moves in advance, blocking the path of his blade every time.
Thirty rounds passed in the blink of an eye. Orfeo's rhythm had already begun to falter.
The opening appeared during the defensive recovery gap after a feint.
Guilliman's blade suddenly thrust out, passing through Orfeo's defense at an incredible angle.
The cold gleam pressed tightly against Orfeo's neck. His Adam's apple bobbed with difficulty, and his parrying sword dropped.
A trace of bitterness appeared on Orfeo's face. "I've lost. Roboute, you've really hidden yourself deeply!"
Guilliman comforted him, "Don't be so hard on yourself. I am born gifted with extraordinary talents that surpass ordinary men. Your swordsmanship is the product of true, dedicated strength."
He had never hidden it; he simply disdained using it.
Martial prowess could defeat an enemy's body, but the enemy still possessed an unyielding spirit.
Only by utilizing his intellect could he crush or even influence others on a spiritual level, turning even enemies into his companions.
A hint of unwillingness flickered in Orfeo's eyes. His proud swordsmanship couldn't even last thirty rounds against Guilliman!
He had trained hard in swordsmanship for half his life, why did he lose so decisively?
He longed for a rematch, but reason told him.
Even if they fought a hundred times, the result wouldn't change.
But he didn't understand that a rematch would only result in an even more crushing defeat.
Guilliman could have ended the fight in the first round. Thirty rounds was the dignity he left for Orfeo.
Orfeo would still be unwilling now, but he would soon feel relieved.
There was no comparison between a mortal and a Primarch. Losing to Guilliman was actually an honor.
At least, as a mortal, he had fought a Primarch for thirty rounds. Such an achievement was simply unprecedented and would likely never be repeated!
Gaius's gaze swept over the two, finally settling on Guilliman. "You have shown me a wonderful fight."
"Father." Orfeo lowered his head.
Gaius approached his son, placing his hand firmly on his head. "There is no need to be discouraged. You remain the most exceptional swordsman among Macragge's younger generation. But you must never measure yourself against him; he is no mere mortal."
Gaius looked at the other young man. "Guilliman, come with me. The rest of you are dismissed."
Guilliman followed Gaius silently into the First Legion's command center.
Gaius suddenly stopped, turned to face Guilliman, and asked in a low, threatening voice: "Guilliman, what exactly are you?"
Guilliman met his gaze and said calmly: "I am Roboute Guilliman, son of Konnor Guilliman, Tarasha Euten, and Caelan. I am a Macraggian."
Gaius snorted coldly. "You could have crushed Orfeo in the first round. Why did you drag it out so long?"
"Orfeo is my friend. I didn't want to destroy his confidence."
"Then why didn't you just lose?"
"I cannot lose. Do you think your child would take pride in a gifted victory?"
A brief silence fell in the command center. Gaius's stern expression suddenly relaxed. "I hope you truly consider Orfeo a friend."
Guilliman replied, "Just as you and my father are friends."
Gaius chuckled lowly, turned, and activated the tactical hololith. A holographic map of the northern mountains instantly expanded.
The craggy mountain ranges were like the spine of a giant beast. Dozens of red markers flickered at the passes.
"The hill tribes have spent centuries building fortresses and choke points at all the mountain passes, turning Illyrium into an iron barrel."
"Only they know the correct routes into the northern mountains. How do you plan to conquer them?"
"Let me state clearly: I will not have my legion forcefully assault the passes. That would only drag us into a war of attrition with the hill tribes, contesting every inch of ground."
Guilliman quickly scanned the map, reached out and gestured on the projection, the scale continuously enlarging.
"Here."
Gaius frowned. "Kashum Falls? That place is surrounded by mountains on all sides, enclosed by four main passes."
"Even if we captured one, reinforcements from other directions could complete an encirclement in a short time. There's no strategic value."
Guilliman explained, "From a military perspective, indeed. But for the hill tribes, the political significance of Kashum Falls is no less than that of Macragge."
Gaius asked, "Why?"
"The ancestors of the hill tribes are buried around the lake at Kashum Falls. It is their holy site."
You may advance and be absolutely irresistible, if you make for the enemy's weak points; you may retire and be safe from pursuit if your movements are more rapid than those of the enemy.
This comes from The Art of War, a classic work of ancient Terra.
Even in the star-faring era, its wisdom remained entirely timeless.
Gaius's pupils contracted, exceptionally shocked by the intelligence Guilliman provided.
"We have fought against the barbarians for centuries, yet we know nothing of this. How did you find out?"
Guilliman answered, "They thought they had hidden it well, but this ancient history is recorded in Macragge's libraries."
"And you found it?"
Guilliman pointed to his head. "I didn't need to find it. I've read every book."
For a Primarch, reading equals memory.
He was a library himself.
By diligently digging deeper, he could always uncover many little-known secrets.
Only a Primarch possessed such ability. A mortal would spend a lifetime unable to even memorize the library's catalog, let alone the entire library!
Gaius's eyes flickered. "How many men do you need?"
"Thirty thousand."
"Alright, you shall have them!" This number was far lower than Gaius had expected.
Gaius turned to face Guilliman and said solemnly: "I will also have the First Legion feint attacks on the other passes, pinning the barbarians to their defensive lines. You will defeat the barbarians at Kashum Falls!"
Guilliman did not commit himself. "Then, I will end the war."
Though his contact with Guilliman had been brief, Gaius already had profound faith in this young man's exceptional strategic vision.
The mere fact that he had identified Kashum Falls already outshone Macragge's other commanders.
Even if he lacked experience in field command, as long as he succeeded in seizing the barbarians' holy site, Gaius could immediately bring troops to his support.
Guilliman didn't need to defeat the enemy; he only needed to hold them down.
The barbarians would surely abandon their pass defenses for the holy site. Once they lost the sturdy defenses of the passes,
The barbarians would find it difficult to contend against the Macraggians!
The two discussed specific action plans and tactical deductions for three hours. When Guilliman walked out of the command center, dusk was already deepening.
Orfeo had been waiting outside for a long time, his sword clutched tightly in his hand.
"Roboute!" Orfeo walked towards him with a somber expression. "One more spar. Don't hold back. Let me completely give up!"
Guilliman was silent for a moment, then gave a slight nod. "As you wish."
They walked silently towards the training ground. The last rays of the sunset cast long shadows.
Orfeo suddenly threw his sword towards Guilliman, while simultaneously lunging forward like a cheetah, launching a long-planned surprise attack!
Yet Guilliman's movements were still faster than he expected. In the flash of a moment, he caught the spinning hilt and parried Orfeo's blade at the same time. A cold gleam flashed, and the icy blade was already at Orfeo's throat.
Guilliman was too fast. Orfeo had no ability to fight back.
"I lost."
Orfeo's expression grew even more bitter. He knew Guilliman had held back, but he hadn't expected the gap to be this large.
Defeat came so sudden and overwhelming. He was now completely rid of the idea of sparring with Guilliman.
Thirty rounds, he had at least had a chance to win, however slim.
But if he lost in one move, there was no need to humiliate himself further.
Guilliman sheathed his sword and extended his hand to Orfeo. "You shouldn't compare yourself to me, Orfeo."
Orfeo took his hand, smiling wryly. "Because you're not mortal?"
"Yes." Guilliman said. "Just as I don't compare myself to you. The ones I compare myself to are my brothers."
"You have brothers?"
Orfeo's eyes widened. Consul Konnor had no biological sons, and Guilliman was also an adopted son. Who were these brothers he spoke of?
"They are not Macraggians."
Orfeo immediately felt his psychological balance restored, and said half-jokingly, "At least I'm still the second-best swordsman in Macragge, then."
Guilliman shook his head. "No, you are the best swordsman in Macragge."
"Stop joking. I can't beat you."
Guilliman shook his head. "I am not a swordsman."
He was a Primarch. There was no need for him to seek honor in any one area.
Astartes Legions have Legion Champions, but no Primarch would compete with his own sons for the honor of Champion.
Their goals were far grander than those of the Astartes, and the honors they sought could only be matched by other Primarchs.
There was a fundamental difference between the two.
But even honor needs restraint. Pursuing honor endlessly is no different from arrogance.
.....
30 Chapters [email protected]/DaoistJinzu