The incandescent glow of the shadowless surgical lights illuminated the exposed chest cavity in microscopic detail. Even the tiniest capillaries had nowhere to hide beneath the cold radiance.
'Gareth, you need to focus.'
This low whisper ca from either the vox-caster or his own mories.
The brightness of the dical bay was cruel—
Filled with precision equipnt, the dical bay was brilliantly lit. Every minor error was infinitely magnified in such an environnt, exaggerating his every slight tremor.
The colleagues at the adjacent operating tables had already left one after another. The surgical staff was dwindling. So had completed their assigned tasks and departed to study with other Orders, while others had returned to their posts to begin writing the surgical reports they would submit to the Legion's Archives.
Alone in one of the brightly lit operating rooms, Gareth noticed this scene. He stared nervously at the exposed chest cavity before him, yet hesitated to make the incision.
No one offered help, and no one offered reprimands.
Everyone had their own duties to attend to.
The Dark Angels were perfect; they were all capable of handling their own problems.
Aside from the rhythmic hum of the instrunts and the steady readouts of the surgical monitors, there was only silence all around him.
The silence made Gareth's expression turn even uglier, as he suddenly recalled the words his father had once spoken.
'You are not skilled in dicine. If possible, you should grip a sword. You should beco a knight.'
A pressure as heavy as a mountain weighed down upon his shoulders.
'But I just wanted to...'
He could almost feel the gazes of disgust and doubt being cast upon him once more, forcing him to halt his scalpel.
There was bleeding.
An artery had ruptured due to being exposed for too long, instantly leaving Gareth at a loss for what to do.
A Dark Angel should never make such a mistake.
The highly skilled swordsman hastily picked through the instrunts, searching for the hemostatic gel. His movents took on a rare, frantic clumsiness.
'Perhaps I shouldn't be so obsessed with becoming an Apothecary.'
Gareth thought in frustration.
Caliban was gone. His father and mother were gone. Who was he even trying to prove himself to?
He was just like a fool stubbornly chasing the phantoms of the past.
But at that mont, a pair of dical forceps precisely clamped down on the bleeding area, and a vacuum tube swiftly cleared out the pooled blood.
"Do not question your own decisions, Gareth."
A clear, cold voice rang out, smoothing away the agitation in Gareth's heart like a stream of crisp spring water.
"Perhaps I truly cannot beco a qualified Apothecary, Your Highness."
Arthur's arrival made Gareth subconsciously feel at ease, yet it simultaneously deepened his sense of sha.
This was an unprecedented failure.
"Those who can pass the Adeptus Astartes screening are no diocrities."
Arthur said calmly. He helped clean up the surgical ss and stabilized the operation.
"Continue. Carefully recall what I taught you, and continue."
He did not intervene further in the surgery.
There was no questioning, and no harsh reprimands.
He was fully capable of safeguarding these two lives.
"...Yes."
Gareth let out a long sigh of relief, like a drowning man who had just been rescued. He gave a slight nod and imdiately began to recall his training.
His superhuman brain perfectly replicated the scenes he had witnessed in the past, replaying every detail as if it were happening right before his eyes.
The structures of the organs intended for preservation, the dissection of blood vessels, the careful isolation and excision.
Then, the implantation of the organs, and the anastomosis of the blood vessels and nerves.
Next, suturing the wound and injecting anti-rejection drugs.
Finally, repeating the cycle.
Gareth's scalpel was steady, just as it was when he gripped his sword.
The doubts in his mind faded away with every stitch. Those mocking voices gradually vanished from his perception, never to be heard again.
"Well done."
As the final bio-suture was tied off, Arthur's voice ca from behind him.
Gareth looked around, only then realizing that the operating room was completely empty. The chanical clock on the wall displayed the passing of ti—in a state of absolute focus, he had surprisingly completed surgeries on ten individuals in less than an hour.
And Arthur was standing there, reviewing each modification report.
This was the first phase, containing the gene-seed modification records of one hundred and thirty Adeptus Astartes, including both Blood Angels and Dark Angels.
Well, it was short by ten. Gareth hadn't written his yet.
"Rember to write your reports."
Arthur offered a brief reminder, then turned to leave.
"Wait, Your Highness."
Gareth spoke up suddenly, calling out to the departing knight.
Arthur looked slightly surprised.
Outside of mission hours, very few—no, absolutely zero Dark Angels would actively seek him out for a conversation.
Most of the ti, it was him explaining the reasoning to these warriors while assigning tasks.
Halting his steps, Arthur turned around and snapped the clipboard in his hands shut with a crisp click. He looked straight at Gareth and spoke.
"Go ahead."
Naturally, he was more than willing to hear what these outstanding warriors had to say.
After all, thanks to his childhood friend working like a total workhorse, he actually didn't have too many administrative duties at the mont, despite taking over the frontline military affairs. He had plenty of free ti.
Gareth breathed a sigh of relief. He quickly packed up the instrunts, secured the dical bay, and then stepped out into the corridor to join Arthur, who had been waiting for him.
Then, this warrior—who had only been twenty-eight years old before Caliban shattered, and was rely a little over a hundred years old even counting his days as a miner—voiced the question he had harbored for a long ti.
"When I first t you, I thought you would be a deeply arrogant figure, much like the Lion."
"You are naturally perfect, there is no doubt about that. Yet you have shown imnse patience..."
His Adam's apple bobbed.
"I am truly grateful to you, Your Highness."
"In this universe, choosing to walk a path that you desire, and ensuring it is the right one, requires a great deal of courage."
Arthur smiled, a hint of reminiscence gracing his features before he replied.
"In the future, the ranks of the Dark Angels will expand. No matter how many there are, and no matter what problems each mber might face, I will equally extend to them the exact sa patience I have shown you."
"But I am no god. I cannot always have the ti to listen to everyone's story, to help every individual, or to discern right from wrong every single ti."
"When that ti cos, I hope you can pass on the patient guidance you received from to others. Bring it to your fellow brothers-in-arms, and bring it to as well."
He knew soone was eavesdropping.
In the shadows of the corridor, between the gaps of the tallic walls, a few prying eyes were likely hiding. Their exact positions flashed through Arthur's mind, but he did not expose them.
Many people wished to be harsh on others while expecting others to be forgiving toward themselves.
Of course, there were also those who were equally harsh on themselves and everyone else.
The Emperor was like this, and so were many of the Primarchs.
Arthur held himself to incredibly high standards because he knew this universe was completely dogshit. You had to grind relentlessly just to survive.
Furthermore, his luck was quite good. After transmigrating, his hardware was top-tier, his cheats were powerful, he had three reliable companions, and he could evade the gaze of the Evil Gods.
But others were different.
Until Rases developed a thod to safely popularize knowledge of the Warp, even he, a transmigrator, was uncertain about exactly how much of the truth he could reveal to the native inhabitants of this universe.
And if he couldn't even reveal the truth, how could he possibly demand more from them?
Needs and contributions were sotis truly difficult to balance.
"Yes, Your Highness."
Gareth offered a solemn salute.
Arthur nodded in return.
"Thank you for your words, Gareth."
He gazed at the warrior before him—a man who still seed to live in the past—and considered this exchange to be a significant breakthrough.
In truth, he sotis struggled with how to provide these warriors with the worthy rewards they deserved. He was also well aware that he could not view them purely through the lens of a stereotype.
They deserved far more than just cold orders and rigorous training.
"You are all exceptional individuals. But no matter how outstanding you are, without communication, I cannot truly understand you. There are tis when I don't know where to start, so I imagine it's the sa for you."
Gareth unconsciously straightened his back, a subtle movent that did not escape Arthur's eyes.
Bathed in the warm white light, Arthur's face appeared much less stern beneath the soft illumination.
"If possible, I hope there will be more opportunities like this in the future—allowing us to understand one another, solve each other's difficulties and doubts, and progress together."
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