"Byrne, do you believe my words now?"
Byrne didn't answer directly. Instead, he retracted his third upright finger. "I still have a third question I haven't asked. I—"
Before he could finish, Joralan cut him off.
"Enough. I know what you want to ask. Cullen being drafted into the Imperial Guard years ago was a ruse. In reality, he returned to the Chapter's homeworld. It was then that I learned from his own lips everything that had happened during his years in exile."
Byrne's unasked question died in his throat. He wasn't annoyed; Joralan had guessed correctly. That was exactly what he wanted to know.
Back then, the news of the old man being drafted had come out of nowhere. In the original host's memory, the old man had left behind nothing but a pendant and a single sentence: "Take care of yourself." Byrne had always viewed it as the tragic helplessness of the lower classes, but looking at that memory now, the hidden truth was finally surfacing.
After a moment of silent reflection, Byrne asked, "Why? Why did he do it?"
Joralan sighed and pointed to the metal box on the table.
"He did it because he was dying. He needed to return to the homeworld before the end to have his gene-seed harvested."
Dying?
Byrne froze, immediately countering, "That doesn't make sense. You just said my presence suppressed the curse. How could he still..."
Joralan shook his head. "No, Byrne. You're mistaken. His death was caused by the 'backlash' of maintaining the Shadow-Cloak Camouflage for so long."
"Why would there be a backlash?" Byrne asked, confused.
"True, your presence allowed Cullen to harness the curse's energy, but maintaining that camouflage for long hours every single day... that cannot be done without a price. Even if the energy no longer warped his mind thanks to you, its nature remained unchanged. Cullen used his willpower to forcibly bind that power and use it for the disguise. That operation violates the natural laws of energy flow.
"Think of it like cupping a burning flame in your bare hands. Even if you don't touch the wick, the high temperature will slowly sear your skin, eventually penetrating the muscle and causing irreversible damage.
"The backlash was minor at first—just fatigue and fading stamina—but over decades, the damage accumulated. A few years ago, he realized his body had reached its limit. He couldn't even maintain the basic disguise anymore. So, he staged the Imperial Guard draft.
"It served two purposes: it gave him a legitimate reason to leave you, and it allowed him to use the Imperial Guard's logistics network to covertly return to the Chapter's homeworld. His only dying wish was for you to inherit this gene-seed."
With those words, Joralan pushed the metal box toward Byrne once more.
Inherit the gene-seed?
Unlike his initial reaction, Byrne looked at the box now with a completely different mindset. Before transmigrating, while reading Warhammer novels or playing the games, he had often fantasized about becoming a Space Marine—donning power armor, gripping a bolter, and fighting the forces of Chaos among the stars.
But back then, it was just an unrealistic daydream. Now that he was actually in the world of Warhammer, touching a real gene-seed, that fantasy was suddenly within reach. The feeling that followed wasn't joy—it was a dread that chilled him to the marrow.
He knew all too well what becoming a Space Marine entailed. It wasn't a simple character choice or a heroic narrative; it was the total surrender of oneself to a life of eternal war for the Imperium. From that moment on, he would no longer be 'Byrne.' He would be a weapon of the Emperor, a member of the Raven Guard. His life would be spent jumping between stars, slaughtering the most vicious daemons, the most stubborn heretics, and the most savage xenos until his final breath.
"I..."
Byrne opened his mouth, but his throat was parched. No words came. After a long pause, he stammered:
"I'm just an ordinary person from the Lower District. I run a tiny repair shop. I've never had a day of combat training. I'm not worthy of this legacy, and I can't carry the weight of the Raven Guard's mission."
Byrne pushed the metal box back across the table one more time.
Joralan watched him calmly. "Do you think Cullen became the Captain of the Honour Guard because he was 'born' for battle?"
Byrne blinked, then shook his head.
"He was like you—an ordinary man. He was born on a fringe world ravaged by Chaos, and he watched his family die under the claws of daemons. Cullen joined the Raven Guard for vengeance, and to protect others. In the beginning, he was as lost and weak as you are now. He nearly died multiple times during training. But he never gave up. Through sheer willpower and effort that exceeded any normal human, he climbed to the position he held."
Joralan leaned forward, his eyes turning sharp.
"A gene-seed is a legacy, not a shackle. You can choose to inherit it, become a Raven Guard, and continue your father's glory. Or, you can refuse and keep living your current life. But remember this, Byrne: in this world surrounded by Chaos and hidden threats, weakness itself is a sin. You may have used the Tax Collector's badge to escape the draft today, but what about tomorrow?
"When Kolor is invaded by Chaos, when the Imperial Guard lines collapse... how long will your 'stable life' last?"
Joralan's words hit Byrne like a sledgehammer.
Weakness itself is a sin.
In the world of Warhammer, that wasn't a hollow slogan; it was the fundamental truth etched into the bones of every commoner. He thought of the citizens in the Lower District struggling through hunger and fear, of Gray's apprentice taken by the press-gangs, and of the candidates in the desert who killed each other over a single battery.
Being a Tax Collector bought him time, but for how long? The "sturdy" walls of Blackstone City were little more than sandcastles against the coming tide of Chaos. If Kolor fell tomorrow, he would still be a lamb to the slaughter.
But becoming a Space Marine was irreversible. It was a weight he wasn't sure he could carry. Byrne stared down at the dark gold box, the metal glinting coldly under the amber lights.
Finally, after an agonizing internal struggle, Byrne stood up and gave Joralan his answer.
"I'm sorry. I still can't accept it."