My Life as A Death Guard
Chapter 454: Appearances Still Matter
"Yo, isn't this the Eighth Legion's Legion Master? Greetings, my lord."
Amit's voice rose and fell with blatant provocation. The Blood Angel strode over to Sevatar, casually slinging one arm over his shoulder plate, while the other hand showily brushed the still-bloody chainblade hanging at his waist.
Sevatar's face darkened as if it could drip water. After staying up all night dealing with documents, the circles under his eyes were a ghastly greenish-black, like a corpse three months dead.
"Get lost." Sevatar said flatly. He didn't even have the energy to bother swatting Amit's hand away.
Beside them, Corswain—standing straight as a rod—hesitated briefly before stepping forward.
"This is not the time for horseplay." The knight spoke succinctly. The inauguration ceremony was about to begin. The three of them, as representatives of their respective Legions, were responsible for security and were currently in the underground preparation chamber.
No one listened to him.
Amit kept grinning, continuing to provoke Sevatar. The Blood Angel still seemed deeply bothered by the fact that he hadn't managed to take a bite out of Sevatar.
If it were the Sevatar from the beginning, he would've fired back with a string of exquisitely crafted insults and gestures before throwing hands on the spot. If it were the newly appointed Sevatar, he would've just punched him outright. But now—this Sevatar—
He merely kept a straight face and rolled his eyes.
"Praise the Emperor. Praise the Great Angel." Sevatar said expressionlessly.
Amit spat violently onto the ground and shoved Sevatar hard.
"Oh, so that's how you're playing it?"
Did he think Amit couldn't tell? Saying something like that was practically an insult. If even a single hair on this man's body meant what he just said, Amit would admit defeat!
Sevatar remained impassive.
"I don't know what you're talking about, Amit."
Amit let out a low growl. "I should've bitten you when I had the chance."
The Blood Angel bared his teeth in challenge, but the moment passed. His earlier urge to stir trouble or start a fight faded.
Watching the entire exchange, Corswain quietly let out a breath. By the Emperor, he muttered inwardly.
He wasn't used to this. It felt more like certain words had been replaced, while the speaker's feelings behind them remained unchanged.
He thought that perhaps most warriors were like this. Some, like Sevatar, didn't believe at all. Others, however, were devout.
And this… this was useful.
He had heard the rumors spreading rapidly among mortals and auxiliary troops—stories of golden light shining on the battlefield around Sanguinius.
Rumors tended to exaggerate, but Corswain was certain this was beyond what a Primarch who merely "knew a bit of psychic power" could achieve.
Which meant…
Faith truly had power.
They had already proven that hell and daemons undeniably existed. And now, Corswain found himself wondering if heaven might exist as well.
After all, angels truly existed.
And one stood right before them.
The Great Angel smiled as always. His wings emitted a faint golden glow in the spacious preparation chamber—by the Emperor, Corswain was certain that wasn't reflected light, but something the wings themselves emitted.
Sanguinius entered first. Those already prepared surged forward. He sat down on a sofa and gestured for them to give him space.
Then he spread his wings.
There was blood on them, and feathers tangled into knots.
The people who had just stepped back immediately moved in again, fully focused. They carefully untangled the feathers, washed away dried blood with warm water, and trimmed the outline of the wings.
The makeup artist bowed deeply. Receiving an encouraging look from the Great Angel, the mortal devoutly murmured a prayer of praise before beginning to apply makeup.
Even the Great Angel liked to use "makeup" to symbolize certain things. Corswain had once seen Sanguinius wear tear-shaped markings.
But not today.
Today, he would appear brighter—more radiant, more magnificent.
Amit grinned and chuckled. He abruptly nudged Sevatar again with his leg, then happily ran over to help polish the Great Angel's armor.
Corswain heard Sevatar's cold snort.
He sighed inwardly, hoping the Great Angel wasn't under too much pressure.
Even if Sanguinius appeared flawless.
People continued grooming the Great Angel. Corswain watched the scene, feeling an inexplicable sense of peace and calm.
But that calm was quickly shattered.
A thick stench of blood—mixed with rot—flooded into the room.
People cried out in alarm.
Sevatar, standing beside Corswain, sprang into action almost instantly. Corswain saw him jog toward another sofa as if he had foreseen it, then call out to the darkness:
"My lord—over here."
That mass of darkness crashed heavily onto the sofa. It made an annoyed chewing sound, and fragments of some kind of flesh fell from its hand.
"…This time it's purple…" Konrad muttered in a low voice. Then he groaned in pain, continuing to murmur under his breath, though no one could make out what he was saying.
Sevatar shot a look at the crowd. The trembling attendants cautiously approached. He pressed one hand onto Konrad's arm, as if to signal to them that the Night Haunter was, for now, safe.
They began trying to comb Konrad's hair. It wasn't easy; blood and bits of flesh had long since clotted within it.
At the same time, they started treating his wounds. The Night Lord had only just returned from the battlefield.
Konrad continued his low muttering. His pupils twitched faintly as his visions unfolded. Sevatar remained silently composed. For a brief moment, even Corswain began to feel a trace of sympathy for him.
"Still can't stop it?" The Great Angel spoke suddenly. By now, people had begun drying his damp feathers.
The Night Haunter did not answer. Sevatar looked at the Great Angel and gave a reluctant nod.
Sanguinius sighed. Toward Sevatar—toward this loyal, reliable, and highly useful Night Lord who could handle his paperwork—he had already developed a degree of trust.
Sevatar processed documents even faster than Azkaellon. He had extensive experience dealing with extreme situations and urgent reports.
Before, the Great Angel had not wanted to lose his brother Curze.
Now, he did not want to lose Sevatar either.
"Sevatar… he may erupt during the ceremony." Sanguinius said gently, still wearing his smile.
"You might want to try the method I suggested."
Sevatar stared at him. Reluctantly, he nodded.
With Sanguinius personally watching him, there was no way to brush it off this time.
The Prince of Crows turned to Konrad—
"Lord of the Underworld…"
The Night Haunter let out a strangled sound, gasping for breath before suddenly sagging into exhaustion.
Sevatar took a deep breath. He felt drained as well—just moments ago, his vision had gone black. It was not a pleasant sensation.
The Prince of Crows had a bad feeling.
This method couldn't be used often.
Konrad, having regained some clarity, cast a glance at Sevatar through his tangled hair. Then he followed Sevatar's gaze and saw the smiling Great Angel.
The Night Haunter immediately chose silence.
The Great Angel… was terrifying.
Whether Sanguinius had not yet ascended, was in the process of ascending, or—
In any case, he was terrifying.
Curze breathed deeply, curling in on himself, silent.
The Great Angel said nothing as well.
A subtle, delicate silence settled between the two Primarchs.
Corswain's ears twitched. He heard steady, measured footsteps approaching.
He walked solemnly to the door, saluted, and skillfully accepted the sword handed to him by the Lion.
"The Seventh Sector is beyond saving," Lion El'Jonson said. He sat down on the sofa beside the Great Angel. People gathered around to wipe down his armor.
"Same as always. Exterminatus."
The Great Angel gave a small nod. Mortals began fastening fine golden chains as ornaments onto his wings.
With Baal as the center, the Lion had begun attempting to bring nearby sectors under control. The Great Angel had entrusted this task to him—he had noticed that the ambitious Lion relished such work, and rarely even requested supplies.
Sanguinius had some vague understanding of the First Legion's secrets. So he let his Knight-Commander act freely, no longer interfering.
Then the Great Angel suddenly asked:
"Are the First Legion's torpedoes still sufficient?"
The Lion paused for a moment.
"The more, the better," Lion El'Jonson said, his fingers tapping lightly against the armrest of the sofa.
"There's too much that needs to be destroyed."
"Lion, we need resources."
"I've left behind some mining worlds, along with high-output hive cities and agri-worlds. But they still require further cleansing."
The Great Angel hesitated. His lips parted slightly.
"…People are a kind of resource as well. You need to leave some alive… and respond to distress signals that can still be answered."
The more people there were, the more faith there would be—and the more lives they could ultimately save.
The Lion smiled faintly.
"Then why don't you try persuading Konrad, who's been slaughtering innocents across your territory?"
Curze let out a strange, rasping sound, but did not offer any rebuttal.
The Great Angel had no choice but to explain on his behalf:
"Lion, you know full well that those he purges are traitors and cultists."
The Great Angel had granted him internal authority for inquisitorial purges. The advantage was that, with Konrad's sensitivity to crime, he could uncover corrupted souls in advance.
The downside was that Konrad's definition of "crime" was extremely strict. But in a reality where cultists could emerge anywhere at any time, the Night Haunter had no time to judge those guilty of "lesser" sins.
At the very least, Konrad's existence prevented this already fragile Imperium from collapsing due to internal corruption.
The Lion snorted coldly, then closed his eyes and said nothing more.
The Great Angel sighed. He shifted his wings slightly, allowing attendants to apply fragrance to them.
Even a Primarch, fresh from the battlefield, would not be spotless, pristine, and carrying a pleasant scent.
But people wanted him to be.
If faith was to be built, the first step was to create an idol—
Perfect and flawless.
That was Sanguinius's role.
He was the Great Angel.
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