Warhammer 40K: System Error, I Summoned the Arch-Traitor! Chapter 73 - I Wait for You, I Forgive You

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In Guilliman's and Horus's mories, the Emperor of Mankind had always been a cunning father.

He was skilled at concealing his thoughts. When he spoke, he fixed on a handful of words, or repeated a single phrase, leaving others to speculate and puzzle over his aning.

For Horus, this had been especially true. He had been the most favored first-found son, and he cared more about his father's attitude than any of his brothers. He had spent hours, sotis days, turning over a single sentence, a single word. It had only deepened the exhaustion eating at him from the inside.

But now, that desiccated, still-living corpse on the Throne was completely unfiltered. Saying whatever ca to mind.

Crude. Absurd. Utterly without ceremony.

So much so that the two brothers briefly wondered whether this was truly the Emperor's real voice.

"Father, is it really you?"

Guilliman asked, his voice trembling.

"Isn't that a stupid question!" The Emperor's voice shot back instantly. "If it weren't , why the hell would I be sitting here shooting the breeze with you two big lugs?"

Static crackled through the speakers.

"In the past, I never spoke like this in front of you little brats. Maintaining that facade was exhausting. You'd best get used to it, and fast."

Horus and Guilliman instinctively exchanged a glance.

The feeling was too jarring.

Rejoice, then — the image of the majestic father had shattered completely.

Grieve, then, because this sense of closeness was far stronger than anything they'd felt ten thousand years ago.

The Emperor clearly saw right through their petty thoughts.

"I can understand your discomfort, lads." His tone softened, just a fraction. "But I don't want to speak in riddles with you anymore. The ti we have to catch up is short, and there's a massive ss outside waiting for you to clean up. Speaking plainly is the most efficient way."

Horus kept his head lowered, still unable to look directly at those hollow eye sockets on the Throne.

"So we are indeed tools. Is that correct, Father."

The Wolf God's voice was very low. That soul-piercing negation from earlier had left a knot in his heart, and it hadn't loosened.

"Yes."

The Emperor answered without a shred of hesitation.

Both brothers felt sothing sink in their chests.

"But I am also my own tool. And at the sa ti, you two brats are my sons. I will not stand by and let you fall into danger."

As for where that danger ca from, don't ask.

The statent lifted their mood, slightly.

"If Magnus were here, I'd put on my boots and give his red backside a good long kiss, that red Ogryn. Horus, since you're here — would you let your daddy give you a little beating? Even though Daddy knows you didn't truly rebel."

He added one more line.

"Yeah, that rhys pretty well."

Horus didn't know how to respond. The humor he had always prided himself on was completely useless to him now.

He looked instinctively toward Kaelen. His friend said nothing, only t his eyes with quiet encouragent.

"Of course, Father. If it would make you happy."

"As expected of Daddy's good son. If I could move right now, I'd definitely rub that bald head of yours. Damn it all, your skull is so shiny. I don't rember implanting any baldness genes when I made you."

Kaelen, standing nearby, nearly lost the battle against a laugh. Kullen's shoulders trembled, barely, but they trembled.

The humor loosened sothing in Horus's chest.

It also left him not knowing whether to laugh or cry. He'd had hair during the Great Crusade. A full head of beautiful, long, flowing hair.

The frozen atmosphere of the Throne Room eased, just a little.

The two brothers felt less constrained.

Guilliman had not forgotten why they had co.

"Father, I beseech you to pardon my brother — your son, Horus Lupercal. The Imperium is riddled with wounds. Human civilization hangs by a thread. Even I cannot shoulder its crushing burden alone."

"Oh, of course. My Guilliman, master of spreadsheets. You will forever be the statesman who wields Excel and Word docunts with divine skill. Your ten-thousand-year-unchanging aptitude for governance is truly just as good as it was during the Horus Heresy. Mm-hmm."

Guilliman smiled. An awkward smile.

Father was taking a subtle jab at his Second Imperium.

"Guilliman. Take up your sword. On my behalf."

Guilliman rose imdiately. He grasped the Emperor's Sword with both hands, its flas had remained unlit this entire ti, blade tip pointing toward the ground, his expression solemn.

Horus stepped forward and dropped to one knee before him.

Kaelen and Kullen stood at the base of the steps, watching a scene worthy of the Imperium's annals.

"I, the Emperor of Mankind. Do hereby proclaim."

The voice from the speakers rolled through the vast, empty hall. The sound waves carried such penetrating force that the gold ornants lining the walls began to hum in resonance.

"Horus Lupercal."

"My first-found son."

"My Wolf God."

"My Sagittarius."

Horus's shoulders trembled.

"I have been waiting here for you."

"I forgive you."

"Welco ho."

Short phrases. No flowery rhetoric. No grand oratory.

They shattered the shackles that had bound the Primarch's soul for ten thousand years.

"I shall grant you the title of Imperial Warmaster, to drive the wolves of humanity on my behalf, and hunt down every enemy who dares to invade!"

The Emperor's proclamation echoed through the Throne Room. Kaelen tilted his head back, looking at the wreckage upon the Throne. He didn't know whether the Custodians standing outside the gates had heard any of this. But these few words were enough to set the Imperium's stagnant, decaying gears turning once more.

"Roboute Guilliman." The Emperor continued.

"My Augustus."

"My hope."

"My loyal son. The manifestation of my ideal."

"I shall grant you the title of Imperial Regent, to exercise all executive and military authority on my behalf."

As the last word fell, Guilliman raised the sword with both hands and gently pressed the flat of the blade against the top of Horus's head.

2 seconds. Then the blade shifted, its edge touching the Wolf God's left shoulder, then his right.

The ancient sword ceremony, symbol of absolute authority, was complete.

The Arch-Traitor. The Wolf God, Horus Lupercal. In this mont, the infamy of a rebel was stripped from him entirely. He had received forgiveness. He had reclaid the honor that was his.

"Rise, my brother." Guilliman sheathed his sword and extended his broad right hand.

Horus seized it and pulled himself to his feet. The two Primarchs stood face to face. This handshake had crossed 10,000 years of life and death, tangled through countless betrayals and hatreds. It put a full stop to the tragedy of the past.

"Kullen."

The Emperor's voice rang out again. The broken speaker turned toward the old Dark Angel knight standing at the edge of the hall.

"My liege, I am here." Kullen reacted instantly, dropping to one knee, removing his helt and holding it at his waist, assuming the most precise listening posture.

"On behalf of your father, Lion El'Jonson, I absolve you. You are no longer a fugitive Fallen Angel, but a Risen Angel. A loyal, courageous, upright, and wise knight."

The Emperor paused.

Then dropped a bombshell.

"Your father, the Lion, will awaken soon."

Kullen's head snapped up. On his weathered, battle-hardened face erupted an irrepressible joy. Absolution from his liege. Confirmation that his gene-father would return. This old knight, who had endured 10,000 years of tornt, hamred his fist against his chest and let out a response that shook the hall.

"Praise be to You, my liege! I shall continue to uphold absolute loyalty to You and to my father, the Lion!"

The Emperor responded with a soft "Mm." Then, imdiately, the solemn voice switched to sothing that sounded very much like shooing people out the door.

"Alright, enough sentintality. Get out."

"The Lion's Gate needs you. That bastard on the Brass Throne, the one who does nothing but hack people up all day, has co to crash the party. Grab your weapons and drive those sons of bitches off Terra for ."

"Your will be done!"

Guilliman, Horus, and Kullen answered in unison.

They turned as one and strode toward the massive golden doors of the Throne Room, their steps perfectly synchronized.

The outer defense lines were bleeding. The battlefield was waiting.

The heavy golden doors swung slowly shut, swallowing the silhouettes of the Primarchs and the Astartes whole.

In the empty Throne Room, only Kaelen remained.

➤ Next: Gacha Pull! — Face to Face

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